January 12, 2012

Attended my last presentation on Washington, D. C. at the Operation Mercy NGO, but found that the 35 or so students crammed into the small classroom were a lot more loquacious than their previous counterparts and knew a lot more about popular culture than I had anticipated. Like many teenagers, the girls were swooning over Justin Bieber and they thought he was American instead of Canadians. During the short break, they girls kept humming a song apparently titled “Never”. Johan told them that if they were good students, he’d play the video for them after lunch.

We were treated once again to salad, flat bread and plov with fruit for dessert. I asked Shoria, a graduate of the Institute for Languages, if Tajiks ever had proper dessert after their meals and she said no. I tried to see Linda, the English teacher for some of the PedInst, but she appeared to be busy with a report and I left right after lunch.

We had brilliant sunshine again and a dazzling display of the mountains all around us. I walked alongside Rudaki Avenue until I found the place to laminate some of the activities I’ll need for my upcoming workshops. While those were getting done, I went a few business south to print the photos I had taken of both Zoir and Pariso.

When I got home, I ran into Maryam coming down the stairs. She signaled to me that I should stop at her apartment and talk to Nilufar. The latter told today was her birthday and she wanted me to join them around 6:00pm. I felt bad I didn’t have a present to offer her and was in no way prepared to walk back to Rudaki Avenue to find something appropriate. I went up to my flat to take a nap, something I really needed since I had woken up before 4:00am that morning.

I waited until 6:20 to knock on Nilufar’s door and still, there was no one there but her immediate family. I learned that her father had slipped and fell right in front of the apartment building on January sixth and fractured his wrist. He had a cast on it and carried it on a sling while watching TV next to his son-in-law and grandson. I had brought her a bag of taffy candy I had leftover from when Nancy was here for a visit.

Maryam had the usual spread of salads, flat bread, juices, and candy that reminded me of the Little Eid celebration. Later on, she brought out a hot dish that tasted like rolled dough that had been steamed and then served with sour cream, I think she called it hanoman. It was another bland, barely edible dish I hope not to encounter again. We waited for her sister, nephew and best friend to arrive because the latter spoke English and could help us communicate. Muazama is an older woman who is the chairperson of another NGO, The Foundation to Support Civil Initiatives, and we talked for a while about all the questions I had about Maryam and her family but hadn’t been able to ask due to the language barrier. For instance, she told me the plot of land across from the apartment complex that I have been eyeing for a community garden, belongs to her husband. I didn’t dare ask how he came to own it, but did let her know I’d love to be able to sow a few seeds there next spring.

                                                Impressive cake baked by Nilufar.

                                                               
                                                                  Nilufar and her baby

                                                           
                                                           Another spread

                                         
                                                       Maryam giving me a tight hug.

                                              Nilufar showing off the makeup around her eyes.

Nilufar had baked her own cake and, without any ceremony or singing of any kind, proceeded to cut it into slices, huge ones at that, and passed it on. The men remained in the dining room watching TV the whole time. I was exhausted and begged to be allowed to leave after taking some photos that I could post on Facebook for Nilufar’s benefit.