Day 37(?)
Greetings from what I believe is the 91st district, but I honestly still don't understand what's the 82nd and what's 91, etc.. Today I went to the Turkish air office to see about prices for Dubai - for the 17th of December. I'm looking forward to this trip. On the way I ran into Aziza, my new friend from the wedding I went to with Mahmud and Christine in Hissar a week ago. Aziza was heading in the opposite direction, saw me from the "marshrutka" she was on, and jumped off and ran to me. I love having new friends! She joined me on my adventure to the Turkish air office, then we refilled my mobile phone credits, and ordered 7 oshe-reshtes for tomorrow from the Iranian restaurant. I don't know who's going to eat the 7 oshe-reshtes, but I look forward to it nonetheless. Aziza wanted a photo with me in front of The Big Somoni statue, so we got some hideous photos - from a man with a camera who stands out there offering photos to people. You'd think it would be for tourists, but actually Tajiks love to have their photos taken there. While waiting for them to get developed, I ran into Anna, an American girl who was studying here with me last summer. She's now working for IREX, on what I guess is a three year contract. Three years in Dushanbe!! What a commitment! - Although, I can't say I'm not jealous. Aziza and I then went to window shop for shoes, and the shoe salesman as soon as Aziza walked in with a photo album she had just bought for her sister, he asked her what was inside. I wasn't paying attention, I just saw that she gave him all her photos of her sister's recital and he was so friendly about it, I thought they were relatives - especially because he told her she could have any pair of shoes she wanted for free. haha. Wherever you go, Tajiks will show strangers their photos. Last week, a boy came up to me on the street and started showing me the photo he had been looking at with his friend. Anyway, so Aziza and I decided to head back to her place to cook pelmeni together, but I was chastised by my host mother because all her sisters were at the grandma's havli, and I was expected there somehow. So, I went home, and off we went by marshrutka number 8 to the grandma's house. Life is not soo interesting, otherwise. I decided against going to the mountain village this weekend for two weddings, because next weekend there will be another wedding - and I couldn't imagine going two weekends in a row to the village. Tomorrow, instead I will be in Dushanbe and will go with the host mother Mavluda to her co-worker's daughter's wedding. My host brother Firuz (one of four host brothers) has returned home from boarding school, and only goes to school during the day now - because he punched a teacher in the face. I was very upset at this, and I told him that no matter how much a teacher bothers you, there's no excuse for punching him. Firuz replied that the man was horrible and had been "acting like a woman". I got even more upset at this, and asked what that meant - to which he responded that the man talked so much all the time and was constantly nagging, that he was like a woman. There was nothing I could possibly say, as the conversation was getting nowhere. I feel bad for my host mother that her two middle sons have somehow become hooligans. A few days earlier I had asked the mother why she had been yelling at Firuz, to which she replied that "he was little by little becoming a hooligan at school" - hitting a teacher is not "little by little"!!
Other news is that I have recently hurt my foot - and by hurt, I mean that three days ago, I fell asleep on the couch in the room where I sleep, and when I woke up, I for some reason walked to the door, and without turning on the light, returned to the couch - and just then - I stepped completely down onto my thick stud earring, which went into my foot. I had to pull it out, in the dark, and then I started calling "ocha ocha" (mom, mom in Tojik). The third oldest son Faiz, who has been ignoring me for about two weeks came to the room, but I didn't want his help - so I insisted that he get "Ocha" (which is now a really funny story for the family). The mother came, and seriously, I never thought you could bleed so much from stepping on an earring - but I was!
I put "spirit" on it, applying it with classic fresh Tajik cotton, and then bacitracin. Now, it more or less is OK, except I have a big bruise on my foot and a little red hole where it went in. The men in the family were really having fun with it. The father and Mahmud were like - "we better call 911"...."how long will it take for 911 to get here to Dushanbe??" Then they decided I should call 03, which is the 911 equivalent. They said that we'll have to lie though because if we tell them on the phone a woman has stepped on an earring, they will come two weeks later. Then the father started in (and it's lasted for two days) that I have to apply the best medicine in the world - which is spit! Everytime I have anything that itches or hurts, he very seriously tells me to spit on myself, and waits to see what my reaction is. The last time he did this, I said, that since I'm American, my saliva can never be "the best Tajik medicine". He's also taken to joking that Baljovon pears are the medicine for all illnesses - but this I believe and don't get annoyed at, because I have never tasted better pears in all my life - in fact - after eating Baljovon pears I can't even eat regular Tajik pears - and for those of you familiar with Central Asian vegetables and fruit, the regular Tajik pears are still a thousand times tastier than anything you can buy anywhere in the US!
