با گوشت دودی و دوست های خارجی

Quick: Think about Tajikistan. Think about all of the things I've told you about living in this tiny post-Soviet republic, and make a list (presumably mental, unless you actually want to write it out, and I’m not judging if you do).  Only needs to be three or four things, no need to be super detailed, and don’t fret, I can wait…

---

Alright, now that that’s done, does the phrase “Brazilian barbeque” come up at all? I’m guessing no, and if it did, you can read Farsi and understood the title of the entry, in which case you’re a dirty cheater. But yes, Brazilian barbeque was how I spent my last full weekend of the semester in Dushanbe, and if I may say, it was a marvelous time.

So how did I manage to experience Fogo de Chao (or any other Brazilian steakhouses you know, I myself do not) half a world away? In a word, AIESEC. In more than one word, yes, that organization that I occasionally mention on here managed to accomplish one of its major goals by organizing a Brazilian-style barbeque run by, surprise surprise, the two Brazilian interns working in Tajikistan.

Now, I would never say that Tajik food is bad, and even if/when I get tired of the local fare, living in the capital means that there are other options, although being a student, I can usually only afford the Iranian/Turkish/knockoff fast food places if I want to go out. But in regards to meat, something I usually don’t have anyways, I’d forgotten how good a piece of grilled meat, that hasn't been burned black, can taste.  Add in that Brazilians are quite good at grilling in the first place, and what you have is an experience that was surely a first for most of the Tajik members, and was for me, with the addition of Tajik naan and chai, as well as Russian pickles, a taste (pun intended) of familiar culinary globalization.

So if anyone reads from the other day reads this: Nicely done ladies and gentlemen, it was a nice way to round out the semester.

Also join AIESEC. It’s awesome.

---

One final note to any readers, regular or otherwise: As I've mentioned several times in this entry, I’m finishing my first semester here this week, so this will be my last regular post from Tajikistan until the end of January or the beginning of February. I’ll be headed off to Europe in the mean time, and I might post something while I’m there, but as Europe isn't very Tajik, I probably won’t.

As always: Ташаккуру Худо ҳафез.

در قهوخانه

After an acknowledgement that my last few entries have been downright depressing, and in an effort to convince people that I’m not on the verge of killing myself out of boredom or loneliness (because that would be quite far from the truth), I figure I’d better get a happy update out there.

So here it is…we’re talking about Iranians. Thrilling, I know!

The as-of-yet-unnamed Iranian café has made an appearance in “A Year of Monday” once before. Yes, this is the place I went to talk to Iranians because, as we’ve discussed before, I am that friendless foreigner in Dushanbe. But it’s become way more than that. First off, this place has three wonderful things in the same place: kubideh, hookah, and Iranian satellite TV. As to why these things are good, this should be apparent, but I suppose they merit an explanation. Kubideh, more specifically kebab-e kubideh, is pretty simple stuff, ground meat grilled. But for a mere 18 somoni (that’s about $3.60 for you Americans, the rest of you can do your own conversions), you get not one, but two succulent kubideh, a ton of rice, tomato, onion, and pickle. For an additional 3 somoni (now let’s see who’s the math-whiz reading this and can figure out what that comes out to), you get a whole pot of tea. That’s a pretty solid meal right there. And you can, if you’re so inclined, can sit watching Iranian TV and listen to the various, but blatantly Farsi (not Persian, we’re getting specific here) conversations going on around you.

But more importantly, I find the restaurant an interesting snapshot into a community that, in general, I can’t find in the US. I’m not talking about the Iranian community (they don’t let you stop knowing that they’re there, if you had questions about that, talk to the lovably sketchy gentlemen from the NCRI that haunt the street corners of DC), I’m talking about an expat community that isn’t dripping with cash and doesn’t refer to Dushanbe as “The Big Dushe”. Let’s be clear, I haven’t spoken with an Iranian in Dushanbe that hasn’t gone through great pains to convince me of the differences between themselves and their linguistic cousins. I wouldn’t, however, say that the attitudes to Tajikistan coming from the Iranian community reflect those I’ve heard elsewhere in the expat community. I’m also pretty terrible at Farsi, so there’s a fair chance I’m missing something.

