May 30, 2012

Started my day by getting ready to go the American Corner and then the embassy, but called Bakhtyor first to make sure he was there. There was no answer at either number and I called the embassy to check and see if the number had been changed upon the move. Jennifer informed me that Bakhtyor had been fired from his job the day before and his assistant had taken over. She gave me the new numbers for the AC and assistant and now I’m dying to know what happened. I know there had been rumors of his impending firing as he used to be routinely late for opening the office and seemed to spend most of his time romancing the girls visiting the space rather than actually carrying out his duties.

The ride to the embassy was a breeze as I got a seat at the front and next to the driver thus insuring I didn’t have to get in and out to let other passengers out. Jennifer gave me some mail for Ruth and told me there was nothing for me. The doctor gave another ten Claritin pills to help with my allergies. The temperature had already risen to 34 degree Celsius and she told that was nothing as last summer temperatures went up to an incinerating 53 degree Celsius. I just hope I’m out of here when that happens.

It was really hot when I got out of the mini-van and lunch was in order, but soup didn’t appeal to me in that kind of weather. I walked into the Russian café I always liked and ordered two different kinds of salads instead. My landlady called twice while I ate, but there wasn’t any point in my answering since we can’t communicate. Takhmina was the only one in the office at Caritas when I got there and I and I asked her to call my landlady for me. After several tries, the woman answered and we agreed on Friday morning at 9:00am for her to come by and collect her keys. We had a lively discussion about “Pains, Accidents and Injuries” that took almost the entire hour and half period. Takhmina wanted to take me to a couple of souvenir stores so I could buy presents, but I declined telling her I still needed to go home to do laundry and finish packing before Friday morning. I figured I could always pick up souvenirs during my travels.

I stopped at Ruth’s house and delivered some mail for her that the embassy entrusted me with. She wasn’t home again and I just left it with the security guard.

I did two loads of laundry so the portion going to the adult facility was fresh and clean and finished packing my suitcases. Ryan had promised to bring one of his in and came through in the evening. His little neighbors came with him and I took advantage of that to ask them to serve as interpreters and notify my neighbor Maryam of my moving out tomorrow. I had set aside certain household items I wanted to her to have such as my cake pan, butter dish, measuring cups and some grocery items. She was clearly distraught on learning I’d no longer be around, but I let her know I was planning on hanging around until mid-July or so and would visit her before leaving. I also collected all the packets of seeds I had brought with me, thinking I’d have access to a kitchen garden, and left them for her husband. Nilufar got my Indian sandals, the ones with plenty of beads and glitter she had liked so much on me.

Ryan helped me roll my sleeping bag, and I decided not to take any chances by sleeping on the bare korpachas, and since it was still relatively hot, slept on the sofa with the air conditioner on.

May 29, 2012

I had partially completed the visa application for the Kazakhstan embassy and attached the required photo to it before Eraj came by at 9:00am. There was an additional form in Tajik and English so convoluted that I couldn’t ascertain what it was they needed to know as most of the questions were the same as the visa application per se. When we arrived at the office, we encountered one of the Mother Theresa nuns waiting to submit her paperwork. Since Eraj’s Russian, by his own admission, is not the most fluent, we requested her assistance after I approached her to find out what kind of work they did in Tajikistan. Their order does not run orphanages or nursing homes as I remember their doing in Panama, but just a soup kitchen. I wonder whose decision that was.

The embassy clerk informed me she was going on vacation and my visa would be processed sometime next week. When I told her I’d be out of town and unable to pick it up then, she was unmoved reiterating she needed at least a week for the government of Kazakhstan to approve the visa even if I had had one issued just a few months ago. We left the embassy and went to the Museum of Antiquity, a place I had been meaning to visit but never found the time to do so. As a foreigner, I was charged 20.00 somoni and Eraj 5.00, and we were given plastic booties to place over our shoes. The place was deserted and Eraj asked the young woman giving us our receipt if there was a guide to explain the exhibits. She responded that the service was limited to groups visiting the museum, but agreed to come along with us turning on and off the lights for each room as we visited it. Despite the fact that there self-standing air conditioning units in various parts of the museum, none of them were on despite the humidity present that day.

There was little of interest to me except for a huge sculpture of the Hindu god Ram and his consort Sita that had been found in Panjikent whose heads had been loped off by the Arab invaders in repudiation of the worship of images. The crowning piece of this museum is one of the largest reclining Buddhas found in an area near Afghanistan and which needed to be divided into 92 pieces to transport it to the museum. Its construction is nearly identical to the one made of gold that I saw in Thailand.

It was time for lunch and we went to the Uyghur’s restaurant not without first stopping at what Eraj considered a big bookstore, but was it was really a stationery place selling a few textbooks. He could not understand my idea of a place selling books, especially recent publications, exclusively, which speaks highly about the lack of a reading public here in the capital.

Ryan invited a few of us for dinner again and given the fact that I hardly have anything to cook at home, I accepted and was joined by Hillary, a guy she brought along who barely said two sentences the entire evening, Dagmara and Sitora, who told me she had graduated from the PedInst back in 2004. She felt her experience had been a great one because she was part of cohort group that received additional classes paid by the Aga Khan Foundation which provides this type of financing for students from the Pamir Region who are followers of their branch of Islam. Sitora had gone on to obtain a scholarship to study in Buffalo, New York and was static about her experience there.

I recruited Nigina to try and call my landlady one more time as Jamshed had let me down and never texted me about it. She tried from her phone and mine with no success, and I decided I would just send an email to real estate agent notifying her I was moving out and making arrangements to return the key. No word from Corrie yet. I began to wonder if something had happened in China as I can’t believe she hasn’t checked her email in more than a week.

As I was preparing to say goodbye, Eraj called to say Daler, his wife and daughter and himself were driving around the city and wanted to include me in the outing. I said yes and, they picked me up in just a few minutes. We went past the PedInst and I refused to even look in that direction. Eraj’s wife had never seen the city at night and we decided to go to the new civic center where the government is still in the process of building a complex of hotels, parks, playgrounds, plenty of fountains and green areas. Their equivalent to our White House is already finished as is the recently inaugurated National Library. I had been there once on a very hot day and had not enjoyed the walk, but now the evening was cool and noise level down. There were many families strolling around with children in tow and many couples cuddling on benches.

                                  Enjoying the evening breezes with Daler.

I suggested taking a picture of Eraj and his family in front of one of the most recognizable monuments in the plaza, and he turned down my offer indicating he had not notify his mother in Khulob they’d be going out for such an outing and didn’t want for her to find out through photographs. I tried to contain my smirk at the thought of getting prior approval for a stroll in the park, but convinced him later on to allow me to take the photos just for my record. His wife was more than happy to pose as was Daler. The wife had to carry the baby almost the entire time as she began to fuss and cry if either Daler or Eraj picked her up for long. I did feel sorry for her. I also noticed they had shaved the baby's hair supposedly to keep her cool during the summer months.

May 28, 2012

I felt much better this morning as I got almost a full night sleep. I opened my eyes to a glorious morning and it seems as if a thousand birds had picked my tree to send out their most beautiful singing into the world. The acrid smell of smoked still lingered all over the apartment and I left even the front door open, against the advice of local Tajiks that consider such practice very dangerous, to see if more cross-ventilation would help get rid of the odor faster. I emailed Corrie hoping she was back from China and ready to confirm that I could move my suitcases into her apartment on the 31.

Eraj was as punctual as ever while I had been busy cleaning the kitchen and doing paperwork and had not found time to have breakfast yet. I ate one of the hard boiled eggs from yesterday and a piece of flat bread and rushed out of the house with my travel mug filled with tea. Our first stop was at the Tajik Air office where the clerk refused to take my credit card to pay for the tickets. Conveniently, they have a currency exchange office on the same floor and I had brought in dollars just in case, so there was no delay. Eraj had never seen a credit card and didn’t understand why I was trying to use a piece of plastic instead of real money. My cough had turned ugly and tears were streaming down my face, so Eraj suggested stopping at one of the many pharmacies in the area to try and find some lozenges that could sooth my throat. I bought all six of the packets the guy had to insure I have plenty of them for the trip.

