STOP

Friday
1. Rohat Teahouse to meet the ladies for lunch. On the way, I realized a white road sign with black trim said, "Stop." My first two words deciphered in the beauty isle at the grocery store last week turned out to be shampoo and creme (aka lotion). Thank you, thank you very much. This month has been a fascinating reminder of how we process new language: time, silent period, immersion, connecting new information to existing knowledge, context, visual cues, authentic materials? Yes.
2. At the tea house I finally tried Osh, the national dish of Tajikistan. It's rice, carrots, chick peas, and meat. Nice and hearty. Met the illusive Gundina, Ella's friend, co-worker, and character extraordinaire.
3. Got my visa renewed at the airport. I will be legal my last three days.
4. Went out dancing with the ladies. I brought one pair of high heels and they didn't go to waste. We went to a Georgian restaurant, where there was a live singer and belly dancers. We ate and danced Tajik style (it's all in the arms). So much fun to watch Mimi, her friend, and Gundina let loose. Ella, too, when her favorite Tajik song came on. We were the only ones dancing and applauding the belly dancers and singer, and we were the only table of women. Gundina called the table of men behind us impotent for their tepid response to all of it. Maybe not tepid, but delayed. As we left, two followed us out and offered to give all five of us a ride. We refused, of course, and crossed the street to find a taxi. Our delayed responders swung around and made another attempt, but Gundina, the ex-police officer, wilted them with a glare. We rode home in a Chinese minivan embellished with purple interior lights.

Saturday
1. Woke up early to work on my final report.
2. Got a phone call from Ella around 9am that Mimi had planned a day for us, and she'd pick us up in 45 minutes. We'd go to an ancient fortress outside of Dushanbe (Yes! Outside the city!) and then back to Varzob for BBQ and lounging on platforms (topchan) near the river. Outside of the city, my ealier impression was confirmed. It looks a lot like Central Utah. The whole area is located in a large, dusty valley that's farmed and surrounded by tall dry mountains. Poplar trees give a little shade. Mimi spent part of our drive time giving me advice about men, which started because our car and driver were lent to us by her ex-husband. In short, and I quote directly, her message was, "A man will feel like a treasure if he spends money on you." The way she explained it, I can kind of see her point. While at the fortress, several wedding caravans passed by. The poor bride gets paraded around town accompanied by family, friends, drums, flutes and her new husband, while she bows continuously in humility. Mimi could give her a piece of advice or two.
3. Back to Dushanbe for a little rest. Then on to Dee's for Ella's homemade pizza and one last dinner with the INL crew. They're all sure I'm coming back.

Golden

Goofy moments made my last day of classes.

In my first class, we finished the first part of a test, so I gave them a break. One student, the tall, strapping helicopter pilot with the cheeky Afghanistan t-shirt, didn't come back from the break and missed the listening part of the test. It turned out he had gone to get me a gift from the class, a colorful ethnic bag and wallet. He presented me with the gift and his test, finished, without having listened to the test CD. Points for thoughtfulness.

Another student from the anti-corruption agency came today. For the second time in three and a half weeks. When I asked if he knew that this was the last day of classes, and a student translated it for him into Tajik, he nodded. He had been sick (translated for me from Tajik to English). He took the test, translated mostly into Tajik by other students. Points for trying.

Another man who I met on the first day in the administration offices at the Ministry and who I now think was supposed to be my student, called to me from the hallway during my second class. I excused myself for a second and went out to speak with him. He apologized for missing the presenting of the certificates of participation by the INL folks from the embassy, which had happened between classes. He had been on duty. Then he presented me with three, huge long-stemmed white roses and rushed off. I'm still not sure if he was looking for his certificate of participation. Points for flowers?

My sweet student who I thought had decided on #2, the doctor in Moscow, is a little wilier than I gave her credit for. A few days ago, when I asked her about Moscow, she got a little coy and said, "Maybe I will go to America to study English." And while making small talk about jewelry after class, she said quite emphatically, "I only like gold." Of course she knows a thing or two. She's a police officer. It makes me feel better.

One of my most painfully shy, but fiercly persistent students, the librarian at the police academy, asked for the first time on the last day of class if she could walk with me a little to practice her English. As we left the Ministry, one of the guards said, "Auf Wiedersehen!"

The librarian escorted me most of the way home, carefully answering my questions and asking a few of her own when we went one too many steps without speaking. It's the only time I've regretted living so close to the Ministry.

Manpower

I admit that this blog has been a bit of a lady parade. Blame it on my Relief Society calling or my gender, but I've been fascinated by the women I've met.



To be fair, here's to the men.



First there was Valijon, my fearless visa expeditor, who it sounds like will soon become my fearless visa renewalist. The consular guy at the airport who only gave me a visa through July, even though all information said I'd be here until August 2, has purposely been excluded from this list.



Dee, fighter of corruption and crime, has gone above and beyond to make things more convenient for me. He lent me contact solution, arranged for someone to lend me clothes (his most brave act of all), helped me move, made sure I was using my peephole, showed me good supermarkets, suggested restaurants, pointed out that stairs here aren't always even in width, and pushed me out of the way of dripping water. And to boot, he bakes his own bread (perfect for bruschetta) and makes his own spaghetti sauce. Most importantly, he lends his kitchen out for Italian food night.



