A Different Kind of Normal: Attempts to Broaden a Humble Perspective

Барф (Barf): Snow

This morning around 8am, the first snow of the year began to fall on Khorog. I had made my way into the centre of Khorog since I was supposed to be speaking at the University, but no one told me class was cancelled. So instead, I took some pictures. It was nice to wander around the park and enjoy the sound-dampening effect of the snow and the complete change in scenery. When the snow is particularly heavy I can no longer see the mountains, thus eliminating the feeling of living in a bowl. However, as the snow lightens and the clouds rise but are still low enough to cover the peaks, the mountains seem taller and more dominating than ever.

Unlike Toronto, there is no immediate (or any) road salting/sanding system here. Consequently, and much like in Toronto, the first day of snow causes some drivers to take it easy (as in my driver into town that drove at about 2km/hr the entire way) while catching others off guard – I’ve already seen two and heard of one accident in a two hour span. The slippy streets are also proving to be fun/disastrous for pedestrians with kids skating around and others – me, for example – wildly flailing their arms around, trying not to wipe out. (Apparently the snowy/icy roads are more common in UPD, the area of town where I work, as most of the day it sits in the shadow of the mountain – brrr!)

So I’m a little, okay – a lot – behind with my blogging. Fall has come and is quickly out the door and I feel like I’ve barely had time to comment on some of the changes that I have noticed with the changing weather.

1) Scenery

During the summer months, I wouldn’t necessary describe the Tajik landscape as ‘lush’ or ‘green’, but there has been a noticeable difference as the weather has become colder. Driving through the villages, the vibrant reds and gold of the trees beautifully contrast with the mountains, which seem to have taken on a purple-ish hue. Fields that were once waist high with wheat and hay are now cut down to the ground and dotted with piles of mulch, which I have still not figured out the use for. Houses are topped with pyramids of bundled hay that will be used during the winter months as animal food, and as an additional benefit, I imagine it provides some sort of insulation to housing. As well, the previously barren roads and fields are now flooded with sheep, goats and cows that have come down from their summer pastures – when driving through the districts (as rare as that might be), I can now expect to hit at least one livestock traffic jam.

In Khorog centre, the mountains surrounding our little valley have become white on the tops with the snow slowly creeping down, although it has not yet settled in the town itself. The trees in the park have turned from green to yellow and are now shedding their leaves, which women are busily sweeping up every morning when I walk to work.

2) People

Pedestrian traffic on the roads has remained at a fairly constant volume, but has become substantially duller as everyone bundles up in black jackets and women have traded in their traditional dresses for skinny-leg pants and their peep-toe sandals for knee-high stiletto boots. The colour and vibrancy that has disappeared with the dresses is partially made up for in women’s scarves, which are worn for both fashion and function.

3) The market

Living in cities and suburbs in Canada I have only been vaguely aware of how changing seasons affects the availability of produce. While items usually become more plentiful when they are in season, it’s not like they disappear when they are out of season. So it has been interesting to see the fluctuation on fruits and vegetables at the market – During the summer the main item would change from week to week where I could find an abundance of apricots one and tomatoes the next – but there was always a decent amount of variety. Now stalls are overflowing with apples and root vegetables while other fresh produce is becoming increasingly scarce.

Those are the main things that I have noticed changing as the mercury continues to drop – which itself has resulted in perpetually cold extremities, scheduled blackouts in the morning and evenings, pilates ‘warm-up’ sessions, and the consumption of mass quantities of tea. As the leaves continue to fall from the trees, the people continue to bundle up in their drab attire and Khorog becomes increasingly brown and grey, a part of me looks forward to the snow to brighten things up. The other part is petrified now that I have started to experience what it’s like without central heating….

14 hours of driving + 3 Cars + 2 Forty-percent-plus iron springs + 2 Fortresses + 1 hotspring + 15 naked women + 1 natural womb + 1 set of lost car keys + 1 lock jimmying + 1 hot wiring + 1 mixed tape + 3 Canadian girls = 1 awesome weekend.