We then went to the Kazakh embassy where Eraj had to use his rusty Russian to find out if a letter of invitation was needed, it turned out it wasn’t, and I asked whether I could return in the afternoon with the completed form, but the same woman I had dealt with last January said no. I got to make another trip tomorrow to bring the form and a photo and then she’ll let me know if they find me acceptable to visit their country. I was trying to get the visa confirmed this week so I can proceed to buy my airline ticket as soon as possible.

We moved on to the Turkish Airlines offices to find out about my bags. We waited a while and I needed to use the bathroom for which I had to go through security, leave my passport as collateral, and then go up to the 8^th floor to use it. I was then informed I’m entitled to carry just one bag as part of my ticket and a second bag would cost a flat rate of $205.00. I find that hard to swallow. Even my carry-on must weigh less than 8KG or about 17 pounds. I have to go home and reconsider what really needs to return to the States.

I invited Eraj to accompany me to lunch before I headed to my class at Caritas and we stopped at the little place near the UNESCO building where we had had lunch during the ETM. The food, plov, was flavorless, but at least fresh and hot. He waited with me until I got on the trolley and I found Jamshed standing right behind me. He claimed to have just returned from Qurgonteppa, but I couldn’t see his backpack anywhere. He reported to have left it in his hometown, which makes no sense, and was only carrying a single plastic bag. I informed him his sunglasses were still on my coffee table and he said he’d come by for them tonight. I continue to be wary of him.

The class at Caritas had a late start as neither Khurshed nor Takhmina were back in the office yet. I spoke to Nigina for a while, had my cup of coffee and then we got started to discuss “Animated Animals” and oxymorons, a concept they were unfamiliar with. Since this is our next to last class, the group presented me with a necklace and bracelet of a stone that they believe have curative powers. Takhmina is going to find the English equivalent to the Russian name so I can research it. It looked almost like an opaque type of amber and the stone is relatively heavy. I thanked profusely and segued into asking for recommendations for presents to bring back home that would not be too large or heavy. Not one of them was familiar with the type of teaspoon my brother-in-law collects and could make no suggestions as to where it might be sold.

Walking toward the mini-van, I could see the mountains in the background pretty much bereft of any snow now. The greenery is quickly spreading up the slopes and I know it’s going to be beautiful to hike up any of the surrounding hills to enjoy the cooler weather and the fantastic views. I hope to be able to do so any day now. I sent Corrie a text message afraid that she might have missed her return flight or changed her mind entirely. She didn't respond and I suspect she has extended her visit to China and might not return until she is due for her classes on Wednesday.

Jamshed came by to retrieve his sunglasses and asked for a cup of coffee. Once I brewed the java, he asked for flat bread or anything else to eat with it as he hadn’t had dinner and it was close to 8:00pm. I was a bit put off by his request, but offered a chunk of cheese and the remaining flat bread from breakfast. I gave him some other teacher materials still lying around the apartment and asked him to call my landlady to notify her of my impending departure at the end of the month. Neither she nor her assistant answered the calls placed from my mobile phone and Jamshed’s in case she didn’t want to talk to me. I can see them in my mind saying “I’m not picking up that call. She might need something.” Jamshed promised to call again in the morning and then send me a text message letting me know the outcome. I just need to know what the arrangement will be to return the keys upon my leaving.

May 27, 2012

I was able to sleep somewhat better as my blisters are itching less and some of them have dried up completely. If only my hay fever went away for good. I got up at 4:00am, had my coffee and enjoyed the myriad of birds starting to sing from the tree outside my kitchen. I’m definitely going to miss this tree and its residents when it comes time to move out.

Zoir called at 8:30am insisting on coming to see me. He had called three times the night before and I had ignored his calls, so I asked if something was wrong and in his typically cryptic manner he responded by saying he needed to see me. He came in looking winded and pale again. When asked if he had had breakfast, he said he had had a glass of milk. I boiled two eggs and toasted flat bread for him and served him a cup of tea. When I asked him if he wanted salt and pepper, he had no idea what I was asking and then didn’t know how to open the salt container to get some out. He lacks in manners when it comes to the table and likes to slurp his tea noisily, something that usually makes me cringe.

I offered to walk with him as far as the Zeiloni Bazaar so I could check out the prices on pieces of luggage in case I need to buy another one. I was dismayed to learn that a 26’ inch piece of luggage, by an unknown manufacturer, would cost around $50.00. My two suitcases are already full with just my clothes and I haven’t bought any presents for family and friends yet, not to mention my intention of taking with me my all the materials I’ve spent so much time creating. I’m going to wait until tomorrow when I’ll have chance to stop by the Turkish Airlines to determine what the total cost will be for each additional piece.

I got a chance to stop by Tajik Air and asked if they still had seats available for the flight to Khujand on Saturday and apparently there are plenty as the clerk only asked me to return tomorrow with my passport. I want to double check with Corrie before going ahead and booking my ticket. The afternoon turned out to be warmer than I had expected and I was sweating buckets. The much forecasted rain didn’t materialized at all and I just went back to my flat to take a cooling shower and a nap from which I was quickly snapped by the people doing some kind of remodeling work in the apartment downstairs who must sense when I decide to go to sleep to start hammering and drilling then.

I finished scanning the pile of handouts and miscellaneous papers still sitting on my desk. I also managed to almost burn the apartment as I forgot I had placed a piece of flat bread to toast in a skillet and walked away from it thinking it was on low setting anyway. Until the smoke reached the living room, I had no idea the kitchen and dining area were barely visible and that it’d take all night for it to clear even though the smell didn’t go away entirely. I guess I have three days for the smell to disappear completely before the landlady comes by to collect her keys.

Esther came through on the arrangement to skype from my mom’s house on what is called the Dominican Mother’s day, or the last Sunday of the month of May. We had some technical difficulties, as usual, and the video from my side couldn’t be viewed without interfering with the sound. We had to settle for the sound only and I spoke to my mother for about 20 minutes about the usual topics: her health, the weather, how the garden is doing and the threat of a hurricane this weekend. She complained of pain in her legs but also stated she was coping with it. All in all, it was a pleasant conversation.

The smoke hanging in the apartment had exacerbated my cough. Since I had taken the precaution of closing the bedroom door, I retreated there to see if the air quality was any better and to continue reading the fascinating book, “The Tiger’s Wife”.

May 26, 2012

Another overcast day greeted me this morning. After drinking my coffee, I quickly tidied up the apartment in preparation for Mr. Boron’s visit. He called at 8:00am sharp letting me know he was waiting for me in front of the supermarket as he wasn’t familiar with the area and couldn’t find the apartment on his own. It was raining lightly when I went to get him and I was surprised to find him dressed in a white track suit and expensive Nike tennis shoes. He turned down my offer for tea and wanted to know why I hadn’t been to the PedInst for quite some time to which I related my disappointment with my post and the feeling I had that my education and experience had been wasted at this location.

Mr. Boron told me he had approached the deputy dean with the idea of having me teach the teachers instead of holding classes for the first year students as the faculty in general is quite aware of their shortcomings when it comes to spoken English and their difficulties in coping with the material in their mandated textbook. The dean had responded by saying he wanted to give the students a good foundation in English and that’s why I was assigned to that class. He commented that prior to Beth coming to the PedInst, he didn’t speak English even though he was teaching it. He had been very grateful for her help and suggestions and now felt indebted to me for the workshops I had provided and the materials I was giving him.

My stomach started growling at this point and I told him I needed to prepare something for breakfast to which he replied by inviting me to have breakfast nearby. I could only think of the F1 café as a safe place to have things that wouldn’t be fried and we headed that way through my favorite shortcut, one Mr. Born wasn’t familiar with. I ordered what could be taken as a plain omelet, a crepe decorated with squiggles of mayonnaise on top and a Kachapuri, a cheesy bread originally from Georgia, in a addition to a pot of tea. He ordered the omelet as well as the rice pudding, made here with no spices of any kind and a big dollop of butter on top, along with whole wheat bread. I shared my crepe, which just like the omelet had no flavor whatsoever. Mr. Boron indicated he was heading to the PedInst after his meal as today was a day to clean up the classrooms and perform any repairs needed to the furniture or other equipment at the institution and innocently asked if I wanted to join him. My most rotund no followed that request.

