December 30, 2011

I had set my alarm for 6:00am to make sure I could make it to the American Corner by 8:00 so as to meet Corrie, Shafoat and the embassy driver there for our trip to Khulob. Corrie showed up fifteen minutes late and the embassy people showed up at 8:25am. Cooling my heels out on the sidewalk was not very pleasant in the 32 degree weather. Observing the Tajik women come and go around me I noticed that their boots are not made just for protection against the cold weather. Instead they feature such details as pleats, snaps, beadwork, tassels, pompons and glitter so they can make a fashion statement along the way.

When the embassy car arrived, we drove to the School of Journalism to pick up a young woman who was going to give a presentation at one of the universities in Khulob. She had spent two years in the United States, but her English was halting at best. I asked Shafoat if we were going to stop along the way, we had a three hour car ride, at least for tea so I could use a bathroom and she said no, that we were expected to make a non-stop ride and wouldn’t even be having lunch there. That didn’t make any sense to me for I couldn’t go seven hours without any sustenance. The driver was one of those macho aggressive type tailgating cars in front, trying to pass even when it was unsafe and breaking suddenly when not allowed to. He wasn’t wearing his seatbelt, which I’m sure goes against the embassy’s rules. He was gruff guy and seemed to speak little English so I gave up attempts to make small talk with him. Shafoat wasn’t any better as she had no information about the landmarks we passed. The driver did make a stop when he spotted a toilet next to a gas station thus allowing me to relieve myself.

I began to feel nauseous and lightheaded after riding for a few kilometers and the feeling never went way as I hate riding in the back seat and motion sickness  comes easily, but especially so when the driver is as erratic in its maneuvers as this one was. I contemplated whether I could file a complaint against the driver next time I visited the embassy compound.

The day was overcast and remained so all day. We could see lots of people gathered at the markets and along the road where vendors were selling butchered sheep, turkeys and other animals in preparation for the New Year’s celebration. We got to Khulob at noon and Shafoat reiterated that no lunch was available, as people in Khulob didn’t know how to cook, and we’d eat when we returned to Dushanbe.

I ignored her comment and turned to the American Corner’s coordinator and asked him for a place to eat nearby. He asked what I wanted to eat and I said anything as long as it was fresh and hot. He took us to a kitchen located within the university campus where two women were cooking soup. We had a delicious salad, soup and tea, and the coordinator refused to allow us to pay. He even presented each of us with a hand carved platter where Tajiks traditionally served kurtob and which they call a tabac. It was then time to meet the teachers and students who wanted to have a chance to practice their English with native speakers.

The American Corner in Khulob consists of two rooms, one dedicated to computers where students can learn to use them and get online access, and a general one where set up our materials for a workshop on using games to reinforce vocabulary. There was no power at that point and it was pretty chilly inside. We got about 12 teachers and a couple of students and got to carry out about four different games before being told that the embassy car was waiting for us outside. It was only 2:10pm.

My throat was parched from all the talking and the driver agreed to stop at a local grocery store where we all bought drinks. Shafot requested the driver also stopped so she could buy the Tajik version of chapatti bread, a thin circular flat bread that can easily serve twelve people. The market was set up directly on the ground and it was incredibly muddy, crowded and noisy.

It started to rain/snow on the way back and at certain point a heavy fog enveloped everything. Except for the driver and myself, everybody else went to sleep despite the bone-jarring ride, sudden stops and constant swerving of the driver hell bent on getting back to Dushanbe as soon as possible.

Shoafat indicated we’d be dropped off at the American Corner, but I knew my bladder would not stand the 25 minute walk back to my apartment and it was snowing lightly when we got into the city. Corrie invited me to have dinner with her anywhere in town, but I couldn’t think of a place I’d find appealing. Instead, I asked her to come with me to my flat and I’d make a quick pasta dish for the two of us.  I asked Shafoat if they could drop us off close to the Children’s park and could see the disapproving look of the driver when he heard the request. I had been sending him signals that I disapproved of the way he was driving and there was no love lost between us. He muttered something under his breath, but complied and dropped us off at the corner of Shotemur and Terzunsonda.

I was able to make an outstanding pasta dish by browning pieces of  salami in olive oil, adding crushed garlic, minced onion, chopped Roma tomatoes, and some pickled mushrooms I had bought at the market. Corrie made a pot of tea and we pigged out on our delicious concoction. We both had seconds and luckily there was still enough leftovers for another meal.