When finding a car to travel, it is important to show up at least two hours before you actually want to leave – not realizing this before hand, we didn’t make it out on the road until about 11:20am. Leg one of our trip to Ishkashim saw us travel in a packed Marshrutka for just over 3 hours – a mini-van of glory which was missing the rear window (replaced with a piece of ply-wood) and the back of the front passenger seat. As we drove down the valley along the river towards Ishkashim, we stopped a couple times to drink from some springs that tasted a lot like bubbly, liquid pennies – perhaps this was due to the 45% iron content in the water – No need to worry about iron deficiency on this trip, that’s for sure. As we continued on, I was excited to see the closed mountain valleys open up and witness the closest thing to a horizon that I’ve seen since being here – I must admit, it did cause a little bit of agoraphobia. The broadened landscape also included many fields of rocks left behind from previous rock/landslides. The distance from the mountains which these slides had traveled was astounding – something that would be amazing to watch – on the TV anyway.

Drinking 45% iron water

We pulled into Ishkashim with no idea how we were continuing our journey or how much farther we actually wanted to go. Somehow, we ended up in the backseat of a Toyota Corolla that would take us to Kakaha Fortress about an hour and a half a way and then a town about 20km past that. We were aware (thanks to the Lonely Planet guide) that Tajik border guards were currently occupying the fortress but that they mainly resided in the upper fortress, so we proceeded cautiously as we snapped shots of the historical site. Inevitably, two border guards showed up – whether they were on their schedulled patrol or just coming out to shoo us away, I’m not sure. I’m also not sure why, but I was more afraid of their reluctance to break a smile or even a grin than I was of their giant guns. I’m not sure what explains my lack of knee-jerk terror at the sight of a machine gun – It’s not like I’ve grown up around guns to be comfortable with them. Perhaps it’s the absence of seeing their effects that leaves me with an underdeveloped sense of caution and fear. Anyway, as we drove on, our drivers made the suggestion of continuing on to stay in a village near the Yamchun Fort and Bibi Fatima springs. Since these were locations we were debating visiting anyway, we figured that we may as well extend our journey. And so our adventure continued – for a total of 7 hours of driving in one day which finished with the ascent of a very steep, very narrow road in the dark, resulting in one frantic evacuation and car pushing at one point.

The beginning of the Wakhan Valley

Lone tee in the wind

Wakhan Valley in the moonlight

We stayed the night in a friend of the drivers house – I am still not sure whether this was a legitimate homestay or whether we just crashed some woman’s house. Regardless, she was super sweet, with her 7 children – the yougest with curly hair of gold…kind of like Cindy Brady…Mattresses were laid out on the floor for the three of us, which seemed to disappoint our two drivers who were made to sleep on the porch. Early-ish the next morning, we ate breakfast and bid our new friend adieu as we head a kilometer up the road to the next fort. Even though it was quite foggy that morning, the views were magnificent and the vastness of the valley was just breath-taking.

Yamchun Fort

Yamchun Fort

Clenching to the wall for dear life

As we were leaving the Fort, we ran into some other travelers from Poland who had just been at the hot springs. The woman said it was amazing and happened to mention the hilarity of getting into the tiny pool with a bunch of naked local women….I didn’t really hear anything else she said since I was stuck on the whole ‘naked in a bathtub’ thing which, admittedly, has always made me squeemish at gyms and spas. Ultimately I decided to ante up – this was a once in a lifetime thing, and could definitely be used towards my ‘do something that you are afraid of/that makes you uncomfortable” quota so I better just get over myself and do it. Because the spring alternates 30 minutes between males and females, we had to wait about 40 minutes for our turn. It was only as I walked into the little change-room with about 12 other women that I began to panic a bit, but again, forced myself to get over it, peel down and jump in. After my awkward decent into the pool I realized that the spring itself was actually quite amazing – a man-made building completely concealed the natural cave and spring, which had smooth grey walls, awesome stalactite formations and clean hot water. I was also pleasantly suprised by the lack of sulfur smell. Eventually I noticed the 1.5′ x 1′ hole in the wall leading to a smaller cave – to which a local lady gestured that I should go inside. After I declined and thought to myself – “are you kidding!? How can a person fit in there? And who knows what’s in there!” – she herself proceeded to climb on in. A bit of back-story – In addition to being beneficial for ailments in general, the Bibi Fatima hot spring spring is believed to improve fertility in women because the womb-like shape of the spring is thought to represent that of – well I can only assume Bibi Fatima. Anyway – after seeing that a human can successfully make it in and out of that hole, I put aside my claustrophobia and climbed in to the womb. The water in this tiny, one-person cave was much hotter than in the main pool and if you looked up there was a tunnel that presumably continued to the outside. Given that I was afraid to put my feet down, I’m not sure this was as relaxing an experience as it should have been, but at least I can say that I’ve done it.

