“What the hell is going on?” I said to Michael the tenth time. “Not a clue”, replied Michael for the tenth time. We had had no choice but to just sit back and passively accept whatever turn of events was to follow since we’d apparently been arrested as soon as we’d set foot in Aqtobe.
Somewhere on the journey, I think it may have been in Kyzylorda, or some other place that sounds as if someone’s dropped their scrabble tiles, we swapped vehicles and drivers. “Hello I’m Michael. What is your name,” said Michael, as slowly and clearly as he could. Dulad translated for us and