Stalker Guy and Brother Grape

I guess that it is common for each American girl that goes to Russia to have at least one stalker. Mine was Stalker Guy. He had a better name, but it is better if he isn't named. The members all called him crazy and it caught on like peanut butter and chocolate. Which now I feel bad that it did.

My very first Sunday in Russia we didn't have church. Well not really. There was a first presidency message or something like that. It lasted about two hours. We didn't even have the sacrament. And there were only ten people there.

Samara is a huge city. People swarm the streets and the buses from 8-10am and from 5-6pm in the day. To see that only ten people were there for church was quite a shock for me, you know as a Utahan. A major disappointment. I was used to the masses. 150+ per Sunday was typical. A low standard even!

So here I was on my very first Sunday not knowing where to sit. So I sat down on the row where this kind faced teenager was sitting. In my poorest Russian I tried to get out, Hi my name is Sister Johnson. It probably sounded more like: "me name Johnson sister you." She responded, "Hi, I'm Liza" in decent English that put me to shame.

A minute later a funky smell fluttered through the air carrying a middle aged man in a grungy forrest green sweater. He climbed over Liza, and then me and plopped down in the seat next to mine and started going off in a mad pace of incomprehensible Russian. Of course, I could barely understand normal Russian.

A waft of smoke and body odor overwhelmed me. I tried to mask my doubling over as a fit of coughing. He then proceeded to wack my back as if to help.  It didn't. The stench wafted farther up my nose. But as luck would have it I had backup. An elder nonchalantly coughed out in rapid English, "Sister sit here!"

I tried to apologize to stalker guy, but I gave up the attempt and ran to sit in-between a kind looking grandpa and the elder. Blocking off all contact from stalker guy. His saddened puppy dog eyes twinged at my heart for a moment, but it was interrupted by the grandpa sitting next to me. I already liked him. He didn't smell of smoke and he was smiling. He had more teeth than others too!

He pulled out a book of mormon and showed me all the names written in the back and asked me to sign it. He introduced himself as Brother Grape, which is the literal translation of his name.  I looked into his soft caramel eyes and thought, "we are going to be great friends." That thought was rudely interrupted when stalker guy jumped over Liza and sat directly in front of me. Repeatedly turning around to smile toothlessly at me. In a puppy kind of way, it was cute. But Brother Grape kept shushing him, and whoosing his hands at him, as if trying to fan him away. What a pal!

The next Sunday came and stalker guy brought me poems he had copied from the internet. The next, some candies he had found on the ground. Then he had to pull out all the stops. He needed to win me over. He asked for my hand as he gave me a raw turkey leg.

Nothing is more romantic than a raw turkey leg gentleman. Take notes. He also included copied poems, the ones I had rejected two weeks earlier. The elders had taken them as something to tape in their journals. I would've done the same if I didn't think that would encourage Mr. Stalker Guy. Instead he ended up recopying the same ones and offered them to me, again. When I declined the poems he shoved the turkey leg under my nose, as if the smell would entice me and bring me to tears of joy. I politely declined. His last trick up his sleeves were flowers.

You might say a step in the right direction. I was flattered, until he admitted he had taken them from a grave. I tried to decline again. He then tried to convince me again that I should marry him. The poor guy. He tried so hard. What is a girl supposed to do? Well, I sicked the elders on him, and they lead him away to Sunday School, and my companion and I headed to primary, trying to stay clear of him.

His intentions were, well I guess pure, but the execution not so much. I always had Brother Grape and the elders to keep him at bay. They made sure they walked with him out the building and out of sight before we got the okay signal to leave the church. First adventure was making its way, head on.

Disclaimer: These stories will be creative non-fiction. It's true, just over dramatized for creative effect. I feel I need to say this to all the other RSM RMs. You've been warned. Or I guess acknowledged.

My trainer, the best one out there. She was also being stalked by the same guy. I couldn't have understood a single thing he said without her. 

I don't know why it won't turn, but this was my very first contact. The snowmen of Russia are incredibly open.