Chaos ensued after we left the spring when we learned that while waiting for us, our driver had accidentally thrown his only set of car keys into the river, essentially leaving us stranded and with our backpacks locked in the trunk. Then the lady who is in charge of the springs also chased the three of us down and started harassing us about not having paid to go in the spring when we had indeed, at the command of the other women there, slipped our money into a box by the spring door. Once we caved and gave her more money we were left in peace to try and break our way into the car while the owners of the car tried to find the keys on the bottom of the rushing river. Highlights of this ordeal include: Our new travel companion busting a 2′ piece of barbed wire out of her bag to try and help us unlock the car, being consoled/yelled at by 5 women bundled in 25lbs of layers to retain the heat of the springs, an upside down man trying to hotwire the car, getting the car started with a screwdriver only to realize the power steering had been dismantled, getting the car started again, getting back to Ishkashim.

The outside of Bibi Fatima and the river that ate the car keys

Our driver trying to break into his car with barbed wire

Once we returned to Ishakshim, we were back in the position of trying to find a ride back to Khorog – quite the ordeal on a Sunday. But, after about an hour of waiting and haggling and waiting some more, our driver pulled up in some crazy contraption they called a car: Picture the body of a bright red, vinage Volkswagon rabbit on the wheels and suspention of a monster truck. Reluctantly, but in desperation, we crawled in to this dune-buggy of insanity and made our way home. Notables on this leg of the trip: The heating system: blaring and the source may as well have been directly from the exaust. The music: Again, blaring and an interesting Russian fusion of death metal and polka (Think Rammstein + The chicken dance). The driver: A really tense man who had a thing for driving as far left on the road as possible. This is problematic for two reasons – First, traiffic in Tajikistan typically flows on the right side. Second, the river, therefore 10m-20m drops, ran along the left side of the road and given the drivers less than rapid reflexes, I thought we were doomed on several occasions. On the plus side, it was a quick ride home since the driver liked to drive about 100km/h (an estimate, given that the dial read 10km/h for the entire trip) which is completely unheard of on these road, but given the suped-up suspension, the ride was relatively smooth.

More pictures of this weekend on flicker at http://www.flickr.com/photos/40648101@N06/sets/72157622478191720/

Today I gave my first presentation at work as part of a training session for the people who will be monitoring our project impacts on schools in the GBAO region. I was feeling relatively confident about it (relatively is the key word – normally I lose sleep and have anxiety attacks in the 24 hours preceding a presentation. Today there was minimal anxiety and almost indifference – perhaps the mass quantities of Vodka I drank last night are a cure to my usually overactive nerves) until my audience walked in: A group of 50 something year old men who seemed to be thinking “I have been doing this so long, why am I being subjected to this” and then when they realized that I was the one who was doing the presentation, following this up with “and by HER??”.

Admittedly, I also questioned whether these men really could or would respect me or buy into the importance of what I was saying since they are older, more experienced, local and male while I am young, inexperienced, female and from Canada? Indeed, even my translator (of the same age, nationality and gender as my audience) seemed to take what I was saying and make it ‘more valid’ with his elaborate ad-libbing and overshadowing (Often my three sentence blurb turned into a three minute translation and I was several times notified when I continued with what was left on my slide that “He had already covered that”.) And despite the fact that I was the one giving the presentation, it was almost as if I was invisible. Granted, I was speaking a different language than everyone else, but people barely acknowledged that I was in the room with eye-contact or a nod, let alone directing any questions to me (via the interpreter). Rather, they just directed any questions to questions with the assumption that he was the one who knew all the answers. Anyway, this was the first time that I felt like the legitimacy of the message was actually dependent on the person delivering it.

