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.