We parted ways after eating and I stopped at the pharmacy to buy the cough syrup with Guaifenesin that Ryan had recommended a few months ago to give my throat and ribs a break. Ryan called a little while later to tell me he was cooking plov and was extending an invitation for a late lunch. I was the only one present except for the usual gathering of neighborhood kids. Plov was all right, but light on seasonings, an opinion I kept to myself.

I had called Jamshed to cancel our plan outing to the Romit Valley as I could hardly breathe due to the heavy accumulation of pollen in the air and the fact that rain was forecast for the entire weekend. He promised to come by in the evening with some tablets he knew could take care of my sinusitis. I took a nap in the late afternoon and woke up groggy from the medication taken after lunch.

Jamshed came by carrying a large backpack that seemed to be packed to the gills and stated that if the trip to the Romit Valley was cancelled, he would travel to Qurgonteppa that same evening. I reiterated the fact that I didn’t feel well enough to undertake any strenuous exercise and didn’t want to go for an outing knowing it might be raining all day. Apparently, he had made an arrangement for a taxi driver to take us there for 600.00 somoni or $127.00, an outrageous sum for an outing right outside the city of Dushanbe. We talked for a while about his impending notification as to whether he has won the Fulbright scholarship he is pinning all his hopes on or not. I asked him what his plan B was in case he didn’t, but there was nothing concrete. He feels that traveling and living in the United States is the only way for him to established credentials in this country and the possibility of obtaining a better job in the future. I notified him that Tahmina’s position at the embassy had been advertised as she’s going on maternity leave for I don’t know how long and he should consider applying for it.

My eyes were closing involuntarily and he reluctantly agreed to leave not before letting me know that his accommodations at the language institute were pitiful and he didn’t know where he’d be spending the night if he wasn’t able to find a taxi. I almost got the impression that he expected me to offer him my couch to spend the night, but I didn’t fall for it since I barely know him and want to savor my privacy here for the last few days I have left. 

May 25, 2012

Managed to sleep until after six despite waking up numerous times throughout the night. I cleaned my kitchen and set outside the trash to be dumped on my way out. I had noticed that someone had picked up all the trash on the left side of my building that had accumulated through the winter, so I must walk across the street to the rubbish bin to dispose of it.

I continued to work on my final report to Georgetown University as they recommended we write it while still at post so memories and details are fresh. Although I can always rely on my blog entries to refresh my memory, I figure I’m better off spending the time now and not postponing it as 5% of my grant is being withheld until the report is received. It contains a scathing report on the diploma mill I was posted to and all the indignities I suffered at the hands of its administrators and professors.

On a whim, I decided to get some fresh air and after coloring my hair, walked toward the American Corner carrying my big canvas bag with all the books I’m donating. While taking the shortcut to get there, I ran into Maryam who was returning from the market with two heavy bags herself. I tried to communicate my imminent move from the building and how I wanted to cook dinner for her family at least once. The language barrier is too great between us and I promised to have one of my students call her with the information.

I got to the National Library, where the American Corner is now located, completely out of breath only to be told the building was currently closed. With no one around to tell me why, I called Bakhtyor several times, but he didn’t pick up. I was furious with myself for not having called him confirming he was there this morning. I stopped at the café on the first floor and had some plov and salad for lunch. The place was quite busy with an almost even split between male and female diners, something unusual around here, and the place was airy, well-lit and spotlessly clean.

Went back to the apartment, took out the trash and plastic bottles accumulated for the last month and made more tea to sweeten with honey to sooth my sore throat. I called the coordinator for the summer camp in Khorog, who hadn’t replied to my two emails, and asked him for the details. He’s apparently not much into computers, but will try to email me the pertinent details on lodging, meals and transportation.

I got hold of Mr. Boron and asked him to come by tomorrow to pick up the books I had set aside for him.

May 24, 2012

Spent another sleepless night itching and coughing even after taking the Claritin the embassy doctor had given me. I got up at 3:00am and decided to do what I could with the day. Read emails, watched the news to see what was happening in Egypt with the election, and cleaned my hard drive of unnecessary junk. Started to pack the big suitcase only to realize that even after donating a lot of the clothing I bought here for the winter, I could not possibly fit all my personal belongings into the same bags I brought them in. I still have to figure out what to do with the teaching materials I’ve put together and which I’d hate to leave behind, not to mention some of the books I’ve collected. I might have no choice to buy another big suitcase at this point.

Zoir called to let me know the dean had informed him I had some wages at his office to be collected. I told him I wasn’t setting foot in his office, but would send him an email asking him to give it to Zoir. I know he could use the money. Eraj called and I asked him to do me favor and call the Kazakh embassy for the visa requirements for an American citizen. He reported back saying I needed to come in person to complete the application and learn about the additional requirements. He’s willing to go there with me on Monday.

I cooked the fish I had bought at the market two days ago and it didn’t even taste briny. Bakhytor, at the American Corner, confirmed I can donate my books to add them to their collection, and I quickly piled them into my heavy canvas bag to take them there on Monday. I still need to decide what to do the remaining grocery items and kitchen utensils along with the linens and miscellaneous things I bought last year.

I had a chance to watch a fantastic movie I’d never even heard of, “Four Rooms”, and was laughing hysterically most of the time. Quentin Tarantino and his cohorts surely did a masterful job of describing the absurd situations a lonely bellhop can find himself in when answering a call for room service. “The First 50 Dates” was a total indulgence on my part as I knew the premise of the movie and its protagonists, and there weren’t to be any surprises.

I finished reading “The Death of Vishnu”, not as compelling a read as I had expected, and got started on “The Tiger’s Wife”, which promises to be a much more compelling story. 

May 23, 2012

Spent another fitful night trying to sleep without turning in bed and making my blisters itch even more. Woke up at 12:30am and read for a while before falling asleep again. I had agreed to go to the medical clinic with Zoir at 10:00am and hardly had energy to make breakfast before he said he couldn’t make it until 12:00pm. I told him I had to get to the embassy before the cashier closed at the same time and would meet with him after my class at Caritas.

The driver of the mini-van I took to get to the embassy dropped me off right in front of the building which is out of his way, but I really appreciated it. Vali was on vacation, again, and the other young woman cashed my check. I went downstairs to drop my expense report at the mail office, but the door was locked. I slipped it under the door and hope there won’t be a problem with that. I then remembered that Ruth mentioned the fact that there was a health unit near the mail office with a scale I could use to find out what my weight was now. I hadn’t weight myself since I left the States. A Tajik woman wearing a lab coat was sitting at a desk and I asked about using the scale. She introduced herself as the doctor in service and showed that my weight was the same, 148 pounds, as before leaving home.

She asked me if I needed anything else and mentioned the itchy blisters I was dealing with and dropped my pants for her to inspect them. She had the same look of horror on her face as Ryan’s and immediately offered to give me Bacitracin ointment to avoid an infection on those that had broken open. She could see me sniffling due to my ongoing battle with the allergies brought on by the abundant pollen in the air and gave me ten Claritin tablets to carry me for a few days. She indicated that TDI personnel such as the ELFs were entitled to use the services of the medical clinic, and I informed her we had never been told such services could be accessed.

When I got off the mini-van, I ran into James whom I had met last Sunday while at Hillary’s birthday brunch. He was also looking for a place to have a quick lunch and we went together to a place Nigina had recommended, a small canteen adjacent to a government building. Although it was only 12:30pm, the picking were slim and I settled for just a bowl of soup and bread. A TV was blaring from one of the wall while the shaded courtyard, where tables and chairs would have made for a perfect al fresco dining area, remained completely empty. James and I traded opinions about the general incompetence of local administrator and how they saw every situation as a zero-sum game whereby anybody succeeding at something constituted a loss for somebody else.

On to Caritas where we discussed idioms, animal habits and other questions. We are still planning on having a picnic sometime next week in Varzob to cap our classes since I will not be able to continue during the month of June.