I also had to wonder how much these men would buy into the message itself, regardless of who was delivering it. From talking with co-workers in my organization and with other expats in the community, it sounds like professionals in Tajikistan, whether in education, health or otherwise, seem to be resistant to incorporating new ideas, regardless of the new techniques, knowledge, skills that could enhance one’s practice. I’ve seen glimpses of this phenomenon before during my masters and previous fellowship, with well established physicians resisting advances in medical education and practices simply because it’s not the way that they learned it. But what I have experienced before is nothing compared to resistance I’ve heard about here, where you can be chastised for even suggesting an alternative method.

I must clarify that this ‘I know better than you’ attitude seems to be limited to people educated and trained during the soviet era and is even reversed in the younger generation amongst whom my Canadian identity carries a lot of weight. Specifically, there is a general belief that because I’m from a developed country I automatically know more about everything and my young(ish) age, lack of experience and gender are completely disregarded (not that I’m complaining about the gender thing as this is a step in the right direction – I’m just shoving it here for contrasting purposes).

To be honest I’m not sure I’m comfortable with either of these roles in which I find myself placed. I know that I know more than nothing, but also know that I don’t know everything.

The summer is on its way out and the autumn, it’s way in. My arms become pleasantly numb on my early morning walk to work as I still insist on wearing short sleeves to work. Leaves are changing and falling, and snow is making a lasting appearance on the mountain tops in the early morning chill. It’s all very…brisk. As is my office which is nestled on the shady side of the mountain and doesn’t warm up until well into the afternoon – if ever. Layers of sweater-vests, cardigans and scarves are mandatory now.
The rain made it’s first real appearance yesterday – too early according to the locals. I have already been soaked by a passing car driving through a puddle (which are abundant on the pot-hole laden roads). Also rolling in are the apples! Everyday a bushel end up on my desk from co-workers gardens – I have so far bitten into three that have worms, but am starting to regard them as extra protein rather than gross. Provided the rain can hold out just a little bit longer, the fall is promising to be beautiful in Khorog.

All summer long I had heard about how come September 1st there is a different vibe in Khorog once the school year starts (the date is the same EVERY year) – I can verify that this is completely true. In the morning on the first, I could stand on my front porch and hear opening ceremonies blaring from the nearby government buildings or local university: statements in Shugni followed by the wild cheers of what sounded like the entire city. I have never heard people so excited to return to class. The normally barren streets that seemed so peaceful on my walk to work in the morning were now flooded with boys, girls and university students excitedly making their way to school. This new hustle and bustle has persisted over the second week of school and has provided a wealth of visual entertainment to brighten up my walk to work in the morning.

Something I had been wondering about here is how girls decide whether they will wear their traditional dress to school or a modern outfit. I wonder if girls judge other girls based on what they wear like they do in North America – whether ones in traditional dress would be considered prudent or the ones in modern clothes considered trashy (these descriptors are based on the types of criticisms I remember from school and movies like Mean Girls or Heathers – not what I have heard or seen here). Do they base their friendships on what they wear? Are some girls cooler than others based on their type of clothes? It seems that at the elementary level, these issues have been eliminated by the use of uniforms. While not all children wear the same outfit, boys generally wear dress pants and shirts (and I have seen the occasional three piece suit) and girls wear black bottoms and white blouses. I presume this flexibility is to give parents the option of how much they will spend on an outfit, but this is only an assumption. All the girls who are aged roughly ten and under adorn their hair with giant white poofs of taffeta – it is very cute and slightly ridiculous at the same time. I’m not sure whether this is only this year’s trend or something that is more traditional in nature. The older girls are ultra-fashionable, often pushing the limits with the length of their skirts and the height of their heels (yes – tweens and teens wearing black patent heels to class).