I finally spoke with my Grandma back in the US (Nebraska) - apparently, she has scheduled a second hip surgery!!
Tomorrow is pay day at work - I look forward to buying a sweater, some warmer shoes, a winter jacket, and socks. It's still about 70 degrees every day, but I fear the coming winter - especially since I'm moving to Almaty!
Lots of Love to Everyone!!
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
Kamila and David in front of the Prague 6 Municipal Building
Can you tell they are Tango artists?
I took probably a dozen photos of them twirling around for fun after everyone left the building and gathered on this lawn. I don't think they got nearly enough photos taken.Wedding photos!
I've finally got some pictures to share with you from Kamila's wedding. Here is Petr, the bride's father!
Sunday, October 21, 2007
the wedding was a blast
The wedding of one of the 4th year Pharmacy students, at the Medical college, was a blast. The entire class was there - and I now know about a dozen 22 year old girls who are preparing to be pharmacists. The entire village - a small part of the region of Hissar - about 20 minutes by car from Dushanbe, was looking on to the wedding and standing behind the guests. As usual in villages, the 60 people actually invited had seats and food and were allowed to dance. The other 300-400 people were watching from behind the tables, and getting closer and closer to the food. It was a little like a horror film...Gissar may be known for thievery though... As you may remember, Christine had about 250 dollars stolen from her bag, and yesterday, the Tajik girls sitting with us were paranoid to no end that the children creeping closer and closer to our chairs would take anything they could touch. When we went to dance, one woman was left at the table with 15 purses piled in front of her - the purses even placed directly on food so that nobody would touch them. The dancing was wonderful - although my arabic dancing has somewhat changed my Tajik style, and I am less comfortable with the Tajik arm movements. There was also an official dancer at the wedding, who was handed bills by people - to pay her and so that she would continue. The bride and groom as always sat up at the front and didn't smile once, and they would only stand if someone came directly up to greet them. They certainly didn't dance together, I never saw them eat, and only once or twice did they talk with their best friends/witnesses (I haven't figured out what) who sat next to them on the platform. The classmates, who really seemed to be the most important guests, bought together for them a tv and dvd player. It seemed to be a very nice gift. Before the wedding, we were treated to some food at the home - but we ate in the dark - well, in the dusk - as it was just turning 5:30 or so, and the daylight was diminishing. Apparently, Gissar's businesses consume all the electricity available, and so only for a few hours at night, is there electricity in the residential areas. We ate some snacks at the home, went outside when it started to get really dark inside, and by 6:20 were we seated in the outdoor area for the wedding, where there was a paid announcer and a band. The announcer would cut off the music every half hour or so to make good wishes to the bride and groom, and other close people to the newlyweds would go to the mic and speak. I was asked to speak, but I am seriously shy about such things...and so, I regretfully didn't go to the mic. We took a paid cab back, with two of the girls from the pharmacy college, at about 8, and then headed off to La Salsa for some Mexican bean burritos with Galya. There was a near riot inside La Salsa because the French military contingent was having some kind of party, and they were very drunk and very loud. Well, today is a beautiful Fall sunday in Dushanbe, and I look forward to going to the Park, and telling my old host family that I actually have to move in with them tomorrow because my landlady's family fromUzbekistan is coming tomorrow and they don't really have space for me. Perhaps I should get my own apartment again -?
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Oh, and for pictures of Kamila's wedding...
I am slowly progressing towards finally posting some pictures of Kamila's wedding. ... perhaps tomorrow.
Lots of work and moving apartments
Hello everyone. It's Saturday, and I do have weekends here. What am I actually doing with my time, you ask?
At the moment, I'm busy working on the annual report for the Bureau of Human Rights. It's not clear how I can write the annual report for an organization I just joined, but they don't always have reasonable expectations. Otherwise, I spend a lot of time emailing because the University in Kazakstan wants to have documentation of EVERYTHING on my resume/everywhere I've ever worked/and every professor I've ever known. If I actually get through the red tape, it will be a miracle - and just to work there for a semester! Mahdi calls this my "Kazakh project".
