June 22, 2012

I got up early to make sure I was ready to be picked up by the embassy vehicle by nine. Eraj didn’t show up by eight as he had promised, and I left his things with a note for Ryan to deliver them to him at his convenience. Two embassy SUVs showed up and Elbek, my former student from the first floor of my apartment complex, materialized out of nowhere and helped me with my bags. I ended up sharing a vehicle with a driver who is a graduate from the PedInst, class of 2007, and had who studied under Tahmina whom he considered a great teacher. We had a spirited conversation about the shortcomings of the institute and he swore it used to be different when most of the professors were Russian and not given to taking bribes. He vaguely remembered the deputy dean mostly because of his arrogance in believing his knowledge of the English language was far superior to the rest of the faculty members.

Manucher, who subsequently became a teacher and actually taught for a few years before giving up the profession due to the low salary it paid, ended up being a consular employee in Russia until his father was killed while crossing the street and he needed to come back to Tajikistan to keep his mother company. We had a smooth ride until we got to the terrifying five kilometer long tunnel still under construction when the two five-gallon canisters full of gasoline that the drivers must bring with them as the embassy doesn’t allow them to buy gasoline from local suppliers, started to leak onto the trunk. I thought I was going to pass out from the fumes and felt almost a narcotic effect, as if going under anesthesia practically. When we finally emerged from the tunnel, Manucher had to take out all the luggage he was transporting for the musicians, plus my own, to air out the trunk. He suggested that I switch cars and go with the older driver, who spoke no English whatsoever, but I decided to stick with him and just asked that the windows be kept open the whole time.

We stopped in Ayni for lunch at what we might consider a truck stop, and I had no luck as neither place, facing each other, had plov to offer. It was back to the usual shorbot soup, salad and flat bread. I insisted on paying for the lunch tab, 47.00 somoni, and the drivers were quite taken aback by my gesture. Going up the mountains we encountered heavy hail, and then rain mixed with snow. We continued our journey until traffic came to an abrupt stop at the highest point of the Shahriston Pass where a landslide had blocked the road and everybody indicated they were waiting for a tractor to come by and remove it. It only took three and half hours for it to arrive, and Manucher and I exhausted many topics of conversation to keep each other entertained while I pitied the older driver ahead of us who alone in his car. At least we had good music to listen to while I picked Manucher’s brain about Tajikistan in general.

I called Subhi, Corrie’s friend, to let her know that I was getting into Khujand just before 8:00pm not realizing her house was in a village on the way there. Manucher delivered me to the bus stop where she was waiting for me and told me that if anything was not to my liking to just call him and he would return for me. I was so touched by his offer that I didn’t even know what to say while also knowing that whatever the conditions in Subhi’s house, I’d never refuse to stay with her. Once we got to her house, I made a beeline to the bathroom and was then introduced to her husband, son and daughter. I was not shown the house and was instead given a tour of the vegetable garden, orchard, chicken coup and barn where goats and sheep are kept. Manure was kept within the enclosed courtyard and the smell was almost overpowering not to mention the presence of an army of flies that pestered us all evening while we ate dinner al fresco.

Subhi’s daughter got to work on some borsch soup, the brother started a brazier to grill the fish his father had caught that morning, and the parents chatted with me about this and that. The fish was delicious, lightly salted and served with chopped garlic, sliced onions and quartered tomatoes. I tried to refuse the second one, but they would have none of that and I stuffed myself to the gills. After such a heavy meal, my eyes could not stay open much longer and I begged to be excused from the table. The daughter heated up water for me to brush my teeth and Subhi got the bed ready for me. There was a fan in the room that just pushed the hot air around and I could find no way to stay cool, so sleep eluded me for a long despite how tired I was.