School girls walking around the park at the Independence Day festivities

Uniforms

Girls performing at the celebration in their school uniforms

The hair bows

While the kids in primary and secondary school amaze me with their fashion sense (I remember wearing my dad’s jeans and t-shirts to school when I was in grade 7 – fairly indicative of my fashion sense both then and now) I have been absolutely blown away by the fashion show outside of the university. Women (dressed in both traditional dresses and uber-chic fashion-ware) wait for class with their high end (looking, anyway) purses and shoes with their hair painstakingly coiffed (contrast this with me, with my MEC backpack, chacos and ‘I can’t be bothered to brush my hair’ ponytail). A friend from work has told me that it is more important to be dressed to impressed than it is to have your school work done when you come to lectures. Again, I can’t help but contrast this to my days back in waterloo where it was normal to show up un-showered, in pyjama pants and oversized sweat-shirts with some sort of sock-birkenstock combo.

The last thing that makes me smile whenever I see it is the group of guys coming around the corner which is highly reminiscent of a scene from Reservoir Dogs. Because the males are usually in groups of 5-10, are all wearing their plain black suits with crisp white shirts and seem to walk unnaturally slow, I can’t help but think of this every time I see them walking down the street towards me. One day I will work up the nerve to snap a pic of this.

The pictures are from my Independence Day photoset on flickr. Check them out here:

When I first came to Tajikistan, I had this vision of fully immersing myself within the culture so that I would ‘really learn something’ and go through this personal transformation. And in my first few weeks here I expressed how I didn’t want to be one of those people who only hangs out with other expats and lives a Canadian life, just transplanted to a different environment. Two months later and I feel like I have become exactly the person I was trying to avoid; All of the people I hang out with here are expats. The things I do outside of work seem to lack any influence of Tajik culture and the things I do at work are the same that I would have done in Toronto. The food I cook here is the food I would at home in Canada (well – not entirely – I’d like to think I’m a better chef at home where I have four burners, a proper oven and a Loblaws around the corner). The conversations I have here are the same as the ones that I would normally have with friends over a pint on a patio. So, in coming to terms with my Canadian-transplanted-in-Tajikistan way of living, I have been forced to reassess what exactly I defined as ‘cultural immersion’ in the first place, how was I expecting to know when I had achieved it and how do I define these things now?

I have learned that cutting myself off from Canada and the Western-world cold-turkey was an unrealistic goal. When being faced with a constant feeling of unfamiliarity with everything – people, food, customs, language, environment – it only makes sense to want to seek out familiar things, comfortable things. But now that I have settled down and am comfortable with my surroundings, there really is no excuse for continuing to hide away in this cocoon of familiarity. This doesn’t necessarily mean a complete life change, but at least a little effort to shake things up a bit. Indeed, I have found myself stuck in a routine-rut – somewhere I also often myself in Canada and I’m learning that I really need to make a greater effort to jolt myself out of these.

Right now, I am particularly alarmed by the fact that I rarely converse with people from Tajikistan unless they can speak English (perhaps not so unreasonable given that my Tajik is still horrible and my Shugni and Russian are non existent). And even with the few Tajik people I do converse with, I rarely probe them to get to know how they feel about life in Tajikstan. One reason for this is the fear I still have about being too invasive – As a stranger and a foreigner, will I offend people when I ask them about why they are so fond to reminisce about the Soviet era? Am I being too personal when I ask what their experiences were like during the civil war? Their thoughts on Tajikistan as a one of the world’s poorest countries and how this affects them? Or how people in the community feel about subjects like relationships, homosexuality, divorce…couple this fear with my naturally shy and introverted nature and I guess it’s no surprise haven’t really talked with anyone.