Speaking of Kazakstan, Christine is leaving tomorrow for Astana, and she has nowhere to stay because apparently the Kazaks don't trust guests. I tried to help her through my Kazakh friend Asset, but a friend of a friend of a friend is a little too distant to get security. After Kazakstan, Christine goes to Turkmenistan where she has paid for a 2000 dollar two-week tour of the country. I wonder if it will be worth the expense.
In other news, I don't know if I have told you that the Tajik woman I live with has fallen ill. About a week ago, she called the emergency medical team at midnight to the house because she thought she was having a heart attack. It wasn't, but the pain was apparently killing her, and the doctors gave her a shot to calm her down. This past Tuesday, she checked herself into the Russian hospital - and although she's sounding better, she will apparently have heart surgery at the beginning of November. For this reason, I will move back in to my old host family, as Sayorah, my roommate will be recovering in the small apartment we share - it only has 1 bedroom, which I have been using - and I can't imagine recovering from heart surgery while on a couch. She didn't ask me to leave, but my coworker who was on the phone with her at the hospital volunteered that I would move after she has her surgery. My host family has wanted me to move back in anyway, and they have a hard time explaining to their relatives and friends why I don't live with them. I don't mind living there - as they take really good care of me, but now with the grandmother there, it's a little too full of people - especially as the grandmother follows me around and doesn't talk - she just stares at me. This makes privacy a little less than last summer. The Mother though is such an amazing woman, and always welcoming - and rarely tired of my horrific American ways - like removing all the inside of a Golubtsi - stuff pepper and eating just the outside. :)
I will pay them the same amount they got last summer, just out of courtesy, because I really don't want them to feel jipped. They say that I can live there for free, but I would feel like such an imposition, especially because they cook for me all the time.
In other news, I am a real Tajik wedding crasher. Everyone likes me to go with them to weddings so that I can be the "token foreigner", and honestly, I never complain, because wedding food is usually pretty good. During the month of Ramazan, there were no weddings, so now there will be double the number for the next month. Today, for 1pm, I have two invitations. Tonight, with Galya, we will go to La Salsa, the mexican restaurant in town to say goodbye to Christine - whom i honestly will miss very much. She's been a great ear for all my crazy rambling stories, and it will be sad to see her go.
--As per other questions you may have--- like what do i eat every day, when I'm not at weddings - where they serve Plof or stuffed peppers -
I mostly frequent restaurants as i am normally scared of cooking myself on these oooold gas stoves.
My favorite options are "The Georgia Cafe," or "DBD" for Iranian food. At the Georgian restaurant, I get khachapuri - fried cheese in a bread - round like a pizza - and bean salad, which is the best bean salad on the planet. I often get five servings to go and keep it at home for the week. For the past week as well, I have desperately trying to get the Iranian restaurant to prepare for me 5 servings of "Oshe Reshte" which is a kind of food that I can hardly describe in English - it has wheat noodles and vegetables and greens and I guess it's a stew. The minimum amount they will prepare for me, despite it being on the menu, is 5 portions, and ordered weeks in advance!! It's a good authentic oshe-e reshte, and so i will do almost anything for it. My host mother said that she would prepare it for me, but she said that it was a clear liquid - and the Iranian style is definitely not clear - so I don't want anything by the name of Osh-e reshte to disappoint me. Otherwise, I normally eat my lunches out as well obviously and then I normally have something at a government cafeteria, which consists of mashed potatoes and cabbage in various forms. I also often go to Merve, the famous Turkish restaurant in the center of town which is apparently owned by fundamentalists....I've seen no sign of this in their working practice, unless it's because they are fundamentalists that it takes 10 minutes to get a menu sometimes.
---Wish me luck trying to get a Kazak work permit!
--Karin./
At the moment, I'm busy working on the annual report for the Bureau of Human Rights. It's not clear how I can write the annual report for an organization I just joined, but they don't always have reasonable expectations. Otherwise, I spend a lot of time emailing because the University in Kazakstan wants to have documentation of EVERYTHING on my resume/everywhere I've ever worked/and every professor I've ever known. If I actually get through the red tape, it will be a miracle - and just to work there for a semester! Mahdi calls this my "Kazakh project".