But back to the café (which I’m going to start calling a qahvakhona, because ‘café’ sounds so weird in my head for this place), it started out as just a place to go for a cheap, non-Tajik lunch. Then it became the place with the cheapest hookah in town, which was also awesome (NOTE: Kids, smoking is bad. Don’t do it.). Now though, it’s almost like a second home. I go there on weekends to study. I go there during the week with my peer tutor so we don’t have to sit awkwardly in the sun room of the office. I go there when I want to listen to the news or music or watch football in Farsi. I get pulled into ridiculous arguments, like whether Tajik or Iranian women are more attractive, or why the guy who was sitting at the table across from me is from Semnan and what city in Iran am I from.

This city is a lot of things, some of them good, most of them different. I’ll be here until May, and I’ll likely be spending a lot of the next semester without my fellow student(s). And while I would never go as far to say I could fit in, maybe I’ll be able to find something in that qahvakhona worth writing about again. Or at least some more kubideh.

As always: Ташаккуру Худо ҳафез.

سلام آقای رحمان، من هنوز دارم می گویم...

Let’s suppose you are someone who’s been inspired by my mediocre writing skills and have decided “Hmm, this Tajikistan place sounds like an interesting locale, maybe I should learn something about it.” (NOTE: Yes, you should be doing this, especially if you haven’t already started.) If that was the case, you might’ve noticed this. Or, maybe if you’re even MORE astute, you've seen articles like this relating to things that aren't Facebook, but just as despotic.

(So if you’re reading this NOT because of the obviously absent Facebook update, feel free to spread it around, I don’t have many ways otherwise.)

I’ll admit, I wrote something along the lines of a three-page entry ‘praising’ H.E. Rahmon for “saving the population of Tajikistan from the dangers of free speech and Facebook.” It was blatantly farcical, and ended with something very undiplomatic, and a lot of words that I probably shouldn't publish, because A) If the Tajik authorities can actually see the negative things are posting about the government, I don’t want to give them an excuse to come after my host family, or the already embattled American Councils where I’ll likely be uploading this; and B)…

Reasoning B) is a lot longer than A, but makes a lot more sense. I’m not Tajik (shocking, I know). I can read and speak Tajiki about as well as the 6 year old in my host family, and I’m know she knows what’s going more often than I do. I’m going to be here until May, and then there’s a fair chance I’ll never come back to Tajikistan (NOTE: That is not due to a lack of a desire to come back, love this place. Just being realistic.) Yes, I have to deal with power outages, water outages, government censorship; the blatant attempt by the current president to create a cult of personality…the list honestly goes on. But after May, it’s not (directly at least) my problem anymore. I’ll be missing, among other things, the much reported October 2013 presidential elections, and the aftershocks when the US and friends "pulls out" of Afghanistan in 2014, but that’s neither here nor there.

There are over seven million people for whom this is everyday existence. Yes, there are people who think that Rahmon and his regime have kept Tajikistan permanently tethered to their dysfunctional pasts. But there are people who, to put it as it was paraphrased to me, are mad that “some stupid people said some dumb things about the president.” Tajikistan is a country like any other, there are those who are inherently political and involve themselves in any sort of civic injustice, and there are those who just want safety and affordable bread. And, as in most countries, that latter group is the majority.

After several attempts of writing this, I’m still at a loss for an end. Maybe (to use a ridiculously cheesy cliché I’m almost literally pulling out of my ass) it’s like Tajikistan, where there are many plausible futures, some of them good, some of them bad. At the end of the day, it’s not my job to choose an ending, because I'm just a guest, and I'm not the kind of person that can pick a future for a place that quite clearly isn't mine.

What is worth noting, and this is my first attempt being in a country where the government is blocking Facebook (my main outlet for contacting people back home), several news sites (which let me know what's going on in the region, and is also why I'm stuck with Yahoo! news), and of course, the power outages. And yeah, this might be life for people, but if you ever want to know what it feels like when the government is trying to isolate you from the outside world...this is a slightly terrifying start to a situation that could always get worse.

As always: Ташаккуру Худо ҳафез.

شایعات و پاسخ

People in Tajikistan are concerned. You hear this concern from students, from families, from professors and shop owners. And I’m concerned too.