Another reason I’ve found it so difficult to ‘integrate’ is because there are no obvious venues at which I can do so. There are no local or national teams for whom people flock to the nearest watering hole to cheer on. There are no watering holes of any sort, period. There are no coffee shops. No community centres (that I’ve found). So I am stuck questioning: Where people go to meet one another – Where do they go for social interaction? I suppose there are a plethora of people in the park, but as I have learned on a few occasions, those most likely to approach me there are the…interesting…ones (Though I did get a free, however revolting, ice-cream out of one of these interactions).

Regardless of whether my lack of community involvement is due to my own fears and insecurities or because I just don’t know where to find people, I do know that at this point I am feeling unfulfilled, and that I want to experience and learn more. I want to learn about how families interact and operate, what their houses are like, what their lives are like, how they entertain themselves, what they value and what they reject. I’m also curious about simple things like how they cook and what chores they do. Basically understanding a day in the life of a Tajik person. I want to have people here to keep in touch with when I leave. And I know I’m not going to be able to accomplish any of this from the comfort of my own couch.

I have also realized that this whole immersion thing is not an all or nothing topic – I don’t have to completely shut of my Canadian side in order to ‘be successful’ (whatever that means) at developing my Tajik side. I think that finding the appropriate balance or an ‘acceptable’ level of involvement is not something I can pre-plan and is something I’m just going to have to feel out as I go – another challenge that I’ve been dealing with a lot here: Tajikistan is not a great place for planning in advance and is definitely forcing me to grow in the ‘go with the flow’ department.

I have become much less introspective since I have adapted and normalized here. Because I’m not feeling myself challenged on a daily basis I have found it all too easy to slip into this state of acceptance, void of critical or reflective thought. In Canada, I generally avoid self-reflection as it often leads to self-criticizing more than anything else. I have found myself back in this state again despite my best intentions to force myself into facing my own thoughts and feelings – both about myself and the world that I am living in. So, the next couple of blog entries will be dedicated to some of the things that I have noticed or have briefly made their way through my brain in the past few weeks. I’ll break them up in to ‘reflection on Tajikistan’ and ‘self reflection’ so that both you and I don’t become overwhelmed.

Reflections about Tajikistan

One obvious trait the people of Tajikistan have demonstrated is a strong sense of community (versus the very individualistic nature of North America). While in my first days at work I felt like it was going to be very independent – everyone seems to be responsible for their own cog in the overall machine with little collaborative or group work, a mentality I feel has been left over from the Soviet era – I quickly learned that this is where focusing on “me” and “I” and “my” stopped. It seems that in most other respects, people are concerned with the “us” and “our”. Within the professional environment, work has primarily been independent but when it comes to more social functions, such as tea, lunch and snacks (essentially food), it is definitely a group affair. Every morning and some afternoons, we have choy, which is made by the pot to accommodate the five people in my office and served with a variety of cookies, chocolates and fruit from someone’s garden. Often in the afternoon, someone will disappear for a few minutes only to return with a watermelon or bag of cookies for the office. These types of experiences are totally different from my typical morning and afternoon tea/coffee where I would go to the nearest Tim Horton’s to pick up a beverage and muffin for myself, rarely asking if anyone else wanted anything, and never just bringing something back for everyone. Indeed, I felt like quite the ass pulling out my own ziplock bag of cookies or raisins and nuts with no intention of sharing only to realize how communal everything else is. In a personal context, everyone seems to be looking out for everyone else: children and grand-children will move to different cities or villages to take care of their elders. The elders will gladly take care of and take in the grandchildren as the parents head to work without the option of day cares. And I have yet to see a homeless person in Khorog – not because there is not poverty and hardship here, but presumably because families, friends and neighbours care too much to let others live on the street and beg. I’ve also witnessed this generosity extend beyond co-workers, family and friends and be extended to us as complete strangers. In many of the smaller villages, people are always (enthusiastically) offering fruit off their trees, bread and treats from their pantries, a portion of their dinner and a pot of choy regardless of the inconvenience or burden it may be for them. It’s just such a giving culture here; I cannot even imagine what they must think when they visit developed countries with a ‘me, myself and I’ mentality where we rarely go out of our way to say hello to others, let alone help anyone else out. In a way, it makes me feel a little bit ashamed and somewhat embarrassed.  Just to go off on a random tangent – A woman in my office once spent a year in the States studying education and has talked about how she loves the clean and organized grocery stores and Walmart that are open 24/7. She is embarrassed when foreigners come to Khorog and must sort through various vendors who are vying for your business and buy everything from giant bulk bags that sit on the floor. This is not something I have an issue with here – in fact I quite enjoy the experience of wandering through the outdoor market, navigating the busy crowds, looking at the variety (or repetition) of things that people have to offer. And now that I am starting to learn who has the best of what and who has what special and unique items (like good cheese, olive oil, soy sauce, chips), my shopping trips are significantly less hectic then they were in the beginning.