Speaking of Kazakstan, Christine is leaving tomorrow for Astana, and she has nowhere to stay because apparently the Kazaks don't trust guests. I tried to help her through my Kazakh friend Asset, but a friend of a friend of a friend is a little too distant to get security. After Kazakstan, Christine goes to Turkmenistan where she has paid for a 2000 dollar two-week tour of the country. I wonder if it will be worth the expense.
In other news, I don't know if I have told you that the Tajik woman I live with has fallen ill. About a week ago, she called the emergency medical team at midnight to the house because she thought she was having a heart attack. It wasn't, but the pain was apparently killing her, and the doctors gave her a shot to calm her down. This past Tuesday, she checked herself into the Russian hospital - and although she's sounding better, she will apparently have heart surgery at the beginning of November. For this reason, I will move back in to my old host family, as Sayorah, my roommate will be recovering in the small apartment we share - it only has 1 bedroom, which I have been using - and I can't imagine recovering from heart surgery while on a couch. She didn't ask me to leave, but my coworker who was on the phone with her at the hospital volunteered that I would move after she has her surgery. My host family has wanted me to move back in anyway, and they have a hard time explaining to their relatives and friends why I don't live with them. I don't mind living there - as they take really good care of me, but now with the grandmother there, it's a little too full of people - especially as the grandmother follows me around and doesn't talk - she just stares at me. This makes privacy a little less than last summer. The Mother though is such an amazing woman, and always welcoming - and rarely tired of my horrific American ways - like removing all the inside of a Golubtsi - stuff pepper and eating just the outside. :)
I will pay them the same amount they got last summer, just out of courtesy, because I really don't want them to feel jipped. They say that I can live there for free, but I would feel like such an imposition, especially because they cook for me all the time.
In other news, I am a real Tajik wedding crasher. Everyone likes me to go with them to weddings so that I can be the "token foreigner", and honestly, I never complain, because wedding food is usually pretty good. During the month of Ramazan, there were no weddings, so now there will be double the number for the next month. Today, for 1pm, I have two invitations. Tonight, with Galya, we will go to La Salsa, the mexican restaurant in town to say goodbye to Christine - whom i honestly will miss very much. She's been a great ear for all my crazy rambling stories, and it will be sad to see her go.
--As per other questions you may have--- like what do i eat every day, when I'm not at weddings - where they serve Plof or stuffed peppers -
I mostly frequent restaurants as i am normally scared of cooking myself on these oooold gas stoves.
My favorite options are "The Georgia Cafe," or "DBD" for Iranian food. At the Georgian restaurant, I get khachapuri - fried cheese in a bread - round like a pizza - and bean salad, which is the best bean salad on the planet. I often get five servings to go and keep it at home for the week. For the past week as well, I have desperately trying to get the Iranian restaurant to prepare for me 5 servings of "Oshe Reshte" which is a kind of food that I can hardly describe in English - it has wheat noodles and vegetables and greens and I guess it's a stew. The minimum amount they will prepare for me, despite it being on the menu, is 5 portions, and ordered weeks in advance!! It's a good authentic oshe-e reshte, and so i will do almost anything for it. My host mother said that she would prepare it for me, but she said that it was a clear liquid - and the Iranian style is definitely not clear - so I don't want anything by the name of Osh-e reshte to disappoint me. Otherwise, I normally eat my lunches out as well obviously and then I normally have something at a government cafeteria, which consists of mashed potatoes and cabbage in various forms. I also often go to Merve, the famous Turkish restaurant in the center of town which is apparently owned by fundamentalists....I've seen no sign of this in their working practice, unless it's because they are fundamentalists that it takes 10 minutes to get a menu sometimes.
---Wish me luck trying to get a Kazak work permit!
--Karin./
Monday, October 15, 2007
Happy Eid!