I called Zoir and met him in front of the clinic where we found the doctor and nurse watching TV in a small room. We were told to have a seat I guess until the program was over. The doctor was the same guy who had extended the medical certificate to me last November and he came out a few minutes later and escorted Zoir into his office. I wanted to know how much the exam and probable blood work would cost, but the doctor shooed me out of the office without answering any questions. I had sat in the hallway for less than 15 minutes when Zoir came out with a note in his hand and motioned for me to follow him outside. In his usual parsimonious manner, he related the doctor had found nothing wrong with him and referred him to the hospital for further testing. I was able to get out of him that the doctor did question him about his eating habits and had told him he needed to eat properly.

Zoir indicated he was not able to eat three meals a day and hardly ever had any breakfast at all and that had been his habit since he started high school. I lectured him on the importance of eating a nutritious breakfast and not eating huge portions at irregular intervals even though I knew that I was wasting my breath. I gave him the keys to return to the dean and told him to come and see me before I moved out of my apartment.

I made one last stop at Ruth’s house to drop a package the embassy had received for her. I went home to take another soaking bath and cover my blisters with the Bacitracin after which I dealt with more paperwork and email.

May 22, 2012

I was able to get more sleep than the previous two nights, but had developed a kink on my back from trying not to toss and turn too much to avoid the friction from the bed sheets to exacerbate the itch. It had rained throughout the night with a lot of thunder punctuating the intervals. As a result, I had another gorgeous morning to look forward to and set out for the market early on to buy the mint as recommended by Ryan to apply to the bites. He had called early on to find out how I was faring and asked me to add salt to the crushed mint leaves to insure the blisters would dry up faster.

The market was buzzing with vendors and buyers making difficult to make my way between the different stalls. I finally located one selling mostly herbs and bought three bunches of mint while being peppered with questions by the female stall owner. She was also selling bunches of fresh garlic, something I had never seen in a market in the States, and I asked if I could take a picture to which she agreed. The two women in the next stall asked to have their picture taken as well when they heard I was from America.

                                Fresh garlic- Tajiks add it to salads and eat it raw

                                                 

                                     Market vendors

Daroush came by a little while after I got back home and we got into a spirited conversation about homosexuality. I was dismayed to learn that even as a doctor, he didn’t know how homosexual men had sex, and when I described it, he cringed and wanted to know nothing more. Of course, as a traditional Muslim man, he referred to the Koran as the ultimate authority on the subject and therefore only men and women were intended to have sexual relations. Anything else was an abomination in his book. I copied some movies from my portable hard drive into his and printed the list of documents he would need if he ever follows through on his desire to study English at FSCJ.

I spent the rest of the afternoon watching movies, first “The Killing”, which I had never heard of, but kept me at the edge of my seat for the full two hours, and the remake of “The Postman Always Rings Twice” to compare it to the original with Lana Turner which I had seen ages ago. I couldn’t see the point of the whole movie as there are no revelatory details about the characters or what drives them to do what they do. I was almost a waste of two hours.

Zoir called to say he’d come by to pick up the documents I need for him to deliver to the PedInst as I refuse to go back there. He made it just in time before another deluge started. He was dressed all in black and looked thinner than ever. He confessed he hadn’t been to the doctor, but knew he was running a fever and didn’t feel well. I told him I’d pay to take him to a private clinic to have a medical exam and blood tests as he’s definitely ill and take care of the bills. Eraj had reminded me about the clinic across the street from the PedInst where I had gotten my medical certificate issued for a measly 20.00 somoni. His face brightened at the prospect of having medical care and we agreed to meet at 10:00 in front of the university. I gave him the handouts for Ms. Mamataliev, the CD containing the photos I had taken in his village, the one Headway book and CD I had left for a bright student I had met in his village, and the book “A History of Islam” he had previously requested. I plan to give him the keys to different rooms at the PedInst tomorrow and be done with it.

Jamshed called while Zoir was still here and asked if he could come over, to which I said yes. He said he had run to my flat and joined us just a few minutes later. As it turned out, he is also from Dangara and quickly struck a friendship with Zoir who looked at him with amazement not quite believing how fluent Jamshed was after working with both American and British English trainers. I offered both of them pistachios and two pots of teas and Zoir almost consumed the entire plate of the nuts and most of the tea. I’m sure he hadn’t eaten anything most of the day. Before departing, Zoir asked me for the grammar textbook for the fourth year students that I never got to open, and I gave it to him. I still need to get rid of my fiction books if I want to leave the apartment at the end of this month. 

May 21, 2012

Unable to sleep due to the constant itch from my numerous bedbug bites, I got up at 3:30am and had my coffee. I uploaded the photos from both Hillary and Angel’s birthday celebrations and caught up on paperwork while waiting to skype with my sister later on in the morning. Our connection kept breaking up and it was impossible to keep the thread going. We both decided to try again tomorrow. I had gotten a really sweet message from my niece Estefania telling me how much she misses me and urging me to come home as soon as possible.

I tried calling Zoir twice to find out how he was faring and to make sure he was at the PedInst this morning so I could deliver the CD with the photos taken during my visit to his village, but he didn’t pick up. Daroush called to say he was done with his final exams and making the rounds among his friend in preparation for his departure for India. I told him I planned to be home all day Tuesday so he could drop by then. Ryan called to say he had come home exhausted last night after getting sunburned at the resort. He promised to come by this evening with some soap or cream to apply to my bites.

I stood at the intersection waiting for a mini-van for more than twenty minutes and everyone that passed me was full of passengers. In exasperation, I walked to Rudaki Avenue and got into a shared taxi even though I didn’t want to go anywhere near the PedInst so as not to run into my former students or colleagues. I got to the soup place through the back door and had my usual, an oily lagman soup and fatir bread. I saw one student from the teacher group and greeted him on my way out. His English is very limited and there was no point in trying to carry out a conversation with him.

Nigina was the only one in the office when I arrived at Caritas and she had no prescription to offer for my bites although she looked horrified at the look of them and swore she didn’t even know what could cause such reaction. As a doctor, I thought for sure she’d know what bedbugs are, but she disagreed. Furkat and Khurshed were nonplussed and Khurshed confirmed he always traveled with his own sleeping bag when he had to go into small villages as part of his job. Takhmina offered me the brand name for a type of soap I should bathe with to kill the infection. I’ll wait for Ryan’s visit before deciding on its purchase.

I took a leisure stroll to the copy place and asked the other Nigina to get me a duplicate copy for a receipt Georgetown University alleges was not included in my latest expense and for which they won’t compensate me until I get a duplicate. The cashier responded she is not allowed to backdate any receipt, but could give me one dated today for the same amount. I was more than happy with the compromise.

Ryan didn’t come by after work as he had promised, so I called him and agreed to meet at his flat to check out my bites. Just one look and he informed me that my bites were not the result of bedbugs, but fleas and he hadn’t seen such a horrific reaction to them. He retrieved his camera and took several shots of my swollen, liquid-filled blisters and told me there wasn’t much I could do but continue to apply the hydrocortisone cream I had gotten on Sunday from the embassy guy. He discouraged me from taking Benadryl nightly for my allergies as he claimed it lowers my immune system by lowering the production of certain hormones. I’ll have to research that point before giving it up entirely. He also recommended I buy some mint and make a poultice of it to apply it to the bites so they’d dry up faster, but it was too late in the day to go to the market.

I took a long soaking bath, reapplied the hydrocortisone and felt slightly better, but more than anything else, relieved that it was just a pedestrian flea infestation and not anything more serious.

May 20, 2012

What I had taken to be mosquito bites has erupted into angry blisters covering most of my legs, my abdomen and back and I concluded I had been attacked by an army of bedbugs while sleeping on the korpachas at Zoir’s house. They had now swollen to the point of protruding through my clothing and itching like hell every time I tossed around in bed. I had taken three Benadryl tablets the night before to fight off the bad reaction, but they were even bigger this morning and the thought of wearing anything next to my skin made me cringed. I called Ryan to see if he was interested in looking at my condition, but he was on his way to a resort and only promised to come by on his return.

I called Zoir to find out how he was faring and he said he was fine and ready to come by and pick up the materials to take to the PedInst. When he didn't show up after a couple of hours, I called him again and found out he had felt ill and was at the hospital waiting to be seen by a doctor. I'm beginning to think that something is seriously wrong with him.