To get back on track…

Despite the strong sense of community here I have also noticed a very prominent division on the streets. I will often see groups of people hanging around together, but only recently paid enough attention to realize that these are generally all female or all male gatherings. When going to the park here, I always get a strong sense of family and community, but when I look closer, I realize it’s usually all mothers or all fathers with their children. Rarely have I seen the full mother/father/child combination all together (there are some people who would bust me about subscribing to a ‘hegemonic family image’ or ‘heteronormity in this statement, but really, in Tajikistain, this is the way it is). Come to think of it, I never really see husbands and wives or boyfriends and girlfriends out in the street together. This divide extends to more formal social gatherings, such as weddings. I am generalizing from my one and only wedding experience here, but it was commonly understood that people would divide to sit at separate male and female tables. I can only image the scandal surrounding my co-ed table. I will have to investigate this further.

One thing I have been struggling with is what a developing country ‘should’ look like. My previous perception was obviously tainted by too many WorldVision commercials featuring orphaned and starving children and communities depicted as disease ridden, poor, uneducated, depressed, unproductive and hopeless. While I won’t deny that these places do exist, it is not a particularly accurate depiction of what is going on in Tajikistan. In Tajikistan people have an amazingly high rate of literacy (nearly 100%); people attend universities (quite a few of the 20-something year olds I have talked to in both the town and in villages talk/boast about returning to University in Khorog or Dushanbe in the fall) and have ‘professional’ jobs (granted, these are generally quite low paying) to which they wear ultra-fashionable accessories/clothes; they have food on the table and stable roofs over their heads which usually also house many modern amenities; they have strong family bonds and are generally happy. I must point out, this is primarily based on what I have seen in Dushanbe and Khorog, two ‘urban’ centres. But even from what I have seen in villages, life here is better classified as rustic or simple than impoverished. I have spent a lot of time questioning what I am doing here –Am I really contributing to development when they already seemed to be…well…developed? But I am starting to think that development isn’t always performed in places where the poverty is blatantly obvious, but is also necessary in places such as Tajikistan, where basic foundations for health, education, the economy, the environment, etc. are in place but need a little help in terms of capacity building.

I had the opportunity to experience my first Pamiri wedding on the weekend – and it seems like it’s my kind of wedding: A three hour maximum and a cap on the guest list (both by law here), minimal decorations, a ton of food waiting for you as you sit down, minimal speeches and maximal dancing. Because I attended this wedding with people from my work and was a last minute invitee, thus felt a bit like a wedding crasher, I was a little bit very self-conscious about making any faux-pas at the table or on the dance floor. However, I was relieved to see that customs are very much like at home and was actually complimented quite a bit on my Pamiri dancing by my colleagues as I busted a move with the Deputy Director of my organization on the dance floor. The three hours was a nice mix of eating, dancing and resting for speeches. The bride was traditionally dressed in red and remained veiled for the duration of the celebration. Neither her nor the groom ate anything or took to the dance floor, and aside from the procession of dancing, drumming and cheers that proceeded them in and out of the reception, they essentially sat as if on display for the entire three hours.