Greetings everyone. Last night I slept about 12 hours to recover from two days of Eid celebrations, which wouldn't have been quite so tiring except that it required being "on" whenever we visited relatives. Eid just means holiday, and it's a big holiday after the month of Ramazan, when everyone is fasting. The morning after the last day of Ramazan we wake up really really early and start the preparations. At about 6 am, we were already setting out the table cloth on the ground and putting the pillows out for any guests. By seven am, the cakes and all the sweets were already carefully arranged on the table cloths. Early in the morning, around 8 or so, all the men went to the mosque, with their own prayer rugs, to say the Eid prayers. In Iran, the women also go. Here, women do not attend the mosques. When they return from the service, they bring people with them to eat bowls of soup and samosas by 9 am. It was remarkable to once again be cooking such heavy foods that early in the morning. Besides for laying out the sweets, I had to help make the samosas - half of which were pumpkin/squash and the other half were meat. Needless to say, some of the samosas were shaped less than perfectly, but I was starting to get the hang of it. I had to also chop the onions for the samosas which was a good task, because I finally got a little practice at chopping onions all into the same shape, rather than the haphazard way my American self normally does it. The Tajik women were very excited about the prospect of my bringing Tajik style samosa cooking to Iran and the U.S. This will never happen, as making the dough properly would require another two years of practice, I imagine. Because I was cooking, I was told to wait for food until about 11, when I had the soup and samosas - and after 3 months I finally convinced them to stop dropping chunks of meat into my soup. By Noon, I was told to get dressed because it was time to travel all around Dushanbe and visit countless houses, with the relatives. It was soo tiring, because we would just plop down at someone's house, the host father would command me (as a joke, but I still had to do it) to eat 4 very untasty pistacchios and then after several prayers for the benefit of the hosts and the house we would leave. This happened about 6 times. I honestly, besides for 2 locations, don't know where I was. Everyone was soo happy though, and many people gave me presents. Giving presents is not the custom, but I believe they wanted to be nice. I gave a gift to the host parents for Eid - a nice photo album with many pictures from last summer and this current visit. They were so thrilled!- and were showing it to everyone and talking about it for days. The father actually patted me on the head as a sign of gratitude. In any case, the day after Eid all the women gathered at the grandma's house, and I had to hear about 10 times in 2 hours that I need to get married soon or else! I just smiled and ate my pomegranate, after eating two lunches before that. I can't understand why the mother gave me soup and salad for lunch half an hour before eating fried rice.
Christine is currently recording a rap song with a guy named Shekar (in English sugar). I'm anxiously awaiting the outcome of their day spent in the dusty recording studio.
In other news, I have been trying to get my Master's degree completed. I finally got Dr. Barzegar to read the entire thesis, and tell the school that it's flawless, when Dr. Gharavi got word that I had a new advisor assigned to read the paper. I have just emailed him, but the bureaucracy of getting this Iranian Master's degree two years after classes have ended is amazing. It will be nothing short of a miracle if I get the degree, especially as there are now two committee members reading my paper who have never met me.
In other news, I have had the department of social sciences at the Kazakstan Institute of Management, Economics, and Politics accept my application finally - and I will be going in the Spring to teach US government, politics, terrorism and security, and consitutitonal law. This is only after they lost my reference letters twice and corresponded with me about 50 times in order to clarify the status of my file. I tried so hard to get Julia in with me, but even after they asked me to refer them to another qualified candidate, they kept dropping the ball. Until Later.
Christine is currently recording a rap song with a guy named Shekar (in English sugar). I'm anxiously awaiting the outcome of their day spent in the dusty recording studio.
In other news, I have been trying to get my Master's degree completed. I finally got Dr. Barzegar to read the entire thesis, and tell the school that it's flawless, when Dr. Gharavi got word that I had a new advisor assigned to read the paper. I have just emailed him, but the bureaucracy of getting this Iranian Master's degree two years after classes have ended is amazing. It will be nothing short of a miracle if I get the degree, especially as there are now two committee members reading my paper who have never met me.
In other news, I have had the department of social sciences at the Kazakstan Institute of Management, Economics, and Politics accept my application finally - and I will be going in the Spring to teach US government, politics, terrorism and security, and consitutitonal law. This is only after they lost my reference letters twice and corresponded with me about 50 times in order to clarify the status of my file. I tried so hard to get Julia in with me, but even after they asked me to refer them to another qualified candidate, they kept dropping the ball. Until Later.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Ramazan, home stays, new apartment, Falling Down.
Day 19
and 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. :)
and 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. :)
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