I had promised to stop by Hillary’s birthday celebration, a brunch hosted by an embassy guy living alone in a huge house not too far from my house. The only suitable thing to wear was the Tajik atlas dress Takhmina had given me as it didn’t constrict me in any way. When I showed Hillary and some of the female guests the state of my legs, they all let out a gasp. Mike, the host, offered some unguent he had in his bathroom, a huge room with a whirlpool tub and a massage shower. The unguent had hydrocortisone in it, but did little to remove the itch. Rebecca prepared mimosas and I had two of those while turning down the bloody maries Hillary had prepared along with the pancakes, crepes, black bean soup and other dishes people kept bringing in.

Someone had the idea of sitting outside under the pergola beginning to provide some shade under the grape vines. The front yard was gorgeous with even green grass and a border of roses in a variety of colors. Mike said I could take some home, but I forgot at the moment of my departure as Aireen had called to say she was sending a taxi for me so I could get to her house for her younger daughter’s birthday party. She lives in apartment complex not too far from Zoir’s but much better maintained. The group of Access students she teaches were the only ones present in addition to her three teenage children. The rest of the Filipino gang had gone with Ryan to Romit and the atmosphere was somewhat cheerless.

There was some dancing by the students, singing by Carmela and lots of food of which I ate none since my appetite had practically disappeared. Her son accompanied me to get a taxi and I ran into Dagma just coming in. She claimed to have been working all day and regretted not having had a chance to attend Hillary’s birthday celebration.

I tried calling Ryan late in the evening to see if he was still planning on coming by and inspect the disastrous state of my body, but he didn’t pick up. I also called Zoir and he informed me the hospital didn't have a doctor available to see him today and he had no plans to go back again.

May 19, 2012

Heavy rain and thunder woke me up this morning and then I remembered my promise to cook breakfast for the entire family. Since my original plan had been to stay for just one night, I didn’t have any coffee available and had to settle for something in packet called “Vanilla Chocolate Coffee” that Zoir had picked up in Dushanbe. We then walked to the better supplied of the two stores in the village to get eggs, salami, tomato paste and hot sauce. Except for carrots and potatoes, the stores do not carry any fresh fruit or other vegetables, so that if the villagers don’t grow it, they don’t eat it. Zoir didn’t know what garlic was and I simply had to make do without it. The salami turned out to be baloney, the bland one with no flavor whatsoever. Cooking twenty eggs along with the chunks of baloney and the mushrooms we had picked along the mountain trails was quite a task, but everyone loved it and neighbors were called in to sample the delicacy. Zoir himself had three servings with lots of hot sauce and didn’t seem to be concerned about anybody else getting a fair share of the dish.

After breakfast, it was time to visit with some nearby neighbors including the one who started a fish pond on his backyard, but had ran out of money. I told Zoir about micro financing NGOs such as Kiva and Finca which they could apply to for a loan at modest interest rates. Zoir is not interested in anything that has to do with computers or the Internet and immediately asked that I find out for him how to go about securing a loan. We went back to the house and while waiting for lunch, I must have fallen deeply asleep for the family had their meal in another room so as not to disturb me. When I woke up, I was in for another unpalatable soup, osh tupac it was called, with strips of dough cooked in a milky broth. I could barely eat a few tablespoons before setting it aside. The neighbor across the street, and mother to my seamstress, insisted I go over to her house to see it. I warned Zoir I didn’t want to eat anything else, but to no avail as out came the korpachas, tablecloth and some very tasty pieces of fried beef alongside French fries and cauliflower dipped in eggs and deep fried. The woman, who is five years my junior, complained about her health and missing teeth while refusing to believe I was older than she was.

I had threatened Zoir that if he didn’t take me back to Dushanbe that day, I was leaving on my own. He went into a deep sleep while I packed, and I just asked his younger brother to help me secure a taxi as I needed to get back to the city. Zoir was alerted as to the situation and asked me for a few minutes to refresh himself and then he offered to return with me. I had decided to offer his mother $50.00 for all the trouble and cooking she had put herself through for me and because I knew that the upcoming wedding was going to put a heavy financial burden on them. The younger son had already mentioned to me that his father was a lazy man who spent his hours either asleep or chewing noz, the slightly narcotic plant consumed around here to derived energy. The mother has a bad leg and other ailments after delivering 11 children, including a pair of twins. One daughter died at the age of seven and she still has three young ones at home. At first, she refused the money, but I put it into her bra and signaled it was my choice.

She had packed a bag for me with chaka, flat bread, green onions and other herbs from her garden. The father came to the taxi stand to say goodbye and we were finally on our way in a rickety car that even stalled a couple of times. On the other hand, the driver was considerate enough to stop for me when I wanted to catch a particular sight of wild poppies growing by the roadside.

Once in Dangara, it was time to negotiate with the taxi driver to head back to Dushanbe and the group that gathered around us was quickly outmaneuvered by a stocky, brash younger guy that pointed to his newer vehicle and offered to take us for the same amount we had paid coming in: 30 somoni each. I noticed that he drove like a bat out of hell and seemed not the least concerned about the numerous police checkpoints intended as payment booths for bribes. When I told him through Zoir that I wanted to make it to Dushanbe in one piece, he displayed his police ID badge and told he had graduated from the police academy as an officer and no one was going to stop him for a bribe. He spent the entire ride pointing out the make and model of every car and truck and asking me for the prices in the dollars of the ones sold in the States. At least the exercise served as a distraction until Zoir asked the driver to pull over by the side of the road and I thought he had done so to urinate or something, but he was actually vomiting and rinsing his mouth with water he had carried in a large bottle.

When he came back into the car, he insisted he was fine, but he had mentioned on Thursday that he was getting lightheaded at times. He’s the stoic kind and wouldn’t hear about seeing a doctor. We were about to enter Dushanbe when he requested another stop and took much longer to return. The driver got irritated and yelled at him to either get in the car or find another way home. Zoir’s face was pale and his nose and lips red. When we were dropped in the center of town, he insisted on walking home with his bags as riding in a taxi would make him dizzy and nauseous again, so he wanted for me to find a taxi and make my way home. I refused reminding him his condition could cause him to fall on the street receive worse injuries and insisted on walking with him to the flat he shares with two of his brothers.

So here I was dragging my school bag, shoulder bag and the other one his mother had packed for me and getting into a dark building with broken steps and terrible odors coming from the communal toilet. He knocked on the door, but no one answered and then he found his key and opened the door into what I would generously termed a studio apartment where the front entry had been separated from the sleeping one by a sheer curtain. On the left side, they had fashioned a sort of kitchen with another hot plate, some dishes and glasses while on the right, there was bike leaning against the door and assorted pairs of shoes. I could see now how embarrassed he had been to let me see his living conditions and he felt even worse when I requested to use the toilet as I couldn’t hold it anymore and he escorted me to another pestilent squat toilet with no doors for privacy and no flushing mechanism. I asked his other brother to accompany me to get into a taxi as a way to let him know that Zoir didn’t feel way, but he wouldn’t hear of it and insisted on coming down to the street to put me in a taxi himself.

My heart was breaking for him as could not even imagine how he manages to always appear immaculate in his attire, how I had never seen him eating anything on campus and how controlled his behavior was overall. It must take a great deal of strength to make your way out of a village like Pushing and into the PedInst in spite of a lousy education and penniless parents. 

May 18, 2012

I woke up to the sounds of voices in the corridor and quickly got up to make my coffee and start the day as Zoir had said we’d visit his school at 8:00am sharp. The kitchen contains only one small old hot plate and it took forever and a day to get my coffee brewed while Zoir’s mother started the fire to cook a rice porridge for the family. Only the younger sister expressed an interest in sharing the coffee with me. All members of the family were wearing the same outfits as the day before and no one mentioned the notion of taking a bath at all. The porridge in question was salty and chaka had been added to it and then a big dollop of butter for good measure. I changed into a long skirt and blouse and we made our way to the school just a mere 8-10 minute walk, where I was ceremoniously escorted into the principal’s office, a spacious room with a computer, printer and even a TV set. I knew that Zoir was puffed up beyond belief to be back in his old school bringing an  American teacher with him, so I let him do all the talking while I stared at the various objects in the room.

