Day 19and I’m already losing count.
I have not been keeping my promise to write a regular blog. But perhaps there’s nobody reading this anyway, since I never get any comments.
Life has been quite hectic over the past few days, although that is hardly an excuse for an absence of writing – especially since by hectic I mean that yesterday I spent 7 hours putting together a 1000-piece puzzle of a car with my former host-brother Fayz. He’s now 15 years old, and so much like Lori – my sister. He loves to draw almost as much as she does – although his subjects are usually nicer like flowers and girls in bikinis. I had originally bought the puzzle at a bookstore here in Dushanbe and thought it would be appropriate as a gift for my 9 year old host brother – but apparently 9 year olds are too young to put together such a puzzle. Christine has left for the Pamirs – and I do wish I had gone with her because I am here at the Bureau translating, reading news reports, and doing web research. Web research in countries with poor internet connections is torture and makes me irritable.
In other news, Happy Ramadan!
I wish that I were back in Boston with the BU Society, as they were always wonderful company. Here for Ramadan the families wake up early to eat before their days of fasting, but they eat stuffed peppers or fried rice. This kind of food at 4 am can be quite harsh on the stomach and general feeling of well-being for those Americans unused to both the cuisine and the hours. I stayed at the house of my old host family this weekend, and although I did not eat breakfast with them – as I have not been fasting – I did wake up. It’s hard not to wake up when a family of 9 people in a two/three bedroom apartment all together turn on lights and clang plates and silverware. During Ramadan, it seems most of them are in bed by 9-10pm. I really do enjoy the company of family though – and it seems that living in a lively household as a child has now really become my nature and preferred lifestyle.
I have a new roommate – actually, I’ve moved in with a nice Tajik woman who lives alone in a nice area of town – near the shopping mall called Sadbarg. She’s a great woman, but sees herself as my mother. She’s no more than 10 years older than I am, but she feels responsible for my whereabouts, my curfew, what I’m eating, and all other kinds of matters. On the weekends, her “son” comes to visit – but if I ask her about her son, she says it’s not her son, it’s her husband’s son. If I don’t ask anything, she says, “My son will come visit on the weekend.” As I don’t want to pry, I can only imagine that she’s divorced and her ex-husband has re-married and kept the child. This may increase her loneliness and desire to spend time with me. When I stayed on Somoni street this weekend with my old family, she called regularly and then last night asked me if I had forgotten her.
The host family has asked me in every way possible to move back in with them. Fayz and I had a great time yesterday, not only with the red sports car puzzle, but also learning/teaching English. Mahmud had a look of despair on his face when we told him that I had been teaching English to the family-and for over half an hour to Fayz. I would love to teach Mahmud as well but he works about 16 hours a day. From 6 am he leaves the house and works at the pharmacy until about 8, when he goes to the Medical college to study pharmacy. He stays there till noon and then goes back to work at the pharmacy, at which point I have no idea when this day ends. I can’t imagine coming from Baljavon – a mountainous area of the Khatlon region of Tajikistan – to first study Islamic studies at the Mosque and then move on to pharmacy while having to work all the time to support yourself. The family is half in engineering and half in pharmaceuticals – and they seem to study only one or the other subjects. The host-sister, Idigul, who almost destroyed my mp3 player yesterday, studies at the Medical institute – also pharmacy. I am still discovering the difference between the medical college and the medical institute – but Mahmud has said that the med institute takes one more year, and my host mother has said that for the 5 years of university for Idigul, she had to pay 1000 dollars up front. Apparently the med institute costs more money – but if the degrees are different – I still haven’t figured out what that would be.
