On The Green

With Mr. Taalay on the tractor, and me and the posse manning shovels, the rest of the greens took shape.  By the start of year four, they were green and lush, and stood up to our foot traffic.  We’d already built the tees.  Most of the holes had one or two sand traps around the green.  We had a driving range and a practice putting green.  

We were no competition for Augusta National or Pebble Beach, but we had ourselves a bona fide golf course.

I can still remember the scores the posse shot on our first round.  I carded a 78, Daniar 81, Macha 83, and Aijan shot 95.  I marveled at how far we had come in just a few years.

It wasn’t just the posse that played golf.  A lot of the children and some of the staff took to the game.  Aijan and I had our hands full with the lessons.

And it was much more than just a golf course.  I wasn’t going to let Mr. Taalay’s green thumb go underutilized.  Orphans eat just as much as anyone else.  All over the golf course, he planted vegetable gardens.  Whatever we grew was that much less we had to buy.

Any gardener can tell you how much work it is.  The weeding alone is a major chore.  We needed a lot of labor.  The solution was obvious.  The kids didn’t have any money, they couldn’t pay greens fees like a regular course would charge.  But they were young and full of energy.  

At our course, the greens fee was 30 minutes of labor for each nine holes.  Mr. Taalay made a list every morning of what needed to be done.  The gardens were healthy and weed free, and everyone enjoyed the fresh vegetables.

Finally, I had what I’d wanted since I was a kid.  My very own golf course, a posse, and no waiting in line on the tees.  I suppose it is my fault for letting that son of a b***h Aijan mess it up.

Aijan had paid attention in economics class.  He lectured me about supply and demand.  The capital and largest city in Kyrgyzstan is Bishkek, twenty miles north of the Golfanage.  Plenty of tourists and businessmen visited there.  Some of them were golfers.  They were the demand.  We had the only 18 hole golf course in Kyrgyzstan.  We were the supply.  It sounded simple when Aijan explained it.

The ad he put in the Bishkek newspaper yielded results in less than a week.  A Japanese software salesman, Mr. Aoki, and his wife, had booked a round for Saturday morning.  We were in business.

When I spoke to Mr. Aoki on the phone, I was a little intimidated.  He and his wife were serious golfers and were used to playing high end courses.  We were one step up from a cow pasture.

But what we lacked in facilities, we made up in service.  The Aokis were our first, and only customers.  Aijan and I rolled out the red carpet.

Daniar and Macha rented their clubs to the Aokis.  I made a mental note to order some extra sets.  Aijan and I joined our guests for a foursome.

The Aokis were skilled golfers.  Before they showed up, I was the course record holder, I’d shot a 74 a few weeks before.  And Macha’s 77 was the lowest by a lady.  Both records got shattered that day.  Mr. and Mrs. Aoki shot 70 and 71.

I enjoyed watching the Aokis play.  I pointed out to Aijan they were an example of technique over muscle.  I consistently outdrove Mr. Aoki by 30 yards, and his wife by 60.  They overcame that by hitting the ball straight and very accurately.  I hit some pretty good shots on the way to a 76 but I felt like I’d been lapped by both of them.

My worries about what they would think of our course evaporated on the 18th green.  Mr. Aoki shook my hand and said, “I am impressed by what you and the children have done here.  We have enjoyed playing your course.”  Mrs. Aoki continued, “So much so that we would like to stay overnight and play again tomorrow before we return to Bishkek.  Is there a hotel in the area?”

There was not much in the area aside from farms, a golf course, and an orphanage.  Aijan and I looked at each other.  We were thinking the same thing.  I said, “No hotel, but we can put you up at the dormitory.  Not exactly luxury accommodations but the food in the cafeteria is good.”

Mrs. Aoki smiled.  “On our honeymoon we golfed our way across Europe.  We didn’t have much money then and we often slept at a hostel in a room with strangers.  We will be happy to stay at the dormitory.”

I was too dense to realize that was the beginning of the end.  Aijan, always a step ahead of me, was already thinking about the hotel and the resort.