When his chat ended, the principal accompanied us to a classroom where two English classes had been combined and where Zoir was to introduce me so I could talk about the benefits of visiting the American Corner in Qurgonteppa, the closest large city to them. Instead, he went on a tirade that lasted far longer than I could stand and I finally asked if he was done with the introduction for I had heard him say “American Corner”, “free internet”, “movie club” and so, exactly the information I was supposed to provide. There was no point in repeating the same thing, so instead, I offered to play a game with the students with the unfortunate results that they could not participate for as they later confided, their teacher doesn’t speak English and they couldn’t follow even the instructions. We went outside to observe the modest monument built to honor all the school teachers that have died in armed conflicts in the region and then out into the courtyard where the school lacks a playground and all that could be seen was a muddy volleyball court and dilapidated basketball hoops.

Back to the house for a bite to eat, more shorbot soup and bread, a change of clothes into my jeans for what Zoir termed a one-hour hike up the mountain before the rain started again. I took my school bag with me to insure I had access to all my gear despite his mother’s entreaties that I leave it behind. Some of the school children were going home for lunch and recognized me as I walked along. A group of them requested to have their photo taken. I also took a photo of a wall lined with the manure cakes set out to dry that the family will use for fuel instead of firewood. While walking in the hot sun, Zoir told me we were going to trek to the village where his older brother’s fiancée now lives. Jamal, one of his twin brothers, came along and I will be forever grateful he did so for after half hour of carrying my school bag; I was out of breath entirely. He was so happy to have a chance to practice his English with me that he didn’t mind at all he said as Zoir had deserted me and was walking very fast ahead of us while talking to his girlfriend on the cell phone. 

Every time I asked how much longer before we reached the village, the answer was the same; it was behind the next hill, which reminded me of the old Haitian adage, there are mountain beyond mountains. At one point, I could see Zoir at the top of a very steep hill and I could swear there was no way I could make it up there and I shook my fist at him and told him I was going to kill him when I had a chance for I had not signed up for such a strenuous hike. While the vistas were gorgeous, and I kept pausing to take numerous shots, my breath was ragged and my calves were screaming. I kept bumping into rocks with my open TEVA sandals and kept cursing all the time, especially when made to walk through brambles, no established track here, until I finally gained a bird’s eye view of the village. It was a magnificent sight with rolling green hills all around and the most peaceful atmosphere I had experienced since I was in Nepal. It had taken a mere four hours to reach the village in question.

We were ushered into the future bride’s house and despite my pleas for just a cup of tea to quench my thirst, out came the tablecloth, the laying of korpachas and the usual array of sweets, preserves, flat bread and drinks. I was even offered, for the second time in the day, a huge bowl of chaka, a milk concoction similar to buttermilk, and which I can only stomach as an addition to soup. I had six cups of tea before feeling that my thirst had abated and was then obligated to eat at least on piece of the turkey the family had killed and fried in our honor. All this time, the future bride was primping herself, with the help of four other sisters, so I could take her photo and deliver it to her future husband. It took forever to say goodbye even when I was pressing Zoir to leave quickly so we’d be off the mountains before dark. A pair of students from the morning class had taken the initiative to come up the mountains so they’d have a chance to practice their English with me. I simply couldn’t believe this kind of motivation was still around. We walked down the mountain together and I encouraged them to talk to me as much as possible while Zoir’s brother helped with the translation.

Contrary to my fear, we encountered no rain at all. On the contrary, the sun came out in full in the late afternoon and bathed the valley below in incredible tones of yellow, brown and green. I literally felt at the top of the world. I did manage to step on some very muddy tracks and my feet were a mess. When I inquired from Zoir about taking a bath, he said they didn’t take bath in the village because his father hadn’t finished working on what would eventually be an unattached shower stall. I responded by saying I needed a bath to get rid of the mud, dust and sweat clinging to me and would take it anywhere there was some privacy to get naked. His young sister heated up water, helped me with my accoutrements and covered the entrance to the shower stall with different pieces of materials and it felt glorious to be able to feel clean again.

While taking the bucket bath, I noticed I had accumulated a large number of what looked like mosquito bites all over my legs and abdomen, but I hadn’t seen any flying around or buzzing in my ears. I had nothing to apply to the bites and decided to ignore them at that time.

This is the open air kitchen where my student's mother spends all day year round cooking for a family of 12.

The tandoor oven and three cooking stations for which firewood must be gathered  in huge quantities.

The 12-year old daughter, who unless at school, is by her mother's side all day helping out.

The seamstress had brought my new outfit, and even though the finishing wasn’t up to the standards of Dushanbe, it felt good to have something new and fresh to wear. I was served another batch of shorbot soup and I could only stomach a couple of tablespoons. I asked the mother to allow me to cook breakfast the next day so she could have a break from the kitchen where she spends all day tending to the fire and making endless dishes, mostly soups. Some of Zoir’s high school friends and students he had tutored in the past came by while we were having dinner and waited for a chance to talk to me while all I wanted to do was crash for the night. I came up with a few questions and asked them questions about life in the village. I then bid them good night and went to sleep.

May 17, 2012

Zoir didn’t call me until 9:30am to tell me to meet him at the Ziloni Bazaar to start our journey to his village. I had forgotten entirely to buy a present for his family and now hated the idea of presenting myself empty-handed. I spotted him in his usual gray suit and we proceeded to stop at a vendor’s stall where one of his brothers sells electric supplies, something he had never mentioned to me. While there, we proceeded to pick two heavy burlap bags filled with supplies for his family in the village. I asked for a minute to pick up chocolates or other sweets and he suggested what looked like a small bucket filled with some kind of chocolate paste. Zoir pretended to carry all his bundles on the trolley to the Khourbon Market where the taxis for Dangara leave and I told him that was preposterous as I was already tired from just carrying my school and overnight shoulder bags. I offered to pay for the taxi and he quickly settled on the 18 somoni (or $3.80) fare for the ride there. We then stood around waiting for the taxi to be filled with the remaining passengers and didn’t leave until 11:00am.

Zoir had told me the ride would last only one hour, which must have been Tajik time as we didn’t get into Dangara until 2:30pm and we still needed to get into another taxi to make it to the village in itself. I wondered if he had lied afraid that I might turn down his offer indicating the trip was too long.  I was famished, having eaten just one banana and a piece of sweet, but more urgently yet, I needed to use a bathroom. He took me across the street where a woman led me to one of the foulest toilet I’ve ever been unfortunate enough to visit. I couldn’t hold my breath long enough to use it and felt almost sure that the putrid smell had penetrated my clothes and hair. A taxi was waiting for us and we drove another half hour into his village where Zoir was disappointed not to see anyone outside his family home’s gate forming a welcome committee although he had called announcing our impending arrival. The house was the typical compound with sleeping quarters in the center and a low-slung series of rooms housing the toilet, no shower whatsoever, open-air kitchen and a stable for a cow and several goats. A vegetable garden sat behind the stable.

His mother, a younger brother and 12-year old sister came running out of the kitchen and relieved us of all packages. There was a lot of kissing and hugging among all family members, something I found very touching. When asked how I was, I said fine except I was starving at that point. The mother flew back into the kitchen while waving me into the house to get comfortable. Korpachas were laid out, tablecloth stretched in the center, and the ubiquitous parade of dishes appeared: candy platters, fresh fruit, freshly baked kolchas, wafers, bottled water, soda drinks and of course, tea. Zoir’s father made his grand entrance and peppered me with questions about history and the great role Central Asia had played in world’s events. He brought out a homemade guitar and played some tunes for me while informing me his occupation was that of a woodcarver and that he had never held a job outside his home.

I was delighted to be presented with a platter full of homemade French fries and a piece of chicken Zoir told me had come from an old hen his brother had killed just that morning. The food hit all the right notes in terms of being hot, greasy and salty enough to give it flavor. Only Zoir, his father and I ate together, but his little sister became my shadow for the remaining time and was assigned to basically predict what I might need and have it ready for me. She even accompanied me to the toilet while waiting outside with a water decanter and basin for me to watch my hands. There was no soap anywhere in sight. Zoir asked me to accompany him to visit his brother’s family next door, a cheerless house where his uncle was being taken care of and his niece ran inside to retrieve her headscarf when she saw us coming. It started to rain shortly thereafter and we bid goodbye to his sister-in-law, his brother being the one working in Russia to support the family.

