Welcome to my house!

According to the text that I have to translate:

"Uzbeks of modest means are also extremely generous toward their guests. When a stranger arrives at an Uzbek household, he is first invited inside and offered tea and other refreshments. Only then does the host ask who the guest is and why he has come."

This statement isn't necessarily true. At my house, the big brown gate (see above) is almost always bolted and, before my family opens the door, they yell, "KIIIIIIIIIIIIIMM?!!" I think a direct translation might be, "Who the hell is it?!" After that, though, they're extremely friendly.

Above you see our courtyard. We have a lot of fruit trees, including peach, apple, a fruit I'm unfamiliar with, and grapevines. The white table is on a raised platform where we eat every meal unless the flies are too bad. When they swarm, we eat inside which is far less pleasant. In the background, you see a stone wall. Behind this wall, our cow and goat stand all day. They're tied in place, so I guess they'll be tender when they're finally eaten.

This is my living room. As you can see, I'm kind of a messy person. I have more furniture in my rooms than my host-family has in theirs. From what I've experienced, Central Asian culture doesn't value clutter as much as American culture does. For example, my host-family has a large living room with only a TV in the corner and a couch against the far wall.

Here's another view of my living room. I have my own TV! Unfortunately, I only get three channels - Tajik, Tajik, and Russian. The Tajik channels are often overtaken by the president, who gives long addresses to his Viziers that I don't understand. The Russian television has been playing the EuroCup and, for that, I'm thankful. That said, I haven't been watching much TV. You're probably surprised that I can tear myself away from Tajik speeches and the Russian news, but I've been cultivating a willpower that's second to none.

My bedroom! I have a full-sized bed that is actually two singles pushed together. It's a nice room, which my host-family painted pink before I arrived. I love my pink room. The best part of my pink room, though, is the killer fan. I love the killer fan. Just this morning, my host-father said, "Did you know that if you sleep with the fan on . . ." But before he could finish, my host-mother yelled from the kitchen:

"I already told her, you old man! She sleeps with it on anyway!"

And there you have my house.