June 29, 2012

It had been a major mistake to eat approximately a quarter of a watermelon immediately before going to bed. I woke up at least four times with an urgent need to empty my bladder, and found out later on that both Nigora and Parvina had been in the same boat. I wasn’t even able to make it for breakfast on time as my body was so sluggish and I just didn’t feel like moving. I told them I’d meet them in the canteen later where I was served the rice pudding with hardly any sugar at all. I added both sugar and a pinch of salt and Firuza looked at my alarmed letting me know this porridge was supposed to be sweet and couldn’t understand my argument that there needed to be a little bit of salt in it to balance all the sugar. Fried eggs and a hot dog followed and I ate a bit of the eggs, took a group photo and went to my room to iron my dress for the ceremony.

According to the Google forecast, the morning would have been free from rain, and so Nigora arranged to have the ceremony outdoors as the classroom lacked any form of ventilation whatsoever. Parents had been arriving bringing with them tons of food and drinks, and the teachers were busy arranging the tables and directing the students to place balloons and other decorations at strategic places. Only a handful of male parents were present and no one from the local government showed up contrary to what Nigora had promised. Instead of starting at 10:00 as the agenda stated, the program began at 11:20 and ended two hours later. I was starving by then as I had been standing most of the time either having my photo taken with the students and their parents, signing “autographs” in their books or handing out the certificates, and of course, joining in the dancing when the program was over.

All the activities had gone on without a hitch from the reciting of poems, to the dancing of the hokey pokey, singing yet another rendition of “My heart will go on, playing the game “Can you help me”, telling jokes in English I couldn’t get, and a hilarious skit in Tajik that everyone seemed to enjoy. Students, teachers and parents expressed their gratitude to the U. S. embassy in Dushanbe for sponsoring the program fully aware that learning even a little bit of English would make a significant difference in their children’s lives.

We retired to dining room and had plov brought, by the parents from Shahriston, salad and more watermelon. Students started to say goodbye as some of them were departing with their parents, and then the tears started to flow as one group was graduating and moving on to college or other endeavors and this had been their last time to be all together. I was touched to hear that even the tough rapper in our group had shed tears when saying goodbye to what had become a tightly-knit group of teenagers who during one week a year could forget all about homework, farm chores and familial constraints and just enjoyed each other’s company.

I went to my room and a group of boys followed me there to tell me all of them wanted to go to the States and when I mentioned that the right program for them was the FLEX high school one, they told they had applied for it, but had been eliminated after the first round, the simple interview, because their English fluency was too low. As most of them are already 17, this possibility is barred for them and attending college in the States would be out of the questions as they couldn’t pass the TOEFL either. As sad as I felt for them, no computers, no Internet access, teachers that lack fluency themselves, there was little I could do. I had to shoo them out of my room so I could start packing. Nigora had invited to stay overnight at her house so I could attend a wedding party that same evening and had offered to take me to Dushanbe as she had yet another wedding there on Sunday. I was relieved to know I’d not have to find transportation back on my own.

The wedding in question was a dispiriting affair with mostly middle-age women conservatively dressed with head scarves and just a smattering of young men who were friends of the groom and who chose to sit in another room adjacent to the main where we were seated. The eight women at my table, some of whom I had met the previous Saturday, just sat there gossiping and eating the whole time. When the bridal party arrived from having had their photos taken all over town, the orchestra played while the bride continuously bowed from her stand never speaking, eating or drinking. We were served cold cuts, samosas, and then meatballs before Nigora informed me that instead of leaving for Dushanbe on Saturday, her husband and driver were ready to leave that minute. I couldn’t say no and we said goodbye to everyone at the table.

                                Friends of the groom dance in a spirited fashion in front of the couple.

                                                      Mistress of Ceremony

                          The bride keeps her head down and bows repeatedly the entire time showing respects for her guests.

                        Trumpet players rejoice as the couple enters the reception hall and take their seats.

                                                  The hair on this bride is 100% hers.

                                             Fancy canopy for the couple to walk through

                                 Area dedicated to the groom and bride and an attendant on each side.

The pass was dry and dusty this time and I could see the lights of cars and trucks as they started to make their ascend, and couldn’t believe that I had agreed to travel at night through such dangerous terrain, but then we were riding in a brand-new Toyota Land Cruiser with a driver that Nigora swore was very experienced, and I had been given the front seat as Nigora and her husband wanted to ride together in the back. We got to Dushanbe at 1:30am and a sleepy Ryan opened the door for me after I had texted him about the change in plans. I was beyond exhausted as it had been one long day.