A girlfriend of the little sister came by and offered to sew a kurta outfit for me so as to have it ready the next day when I was scheduled to leave for Dushanbe. I didn't need more clothes, but was impressed by her entrepreneurial spirit and agreed to it giving her the only outfit I had with me to use as a pattern.

We had a lukewarm version of shorbot soup and Zoir clearly reproached his mother for serving it that way. I ate the piece of tough chicken and the potatoes, but the broth was beyond unpalatable and claiming to still being full from the afternoon meal, I set it aside. I was also concerned with consuming too much liquid and having to make the trek to the bathroom in the middle of the night, but Zoir told me his little sister was going to sleep with me and if I needed anything, to just wake her up. Of course, I had a servant at my disposal. She did set out the korpachas and quickly had two beds ready for us. Zoir saw me flossing my teeth and inquire about the thread as he had never seen it. Out into the rain I went to brush my teeth while his sister held the teakettle with warm water for me to rinse. I was exhausted and fell asleep almost instantly while listening to Zoir and his family chant Koranic verses. 

May 16, 2012

Another lazy morning spent around the apartment trying to settle down dates for the remaining six weeks I’ll be spending in Tajikistan. I came to the conclusion that I should vacate my apartment at the end of this month and try to bunk with someone else for the few days I’ll be in Dushanbe between trips to Khujand, Almaty, Istaravshan and Khorog. Hillary came to mind and I dashed her an email asking if such possibility existed. She said yes, but is still waiting to be relocated after an Afghan guy stalked and harassed her outside of her apartment. She’ll let me know as soon as she hears anything about another flat.

I went to pick up my lamination and walked the rest of the way to my class at Caritas. I ran into several of my first year students leaving the campus and saw Oigul, still wearing mourning clothes, who told me Farzona is still intent on having me visit her village. We had a good discussion about slang phrases and proverbs at Caritas and I informed them that we only had two more weeks of classes before I get on the road. Khurshed has been a fount of information on routes to take and even promised to find me a reliable driver for the trip to Istaravshan, which happens to be his hometown. Takhmina suggested we plan a picnic in the Varzob area, which sounded perfect to me as long as we could include at least a short hike as part of it. She also wanted to know if there would be another EFL during the summer who’d be interested in continuing the classes, but unfortunately, that’s not the case.

The skies threatened rain when I left their building not before getting Takhmina to cut a few gorgeous roses for me to take home. I got some flat bread at the grocery store and headed home hoping to avoid the daily downpour. While I was trying to find my keys in my bag, the tenant across the landing opened her door and offered me help with the flowers. Her name is Simi and she speaks English and wanted to invite me in, but I desperately needed to use the bathroom and put the flowers in a vase. I promised to call on her later and introduce her to Maryam as I’ll be leaving soon and she’s probably looking for friends in the building.

Elbek didn’t show up for his classes for the second time in a row. I didn’t bother calling as he knows the days and time and frankly, I needed the spare time to work in yet another expense report. This one must include the per diem for the two cities we visited recently and the government certainly makes it difficult for you to find out how much they owe.

Spoke to Corrie at length about our upcoming trip to Khujand. We decided to fly on the second of June as I’ll be staying with her or Hillary the day before. I need to get going on packing and/or giving away the things I bought here and no longer need so the apartment is ready for the landlady on May 31.

May 15, 2012

Another beautiful morning to enjoy on my way to the embassy. I stopped by Jennifer’s desk and inquired about getting the permit issued to travel in the Khorog region as both locals and foreigners must register before heading to that area. Hillary commented on Sunday that the current government, in power since 1997, has done all it can to starve the population in this region because they fought on the losing side of the civil war and thus does not encourage any tourism to take place there. The region has been able to survive only because the Aga Khan Foundation provides food supplies, education and health services and even maintains the roads. I’m very curious to visit this place and to have a chance to speak to the locals.

I ran into Corrie while coming out of the embassy and she confirmed her plans to travel to China with Michelle between May 20-27 and her inability to be in Khujand with me on the second of June as she teaches on Fridays and could only fly on Saturday at midday. I told her I’d contact the American Corner there and try to rearrange the schedule to suit hers.

The roses were in full display as I rode to and from the embassy and a legion of female crew members could be seeing hoeing and clipping them into an even more beautiful display. I wish I could have been on foot to both admire them closer and to take more photos of such delightful sights. I rode in the mini-van all the way to the bazaar and purchased what I needed to replicate the fruit salad Aireen had made for the trip to Iskandarkul. Cherries, strawberries, blackberries, apples, pears, bananas, kiwis, and many others I could neither name nor identify, were on display there. I also stopped at the supermarket for heavy cream and condensed milk.

Eraj, Schahnoza and Zuleikho came by for a visit and I served them the fruit salad and other goodies. We spent a delightful couple of hours talking about their future plans and gossiping about the PedInst. Zuleikho is currently undergoing training to become a flight attendant for Somon Air and Schahnoza might be planning to get marry soon, but she’s already teaching elementary school. Eraj was going to the center to get his misplaced school bag and agreed to walk with me as I was going to develop some photos and drop off materials to be laminated.

We were passing a government building featuring an alluring display of rose bushes in full bloom and I pointed them out to Eraj. He asked if I wanted to take a photo and I said yes, as long as the guard posted at the gate allowed it. The young soldier said yes and I started clicking away. All of a sudden, an older soldier came out of the building screaming and demanded that I delete all the photos taken even though I had shown him I had only photographed the roses and the building was nowhere identifiable. I could see that Eraj was nervous and the young soldier was probably getting ready for a reprimand. I showed Eraj where the “delete” button was and he got carried away deleting in the process all the photos we had taken that afternoon at my house. When the display read “No Files”, the old soldier relented and let us go not before I had shown him my embassy ID and convinced him I had no idea I was taken photos outside of what could be considered the local KGB.

Eraj was more than mortified and blamed himself for the loss of the photos. I dissuaded him from that idea and told him we could still ask Zuleikho and Schahnoza to share the shots they had also taken. We returned to my flat after running our errands and I scanned his receipt for payment of his German visa and sent a message on his behalf that this requirement had been met.

When he heard about my plans to travel to Khujand, he offered to go with me and to ask his brother-in-law to offer us lodging there. I promised to discuss it with Corrie, who can only be there for a couple of days, as I’d like to spend more time in that part of the country and it’s a long way to go for such a short visit.

May 14, 2012

I had a very enjoyable morning just puttering around the flat until it was time for my classes at Caritas. I took the trolley to get off closer to their offices and also to bypass the PedInst since I tend to get stopped too many times by my former students trying to find out why I’m not in class on a daily basis.

Takhmina was out on an errand and the three remaining students played “The Good Manners” game explaining what was the proper etiquette for a series of events, such as a wedding, funeral or birthday party. Each response took much longer than I had expected, such as the funeral one, as many of them didn’t have the vocabulary required to talk about that topic. We moved on to a much lighter topic by playing “Odd one Out” the rest of the time.

Khurshed offered me a ride home just as it was beginning to rain, but first we experience a volley of hail that could be heard peppering the roof of the car. I was so relieved to be home just as the downpour started.

The landlady called to say her husband would come by tonight to collect the rent. Otherwise, I had a very quiet evening at home.

May 13, 2012

I was rudely awakened by an earthquake that lasted long enough to make me jump out of bed and take refuge under the door frame in the bedroom. I had quite a difficult time getting back to sleep after that. I later learned it had been a 5.7 temblor and lasted about 20-30 seconds. It sure felt much longer and scarier. I now recalled why I moved out of California back in 1990. I do not enjoy this kind of surprise, especially since I live on the fourth floor of a Soviet-built apartment complex which I doubt was designed to withstand severe temblors.

Farzona called me repeatedly while I drank my coffee probably to ask me to join her in going to her village once again, but her English is too limited to allow for such a trip and visit to relatives that don’t speak any of it.  I had agreed to meet with Munisa to go over her Statement of Purpose for the Fulbright program and she called promptly at nine to let me know she was on her way. Her essay was one of those that attempts to cover a myriad of subjects instead of focusing on just one area. We discussed the specific program she’s applying for, but I couldn’t find a page on the web addressing the specific requirements for that exchange. I gave the name of the person at the IREX program and asked her to contact him before proceeding any further.

