Lost in Translation
How my BILINGUALism shapes my migration experience and life in bishkek

by Bermet Malikova

After finishing school in Talas, I moved to Tokmok for higher education and later to Bishkek in search of work. With 2025 marking ten years since I moved to Bishkek, I felt it was the perfect time to reflect on my journey by participating in the City of Settlers project. But it was more than just that.

I often felt that there was an invisible wall of mistrust between people in Bishkek - maybe because we don’t really know each other. Through the City of Settlers workshop, I wanted to better understand the stories of those around me - people living in the same city that I encounter every day. And as I anticipated, each person’s migration story was unique and extraordinary.

Sharing my own story was another important goal, so here it is.

Language shifts

My native language is Kyrgyz. When I started attending a Russian school, I didn’t know a word in Russian. People around me even assumed I was deaf. To help me adapt, my mother hired a Russian-speaking nanny, and after four years, I became fluent in the language. That allowed me to participate in subject Olympiads and excel in the Eldin kyzy course.

However, as my Russian improved, my native language slowly faded into the background, and I began to forget it. When I tried to speak Kyrgyz again, people noticed my Russian accent and would ask, “Sen orussungbu?” – “Are you Russian?” That was the first time I felt like an outsider in the city where I was born, raised, and lived.

Surprisingly, my Russian accent had an unexpected advantage. Racketeers from other schools assumed I didn't understand Kyrgyz and decided I wasn’t worth the effort. “Al orus, al tushunböyt” - “She’s Russian; she doesn’t understand.”

The accents of belonging

When I moved to a new building in Bishkek, I met neighbors who, like me at the time, were ambitious and driven, eager to improve their quality of life. A simple exchange like, “Kandaisyz? Köptön beri körünböy kaldynyz. Baary jakshyby?” – “How are you? Haven’t seen you for a while. Everything alright?”– was enough to make me feel like I belonged.

During our first winter together, my neighbors and I decorated a New Year’s tree. When the clock struck midnight, we all went out into the yard to celebrate the New Year and the start of a new chapter in our lives. The atmosphere was warm, friendly and low-key - with no need for pretense – it was simply neighborly.

At that time, Kyrgyz slang often came in handy when meeting and communicating with neighbors and colleagues, especially to diffuse tensions during conflicts. For instance, the playful phrase, “Иии муүүз чийктыби?” (meaning, “Who was she trying to prove something to?”), helped resolve disagreements with humor.

Mikrashi's vocabularly

Moving to Mikrashi, Bishkek's microdistricts, gave me a completely new perspective on a city I thought I knew so well. I vividly remember a taxi driver once asking me, “Shall I drive along the Old Road?” I confidently replied, “Of course!” having no idea what "the Old Road" meant and where I was going to. That moment marked the beginning of my journey to relearn and adapt.

In this part of the city, I quickly noticed the prominence of Russian. It held a special status - of the widely spoken language, and everyone here was somewhat “orus” (“Russian”). To build connections with my neighbors, I embraced this linguistic situation and adjusted my communication style. Yet, despite three years of effort, I continued to be met with suspicion.

Language lessons from a taxi driver

Another experience in a taxi made me realize that Bishkek has essentially added another layer to its existing Kyrgyz-Russian-English linguistic blend. I greeted the driver with, “Salamatsyzby,” and he responded, “‘Salamatsyzby’ degen tuura emes, siz ‘As-salamu aleykum’ dep aitysynysh kerek.” – “‘Salamatsyzby’ is not correct; you should say ‘As-salamu aleykum.’”

Epilogue: "A club of anomymous migrants"

When I told my friends that I was going to participate in the City of Settlers workshop to reflect on my migration experience, they joked, “What is it, a club for anonymous migrants?”

For me and my friends, the word “migrant” has never carried negative connotations. Instead, it has always symbolized a promise of better opportunities. However, it was a new experience to consciously associate myself with this word. And it felt oddly therapeutic.

Language shifts

My native language is Kyrgyz. When I started attending a Russian school, I didn’t know a word in Russian. People around me even assumed I was deaf. To help me adapt, my mother hired a Russian-speaking nanny, and after four years, I became fluent in the language. That allowed me to participate in subject Olympiads and excel in the Eldin kyzy course.

However, as my Russian improved, my native language slowly faded into the background, and I began to forget it. When I tried to speak Kyrgyz again, people noticed my Russian accent and would ask, “Sen orussungbu?” – “Are you Russian?” That was the first time I felt like an outsider in the city where I was born, raised, and lived.

Surprisingly, my Russian accent had an unexpected advantage. Racketeers from other schools assumed I didn't understand Kyrgyz and decided I wasn’t worth the effort. “Al orus, al tushunböyt” - “She’s Russian; she doesn’t understand.”

The accents of belonging

When I moved to a new building in Bishkek, I met neighbors who, like me at the time, were ambitious and driven, eager to improve their quality of life. A simple exchange like, “Kandaisyz? Köptön beri körünböy kaldynyz. Baary jakshyby?” – “How are you? Haven’t seen you for a while. Everything alright?”– was enough to make me feel like I belonged.

During our first winter together, my neighbors and I decorated a New Year’s tree. When the clock struck midnight, we all went out into the yard to celebrate the New Year and the start of a new chapter in our lives. The atmosphere was warm, friendly and low-key - with no need for pretense – it was simply neighborly.

At that time, Kyrgyz slang often came in handy when meeting and communicating with neighbors and colleagues, especially to diffuse tensions during conflicts. For instance, the playful phrase, “Иии муүүз чийктыби?” (meaning, “Who was she trying to prove something to?”), helped resolve disagreements with humor.

Mikrashi's vocabularly

Moving to Mikrashi, Bishkek's microdistricts, gave me a completely new perspective on a city I thought I knew so well. I vividly remember a taxi driver once asking me, “Shall I drive along the Old Road?” I confidently replied, “Of course!” having no idea what "the Old Road" meant and where I was going to. That moment marked the beginning of my journey to relearn and adapt.

In this part of the city, I quickly noticed the prominence of Russian. It held a special status - of the widely spoken language, and everyone here was somewhat “orus” (“Russian”). To build connections with my neighbors, I embraced this linguistic situation and adjusted my communication style. Yet, despite three years of effort, I continued to be met with suspicion.

Language lessons from a taxi driver

Another experience in a taxi made me realize that Bishkek has essentially added another layer to its existing Kyrgyz-Russian-English linguistic blend. I greeted the driver with, “Salamatsyzby,” and he responded, “‘Salamatsyzby’ degen tuura emes, siz ‘As-salamu aleykum’ dep aitysynysh kerek.” – “‘Salamatsyzby’ is not correct; you should say ‘As-salamu aleykum.’”

Epilogue: "A club of anomymous migrants"

When I told my friends that I was going to participate in the City of Settlers workshop to reflect on my migration experience, they joked, “What is it, a club for anonymous migrants?”

For me and my friends, the word “migrant” has never carried negative connotations. Instead, it has always symbolized a promise of better opportunities. However, it was a new experience to consciously associate myself with this word. And it felt oddly therapeutic.

About the author

I grew up in Talas, studied in Tokmok, and now work in Bishkek as a project coordinator in the NGO sector. Through my work, I have had an opportunity to discover different parts of the Chuy Region, including villages, new residential areas (zhilmassivy), and microdistricts (microrayony).

Bermet Malikova

NGO Project coordinator

Lost in TranslationHow my BILINGUALism shapes my migration experience and life in bishkek

Lost in Translation
How my BILINGUALism shapes my migration experience and life in bishkek