This past Friday through Sunday has been a busy time for Dushanbe, as there was a CIS summit. Putin and various Presidents all came to the Tajik capital for the summit. The city was on lock down during this time because the main street was supposed to be free from traffic, other than VIP cars. The city was decked out in signs and posters and flags welcoming the summit participants. The actual difficulty of having an office or residence in the center was exacerbated to the point that most schools and office buildings in the area were closed. Work was cancelled, so I went to do some winter shopping. I bought “Russian winter” (the brand name) stockings, which are fuzzy on the inside. I went to visit my host mother at her office at the Committee on Women’s affairs, where she makes a whopping 50$ a month in an administrative civil servant capacity. The father makes 600$ a month as an engineer at an aluminum siding factory on the outskirts of town. This would not cut the needs of their advancing lifestyle, so the father goes to Moscow on business every few months where he earns several thousand dollars. The family is right now building a house on the edge of town – where I am sad to have not brought my camera. Near the Korvon bazaar – the biggest and crazies bazaar in Dushanbe – is a mass of new and unfinished houses. I asked why they are being built now, and the answer was that communism didn’t give permits for new buildings, and I guess since the civil war, this is the first time there is real potential for building. A recent government regulation however requires that the traditional Havli or courtyard, single story, house cannot be built. There’s a two-story minimum now in order to save space and land- resources? I have to look up the law. In any case, this new house is completely just bricks right now, but it will have 6 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and two outhouse bathrooms. It will have a bread making shed next to the outhouses and a one-floor, two room guest house next to the main building. Now, the construction workers live in the two-room guest house – which is already complete. The estimated cost is 50,000 from start to finish, which is about half the price in Nebraska, where my grandma lives for a nice 2-3 bedroom house. The building will not be completed until at least 1-2 years, as they can only do as much work as they have money. When money comes in, they complete a few more stages of the house. The family also owns several apartments in the soviet building they occupy as well as a dacha. I think part of the success has come from having a very large family unit that pools resources. The mother’s sister is married to a man, Rahmatullo, who works in pharmaceuticals and now has two pharmacies. They spend almost every day together as a combined unit. Rahmatullo has three children – three girls – (and let’s not fail to mention that every woman for three generations has names starting with M, and there are at least 3 girls to each mother!) Maftuna, now 6, is my favorite person in the whole world. I will put a picture here soon hopefully. Last summer she was bald, as they wanted her to have a shaved head until 5 to promote thick hair (and also keep away lice?). Two days ago, she was waiting with me by the car we would take to the new house, but the father was smashing some wood, and the dust and splinters were flying everywhere, so she pulled me away to protect her. She then took me for a little walk and when we got near a gutter, she said in cute child-Tajiki, “You are big, I am little…” and then made a sign that I should protect her. She hardly needs protecting because at the building site, she was running through bricks and up and down steep, make-shift ladders (that I was soo scared to go up or down, that the host father had to lead me by the hand and in mountain dialect told me I was lazy).
Yesterday, I ate Osh/Plov/Fried Rice that was prepared for these workers in a big cauldron. It was Saturday that I went there to see the building progress with the family, but on Sunday Mavluda (the Ocha/Mother) went back to cook for the workers.
Back to Ramazan –
The room I stayed in last summer has become a temporary prayer center. Yesterday, while working on the Mozaika, I was quickly sent out of the room, and apparently 15 men came to say tarawih prayers in that small blue room. I was quite distressed as I had left my undergarments in various locations of the room. Fayz said he had gathered them together, for which I was very grateful, but I noticed later that I had some black pantyhose on the couch! I wish someone had warned me. I think tarawih a home-based activity here, and I might join the women to see their gatherings. I have been reading recently about the mosques that have been closed due to the inability to register/the requirement that imams be specially qualified or some such new initiative. The number is astounding – something like 350 – and I honestly wish to understand better some day what constitutes a mosque, because I can’t imagine where 350 mosques would be in a city this size. If I were a man, I would try to find my way to every one to understand better the culture and religion here. So, understandably, as women are not allowed to pray at mosques here, they would say tarawih together at home.
I went on Saturday night to a concert at the amphitheater – a typical Tajik pop music concert. It is honestly the most romantic music in the world. There was especially one song sung between a man and a woman that was amazing – and this wasn’t even the best of the concerts. They were essentially singing about how they had gotten used to each other’s ways. If it hadn’t been 50 degrees outside (the amphitheater is uncovered), and I, in a light jacket, it would have been heaven and we would have stayed till the end. Instead, Firuz and Mavluda and Idigul looked miserable and we left about 20 minutes early. Speaking of Firuz – 18 year old host brother – I am amazed that the high school students go to school in a suit and tie every day!!
In fact, I am generally amazed that I look like a dirty slob all the time compared to everyone else. It’s completed dusty here, and I am always covered in dust – somewhere on my body – but nobody else!-not even the people sitting on the street! Mahmud came up to me a few days back and looked at me with pity and disgust – he started violently wiping dust off my back, but eventually gave up, because I am beyond repair. I have seen Idigul every day cleaning the family’s dozens of pairs of shoes. I can’t bring myself to do that kind of cleaning – with the exception of my red shoes which after one day of walking in them will turn a shade of light brown. In other news, after visiting Mavluda on Friday, I flew flat on my face while walking in an underground passageway, which was forced upon me due to the closure of the main street. I was carrying some bags that totally ripped, but before I could stand up and gather anything, I was lifted off the ground immediately by two of the strongest hands and arms I have ever encountered. Nobody asked me if I was OK, I was just lifted into the air and expected to keep walking like the rest of the crowd. It was amazing. The fall was quite bad, and three days later, I still have a very sore left shoulder, but no bruise. I don’t know what one can do to a shoulder, but it doesn’t rotate backwards normally and I can’t sleep on that side anymore. Aah, at least I have travel insurance. :)
