April 1, 2012

I woke up to the sound of rain drumming on the roof. Knowing that I had a lunch date with Mr. Boron at 12:00pm made me go through the morning rituals faster than usual. I then took the trolley to Sarbarh Market from where I needed to transfer to the #4 trolley, but such trolley was nowhere in sight. I waited for about 15 minutes and still no trolley, so I called him to let him I might be a few minutes late and then changed my mind and asked him to negotiate with a taxi driver to take me there. For 20.00 somoni, or about $5.00, the taxi driver took me on a long ride through a congested thoroughfare full of pot holes and construction debris. Mr. Boron had arranged for Ms. Udmidova to wait for me in front of the pharmacy to guide me to his apartment where he was putting the finishing touches on the meal. He seemed to be genuinely concerned about having a woman present during the meal evidently worried about my reputation, which I wanted to tell him had already being tarnished beyond repair.

Ms. Udmidova informed me that a group of teachers had been given the chance to move into a remodeled building, which they call a hostel, where they occupy the first two floors and students the top two floors. The building had been painted light blue inside and out and looked really nice with those shiny Chinese-made door and ceiling lights every few feet. The teachers occupy studio-size flats and share a bathroom and kitchen for every three apartments. Even married teachers with children had the same studio apartment. Besides Mr. Boron and Ms. Udmidova, three other PedInst teachers came by to share the meal and to talk to me as an individual for the first time.

Even in these modest surroundings, Mr. Boron had displayed the traditional tablecloth and cushions offering an array of dishes to eat in no particular order. He then brought out the soup, flat bread and tea with honey produced in his village. I was treated to a video of his wedding about a year and half ago where I only recognized one other teacher. He then disappeared to bring the “fried meat” he had spoken of last week. It was a mixture of beef and lamb along with some of the lamb’s heart and lungs cooked with lots of onions and salt. The meat was very tender and juicy and he served a side dish with chopped onions, dill, cilantro, mint, and green onions all sprinkled with lemon juice. You could call it the Tajik version of our salsa. It was delicious and I was sorry I couldn’t eat anymore of it. He promptly offered to pack me some to take home. Mr. Duloev,  the very religious and most conservative of the teachers, initiated the topic of religion, which I had been able to avoid until now. I told him I had none and he went to explain how other religions had deviated from their original purpose and that only Islam had remained true to its goals. I ended the conversation by saying that I tried to follow the Golden Rule and that was good enough for me.

Another teacher popped in with his baby and insisted on showing me his flat, which was entirely devoid of any furniture, but his child’s crib. The baby is short of one year and I could have sworn that his wife looked like she was pregnant again. Both Mr. Boron and Mr. Hasan, who have been married relatively recently, expressed their eagerness to become parents as soon as possible. Mr. Boron’s wife remains in his village while Mr. Hasan’s wife lives in the same hostel.

                                               Mr. Boron's "fried meat" dish.

                                                Ms. Udmidova helping with the serving.

The unusual Tajik crib with an opening where urine goes directly into a chamber pot down below.

                                                     

                                                                 Mr. Boron at work.

                                                     Traditional display for lunch,

The bathroom consisted of three stalls, two with a tub, and the last one with a squat toilet that stank to high hell even though it had a flushing system and the tenants kept the window open. There was no sink whatsoever. The kitchen had an-electric stove, a sink and a very small counter to chop vegetables. Pots and pans were seen lying on the floor and I noticed that Mr. Boron had his own dishes and serving utensils under the TV console. I had to say that they all tried to make me feel very welcomed and appreciated as opposed to the feeling I get at the PedInst that they resent my presence. One of the teachers, in fact, wanted to know my opinion about the quality of their teaching and I didn’t want to go there. I just said that the system was stacked against them as they were paid too little and forces them to find other sources of income and also deprives them of a chance to participate in professional development to keep up with new developments in their field.

I promised to have them over at my place for some Dominican food in the near future. Mr. Boron accompanied me across the street to the Sahovar Market just to look around, and I bought some lemons to take home. I asked at the butcher if anyone sold oxtails and no one did. I decided to take another taxi home instead of trying to get home in the trolley which could take up to an hour. It had been a quite an experiencing seen how some of the teachers lived and spend their spare time. In the taxi I got in, there was an American riding up front who asked me if I was from Brazil. He happens to be in Tajikistan learning the language at the PedInst and wanted to know my opinion about the professors there. He indicated his professors were always being called to participate in meetings, most likely politically related, and not for professional development.