I did the dishes and tidied up the apartment while cooking lunch for Hillary. When she arrived, we spent hours talking about everything under sun while devoting sometime to the possibility of my traveling to Russian, which I’m hesitant to do as I don’t speak the language. She, in turn, was interested in traveling through the Pamirs and on to Bishkek in Kyrgyzstan.  She’ll let me know this coming week of such trip is feasible in mid-June.

Although it was a beautiful spring day with blue skies and soft breezes, I couldn’t motivate myself to go out and enjoy it since I couldn’t even think of a place to go. I was also expecting to hear from my brother-in-law about the possibility of skyping with my mother as she was going to be spending Mother’s Day at my sister’s house. The day came and went, but I didn’t receive a message to do so.

May 12, 2012

Another rainy morning and not exactly what I wanted when getting ready to visit the Access program summer camp. I wore my dress boots to deal with the rain and the mud and waited for Corrie in front of the market. It took a while to locate the right mini-van going to Varzob and then for it to get filled with the required number of passengers. It only cost 3 somoni for the ride and I had no trouble locating the exact place where to get off. The students were in the middle of practicing line dancing with Deborah and Reese leading the crowd. Subsequently, Reese played the guitar and sang several songs and I was dismayed to hear him lead the students in the singing of a Christian song called “10,000 Reasons”, which they had obviously learned before as they had the lyrics written down in their notebooks. I had noted that Deborah had said something to Tahmina on Thursday about doing God’s work. It sounded to me like pure proselytizing and we are prohibited from doing exactly that in our line of work.

We had a coffee break and then Corrie and I took over doing a variety of speaking and grammar games until lunch time came around. The students were very enthusiastic and had never done any of the activities we had prepared for them. I even learned to play the game “Uno”, which I had never had a chance to play before. Lunch was a mixed bag: Greek salad, quite good, vermicelli soup, just all right, and then white rice with a concoction made with ground beef and covered with crouton which was then fried and served with no sauce of any kind. I left it untouched.

The students played a couple of games before being shown a collage of the pictures taken during the camp. The background music? One of them was again “10,000 Reasons”, and some of the students hummed along with it. We said goodbye after visiting one of the cabins to see what they looked like inside. There were two story structures simulating a Swiss chalet and accommodated the mothers, who had acted as chaperones for the group, on the first floor and four girls on the second. They were in pretty good shape and the bathrooms were spotless, with flushing mechanisms and toilet paper.

                                              My gorgeous bouquet

I purchased a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers some children were selling by the side of the road while waiting for our mini-van to come by. I made it home just as the sun was coming out and enjoyed a peaceful evening at home watching TV, emailing people regarding the upcoming camps and finally getting some much deserved rest.

May 11, 2012

Nigina had confirmed her intention to come have dinner with me instead of going to one of the restaurants in town that have so little appeal for me. She asked if she could bring a friend along to which I said yes. The rain had continued unabated all night and it was still raining heavily when I had no choice but to go to the nearby supermarket and get the ingredients needed to make chili con carne, polenta and white rice. I found the Parmesan cheese and boneless beef I needed and was glad Nigina had offer to bring a salad, the weakest part of repertoire when it comes to cooking.

 I sent Corrie a text message to remind her of our presentation tomorrow at the Access camp and she called to say she didn’t know anything about it although we had talked about the camp earlier in the week. She reluctantly agreed to meet at 9:00am where the taxis depart for Varzob even though I told her I could go alone if she didn’t feel up to it.

Zoir kept dialing my phone, but I didn’t pick up because I didn’t want to have company today. I had promised Elbek we’d have a two hour class in the afternoon since we hadn’t had any this week and needed time for other chores. I marinated the beef, soaked the beans, did the dishes and started the polenta so it’d have a chance to set while listening to some of my favorite tunes.

Elbek came for his class and he’d a lot of difficulty with the audio portion as he’s not able to understand contractions and accents of any kind. We were interrupted by Zoir who showed up anyway with another first year student, Nigina, because she wanted to know, wonder of wonders, how she could go to America to join her sister. I was practically fuming at their coming without having received prior approval from me and then furious at being asked the same inane question. I don’t seem to be able to get it into their heads that visas are not easily obtained even if you have a friend or relative living in the United States and the moment I mentioned that a student visa requires the passing of the TOEFL, they immediately panic knowing full well they are not prepared to take on such test. Mercifully, they left early as they had tickets to a performance at the Opera Ballet Theater.Zoir insisted it was the right time to visit his village and we tentatively set the date for next Thursday. I only committed myself to spending one night there as I plan to have a dinner party here the following Saturday.

Nigina came in accompanied by a co-worker, Muhyyo, a delightful young woman from Khujand who insisted we practice Latin dance movements after our dinner. Even though I was still sore from the workout I had received during the week, I complied with the request and showed her my best moves.

May 10, 2012

Having taken two Benadryl pills the night before allowed me to sleep much better. The curtains in the living room were fluttering lightly indicating that rain was approaching and I needed to dress appropriately to visit the Access students’ summer camp. By the time nine o’clock rolled around, it was raining cats and dogs and I called Tahmina to ask her to drive up to my building to pick me up as I was not willing to stand at the curb waiting for her under that deluge. She did just that and brought along the certificates already signed by Sandy.

We drove to the camp under heavy rain and arrived as the students were participating in simulacrum of going through the stages needed to travel to the United States from the visa review to going through security. I got to chat with Tahmina while the students completed the process and I couldn’t help but mention the bribe-taking scheme at the PedInst and how angry students were at having to pay each professor 40-50 somoni per exam. She didn’t bat an eye and only added that such payment would be considered peanuts when compared to what other students pay at the Technological or Medical University. She explained that in the past, failing students would place such payment in an envelope and deliver it to the professor or dean through a secretary or other underling, but they would not accept the payment directly from the student. I took it she meant the old system was better because it seemed less crass, but not because it was unethical or ruinous for the students.

I met another teacher, Reese, who’s from the state of Washington and graduated from the same university I did, class of 2000. There was another guy from Switzerland who came up with an interesting PowerPoint presentation asking Amin questions about his impending trip to the United States, some of which were quite thoughtful and Amin had no answers for them. Tahmina insisted we drive back to Dushanbe by noon and so we didn’t get to stay for lunch. Both the Swiss guy and Amin hitched a ride with us as they both needed to run errands in the city. I promised Deborah that Corrie and I would return on Saturday and carry out some activity with the students. She does have a full calendar, so I want to observe what they have planned anyway.

When I checked my cell phone close to noon, I saw I had a text message from my counterpart at the PedInst, Nigora, notifying me I was supposed to be there at 1:00pm to take part in the testing of the students. I replied that I was in Varzob and unable to get there in time and that she should have notified me earlier. I was also wearing jeans, t-shirt and my TEVA sandals and couldn’t show up in such garb at the university anyway.

                                             Saying goodbye to Amin

It was still raining heavily when I got home and I prepared some leftovers for lunch. I didn’t feel like leaving my house again and texted Corrie to cancel our plans for Zumba lessons today and postpone them until Saturday when we’d be together anyway. I need to give my body a rest after going out three nights in a row.
 

Another student came by and told me more horror stories about payments and the unfair treatment students are subjected to at the PedInst. According to the schedule posted on the wall, he informed me I’m scheduled to be present for another exam on Saturday. I told him I never taught on Saturdays and therefore couldn’t have been scheduled to be present on such days. He feels the administration is just putting my name there as a formality to comply with the rules, but they’re probably happy I’m not able to attend these sessions so they can proceed with their bribe-taking scheme. He also felt it was not fair for the professors to pick questions randomly from a 400-page book that had not been covered in class and then ask for money to give the student a passing mark.

Nigina emailed me to invite me out to dinner tomorrow, but I’d rather stay home. I offered to make chili con carne and white rice and she agreed to come over instead. That means an early trip to the market tomorrow if the rain ever lets up.