July 7, 2012

I got up extra early as I needed to be ready for the ride into Khorog. I had just finished my coffee when I got the usual twitter sound from my Internet provider informing me that I had ran out of money when in fact I had paid just last Saturday. I was practically fuming when the volunteer knocked on my door to tell me the newly improvised shower in their backyard was ready for my use. I grabbed my towel and soap and headed for the square space covered in plastic sheeting on top of which they had placed a 5-gallong container full of warm water and somehow attached a hand-held shower head to it. I got a trickle of water, not enough to wash my hair as it had been my intention, but at least remove the layers of dust accumulated the last four days.

I barely had a chance to get dressed when another knock told me the car was ready for me, but I asked for a few minutes to scarf a bowl of porridge at the school canteen before jumping into it. It took an hour and twenty-five minutes to cover the 50 kilometer distance all the while driving on alongside the River Panj with magnificent views of the mountains on the Afghani side and its villages among clusters of trees. We passed many small villagers, a couple of cemeteries, and then arrived at Khorog, a very clean place with a lively center where Madina and Firuza were waiting for me to take me to their NGO, Logos. I first asked them to take me to Megaphon, upon the recommendation of Mavluda, to find out about my Internet connection. The clerk indicated the 50.00 somoni I had paid last Saturday had never been credited to my account and couldn’t be done today as the employee who made the mistake was out. She took Mavluda’s number and promised to call tomorrow when it was rectified.

After visiting the NGO’s offices, a very dark, small and cramped place, very similar to Multikids in Dushanbe, I requested to be taken to the Afghan market I had heard so much about and we boarded a mini-van to get there. There was nothing to purchase or do there as only a few merchants were offering fabric, old shoes, some toiletries and scarves most of it on the ground. Madina then informed me that the merchants were prohibited from selling produce or milk because there had been some problem in the past with the quality of these items. Except for the fact that the vendors were dressed in the typical garb I had seen so many times in the news, and the fact that the place was overrun by soldiers in Afghan uniform, there would have nothing to differentiate this market from any other. I was hungry and we stopped at a hole-in-the wall place where several soldiers sat smoking. They were only offering plov and I agreed to have it standing outside to avoid the smoke. The dish in itself was insipid to the max, only lukewarm, and had so much oil in it that I refused to eat the bottom layer. No cold water was available and I had to settle for some execrable orange soda.

I begged to leave and make a stop at the local market in Khorog since one of the students had been wearing a set of pretty earrings that appeared to be made of stainless steel with the design of a peacock inside. We searched high and low, but only found some other tin earring in a variety of color and I bought five to offer to my friends in the States since I can’t buy anything heavy to add to my suitcase. Back to the Logos offices we went and then Tamriz offered me a ride back to the camp thus giving me a chance to ask him questions along the way. He stopped a couple of times to allow me to take photos and rue the isolation that has been imposed in this region making it so difficult to achieve anything for its inhabitants.

Students were just finishing lunch when we arrived and I was offered a bowl of really oily soup with just one piece of potato and one chunk of carrot. So as not to deviate from their established pattern, the beef was tough and flavorless. I ate a few cherries while discussing the agenda for the closing ceremony to which people from the embassy are expected. I have tried to impress on the Logos personnel that this would be their chance to make their students shine by showing what they have learned so far and that the entire ceremony should be carried out in English as the NGO in Istaravshan had done. I could see the furrows on Mavluda’s forehead the minute I mentioned that interpreting everything that was said would make for a very long and tedious event.

So far, the students don’t know any songs, poems or jokes in English and have barely started to rehearse the “Hokey Pokey”. I have the impression that they are never spoken to in English except when I’m present in the classroom more for my edification than for their benefit and I can’t see how they could conduct themselves as masters of ceremonies when their English is so halting at best.

I went back to my room to sift through all the photos I had taken so Tamriz can transfer the best ones to his computer on Monday as I suggested that they do a slide show summarizing the camp experience as the Qurgonteppa group had done. Dinner was the usual bowl of soup, barley this time, and buttermilk, which I can’t drink. Mavluda accompanied me back to my room and I realized then I had left my shawl at Tamriz’ offices and the weather had suddenly cooled enough to make me shiver.