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.