I also had the opportunity to do some more camping on the weekend. After getting a bit of a late start to find ride, six of us crammed into the back of a mini-bus and took off for about 45 minutes South of Khorog. Upon arriving, we climbed up steep mountain terrain between villages and back down into a valley and then back up to high pastures. It was an amazing view sitting on the side of a mountain right on the border with the valleys extending away from us in multiple directions. Unfortunately, we became a little bit too enthusiastic in our climbing (as you will see from my pictures) and trekked into terrain that was very steep and highly unstable – a member of our group tumbled about 20m down the side of the mountain ultimately breaking his wrist and ending up quite battered and bruised. We were lucky it wasn’t worse, but this whole experience has been a good reminder that I am not invincible here and that I shouldn’t be so stupid in the future. The farmers from this village played an integral part in helping our friend going as far as to run up the mountain (no easy feat – I was exhausted just going up twice) with genuine concern for our friend’s well-being.

The Panj – to the West-ish

The Panj – to the South-Ish

Climbing up in to terrain that we shouldn’t really be. Overly steep and very unstable.

If you look closely in the top right hand side of this picture, you can see Gordon. Again, not the best place to be.

Aside from this unfortunate incident, the rest of stay was pleasant. Village people, amongst whom we seemed to be famous (or infamous) from the day’s prior excitement, were extremely hospitable and curious, and joined us on the high pasture to keep us company, encourage us to come stay in their warm houses and bring us loads of apples, apricots and kefir for breakfast. We learned more about the farming practice and how men from the village would come to collect hay from these pastures in 40-50lbs bundles, carry them down on their back and then repeat, up to 20 times a day! We were also fortunate enough to catch the tail end of the meteor shower that’s been happening since the end of July and see a plethora of satellites orbiting overhead. If lying on the beach at the cottage is the ultimate place to be watching starry sky, lying on the top of a mountain pasture is definitely a close second.

You can get a nice contrast between Afghanistan (left of river) and Tajikistan (right of river) here.

As per usual, there are many more pictures up on Flickr at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/40648101@N06/sets/72157622138202440/

Since I’m already a week late, I’ll keep the post short. Friday evening involved wandering around in the dark with a pot full of Grandma K’s cucumber salad searching for a supposed housewarming party for an expat couple that is actually leaving this weekend and next. It was a nice get together with a mixed group of people, a lot of chicken, some awesome stringy cheese and as per usual, vodka. After a ton of great conversation and a little bit of dancing by some, Jamila called it a night and headed home much later than we’re used to – Midnight. On Saturday, we went to the market for the typical grocery run but this time stopped at one of the ‘fast food’ tables that I had previously been so weary about (just as I had been with yoghurt, meat, eggs and fresh veggies which I have otherwise successfully integrated into my diet again). I figured my stomach had been settled down for a while now so I should be able to handle it. We picked a random lady serving plov and just as we were putting the first forkfuls into our mouths, she started gesturing how she was feeling sick in the head in the stomach – awesome. We finished it anyway. Sunday Jamila forced me (thankfully) to go for my first run – a combination of not having run since June and running at an altitude of 2100m made for one of the most painful 4.5k I have ever run – Hopefully I’ll make it out again. After recuperating, we went to another expat’s house who graciously agreed to hold a “Baking at high-altitude and with minimal ingredients 101” class. There we learned how to make backing soda biscuits and cinnamon rolls – mmm! They also made us these fabulous omlettes – so at least I know there is hope in cooking something decent for myself while I’m here.

Biscuits – I got so distracted by eating that I forgot to take a final product pic

Who needs a mixer?

Gooey goodness!

In the late afternoon, Jamila and I went for a walk/hike up the hill from our to Khufak – a village that reminds me of a brown Santorini minus the water and whose name I feel completely inappropriate saying out loud. It’s a fun place to explore but without having to go on a multi-hour long hike. On our way back, we came across and followed the water-channel that runs across the side of the mountain through the residential area. It was like stepping into a whole other world as we walked down the tranquil path flanked by the water and local gardens. A completely different side of Khorog that will be a nice place to go for relaxing walks in the future.

People are very good about using the materials that are available, but I’m not sure if this is by choice or because there is no other affordable option. Either way, it adds character

From the look of other cars (overturned or not) in this area, this car will probably sit here until it’s parts are scavenged and nothing is left

Narnia?