Jay, who I only met briefly, was a New York City cop for years and worked Ground Zero after September 11. After that, he said he needed a break. He spent eight years in Kosovo training police officers, and now he's here working in community policing.



Maksim, who appeared early and briefly in this blog, has been the most striking of the men I've met. He essentially educated himself in information technology and has lived independently of his family since he was eighteen because he could. Unheard of in these parts, as far as I can tell. His singularity reminds me of a former student, Hiroshi, whose warmth, humor, and openness were admirable by any standard, but stood out in high relief especially because these qualities didn't seem to have been dictated to him by the norms of his culture. Maksim's choices and actions too have been his own, coming from some inner desire for improvement and excellence. He has also found himself in tenuous situations that only personal (and some physical) strength, along with a sense of right could allow him to overcome. I think of him as an old man with a young face. I want to say, "May the brain drain not wash him away to some other place." But with my American eyes, it's hard not to wish him more.

"Given to Women"

The mosque

My bashful guide.

Melon Man

Mimi and Ella in the blessed kitchen

I had a blissful evening walking around again with my camera. It cools off around 6pm, and everyone takes to the streets. There's something about leaving the house with no plan but to wander. I headed toward the main mosque in the center along Rudaki Boulevard. When I started taking pictures there, the little boys selling melons wanted their picture taken. One brightly dressed little girl didn't want hers taken (I offered several times and snuck one when she wasn't looking), but she wanted to take mine, so I let her. Then I was lent a covering for my hair, and she lead me into the inner courtyard and mosque. There were wide marble stairs leading up to the mosque itself. As I started up, she ran in front of me, running and sliding across the higher stairs in her red plastic slippers. Inside the mosque it was simple and white. There were men praying, so I didn't take pictures or linger. I snapped a few more pictures of the outside, showing my little guide the results for her approval. I got a thumbs-up. Maybe she'll have her own camera one day.

Last night, Ella made dinner at Dee's house. We had bruschetta (pronounced "brews-ketta" says the Italian) on homemade bread, fresh pesto chicken pasta salad, figs and apricots from the market. And for dessert, olive oil cake with local peaches sweetened with sugar and balsamic vinegar. Then, I died.

I love Italian cooking because it's simple. When Ella can't find ingredients that she needs, she substitutes. No pine nuts for the pesto, so walnuts. No artichokes for the salad, so pickled vinegary things from the Korean women at the market. And it works. I've been madly jotting down recipes as she shares. I can't wait to try some of her stuff at home. And if you benefit, you're welcome.

For Lady K and Abby Jean from the children's park...

This is the Dali (?) inspired children's park. I'm still on the look-out for an "O". "S" in the cyrillic alphabet is "C".

Camera Not So Obscura

Fountains in the park with the presidential palace in the background.


Close-up of a mosaic on the side of a building.




A taxi driver who wanted his picture taken with me. When I showed him the picture, he said, "I love you." I think he meant, "I love it."




Same guy with his friend.





A proud grandma who asked me to take a picture.






These two were strolling and snacking on seeds. Pretty, aren't they?







A little one with a BIG Coke.

One Month Is Not Enough!

It hit me yesterday that this is by far the most foreign of the countries I've visited, and one month is not enough time to absorb and experience it all. I'll have to pack in as much as possible in my last week. I've taken about two and half weeks to settle in. I've functioned, but haven't felt functional. Let me illustrate. I found the National Museum last week after wandering a bit by following two women who looked like tourists into a school supply market, where luckily I saw postcards, which I had been wanting to buy. One of the postcards happened to be a picture of the National Museum, which I recognized was the building right next door. I had been confused because it said "Ministry of Culture," not "National Museum." After buying my postcards by holding up fingers to get the price, I got to the museum.

I went to a market with Ella this morning and realized how little I've seen. It's fun going places with her because she understands the culture, but also recognizes the oddities. A few funny moments from the market:

I wanted to try on a shirt (before I understood where that would have to happen). It was a berry pink number that had one very short sleeve and one elbow-length kimono style sleeve with sequins on the edge of the long sleeve and along the hem (it was cuter than it sounds). Ella suggested it would be perfect for a 35 year old woman who is without an arm and that, my friends, made me want to try it on. The owner of the store said to Ella (I could tell by her body language) that it would be too tight in the chest while at the same time another guy in the store sucked in air and clicked his tongue at the thought of me squeezing into it. For the record, it didn't look too small, but we left.

Ella was looking for some clothes. She wanted to try on a purple shirt she saw, and the sales girl lifted a sheet. This was the dressing room. We'd gone into another store where one woman had just dropped her trousers to try on another pair of pants. This is the part of Tajikistan that is incongruent and fascinating. Tajik culture is very conservative, but there's still the Soviet influence, which is much more free and open. So, there in the market are women wearing traditional Tajik dresses and their hair tied up in scarves shopping with other women who don't mind standing around in their panties. There are Iranian-style head coverings for sale near bikinis and platform stillettos.

These two sides do seem to join hands in their appreciation for all things sparkly however. Fabrics, purses, shoes, and hair accessories are covered or embellished with sequins, rhinestones or sparkly thread. It was difficult to find a hair clip that wasn't covered in rhinestones. I did find one that was conservatively bedazzled, so I figured why not celebrate the sparkle, a little.