American Councils’ programs for Americans could be leaving Tajikistan.

Now, at first, I thought it was likely a joke, and, after all, why would the only Persian language immersion program available for students from America (a country known for needing people who speak Persian because, let’s face it, we’re over there all the time) be closed down? Isn't there a demand for Persian, students who want to take the language, and who don’t have qualms about going outside their comfort zone?

Oh no, there is. They’re just all in Armenia or Turkey.

As some of you may be aware, the US government has a scholarship/fellowship program known as the Boren, which offers students enough money to make something, like a yearlong study program in Tajikistan significantly more financially feasible. However, this year, following “security concerns”, the program relocated all of its participants to Yerevan, Armenia. If you’re wondering why I’m in Tajikistan, and not Armenia studying Persian, it’s because (SURPRISE!) Armenia is not a Persian-speaking country.

But Greg, you might be saying, Tajikistan is in Central Asia, and Central Asia is SCARY! Yes, yes it is, if, by “SCARY”, you mean “The safest place I think I have ever lived.” Oh no, Tajikistan borders Afghanistan. And yes, this summer did see some pretty nasty violence in the eastern half of the country. But both of those places are, in relation to where I live about 6 and 11 hours away respectively. At the same time, ask any students studying in Israel how safe things have been lately, because let’s be serious, the number of missiles that have fallen in Tajikistan in the last three months is a resounding…Zero.

So yeah, not going to dance around the issue: US government, get your act together.  I hope, of course, that this is all only hearsay, but with only two students here for the spring semester…things are indeed looking grim.

As always: Ташаккуру худо ҳафез.

امیدوارم که شما برای چیز خوشحال جستجو نمیکنید...

(First off, if you’re reading this on November 22, and you’re in the US, get the hell off my blog, and spend time with your family. It’s Thanksgiving, celebrate it.)

Let’s talk about friends for a minute. Everybody has friends, right? Those people you can talk to about anything, have a good time with, and all that other stuff that makes you feel good and blah, blah, blah.

Now let’s talk about how that concept is a…difficult one in Tajikistan.

First off, I want to make one thing clear: This is not solely my thinking. I've heard from (short-list) Americans, the British, Russians, and Iranians, so I’m gonna guess that there’s some truth to this realization. Second, this isn't universal. I've met people here who I consider friends, both Tajik and otherwise, so I’m not trying to stereotype.

But actually, there is the constant feeling that, when you meet someone and talk to them, that if you agree to talk to them again, it’s not going to be in the context of friendship. Now, I’m lucky in that I’m both a guy and my country of origin is fairly hard to determine (say the Tajiks). So most of the time, I only get asked for visas. Visas and green cards. Which at first was amusing, but now which has honestly turned into a ridiculous pain in the ass (to be covered later).

(Also, I’m luckily not a woman, because men don’t try to have sex with me. Can’t stress how awesome that is.)

Part of it is cultural, which I understand. You have your family, your massive, incredibly close-knit families, friends are kind of secondary. And I’m not going to bash that because, living in one of those large, close-knit families, it’s kind of nice. But that has its limits, especially as someone not from Tajikistan who doesn't have family here. Likewise, early complaints I might’ve had about people only wanting to speak English are significantly less important (I mean I only want to speak Farsi/Tajiki, so I’m not much better).

But there’s a difference. If I meet someone in the park, or a restaurant, and start talking to them, yes I might want to speak in Persian, but I don’t really care what we talk about. It’s more just having someone different to talk to. Meanwhile, as I've learned from a lot of the people I've met in my first three months here, people want something more concrete from me. Either a visa or a job opportunity or whatever. And it’s annoying because now I find myself not wanting to give new people a chance because I've mentally programmed myself to talk to people once, and then never give out contact information or anything like that because it’ll lead to one of these situations.

(deep breath)

Not all Tajiks are like this. I will quite openly say that the Tajiks I have met through AIESEC have all, and I do mean all, been totally awesome. And there are a few people I've met multiple times on the street or around that are far friendlier than is the norm. But ultimately, it’s those moments when you realize how hard friends are to come by, here and in general, that makes eight months here seem that much more daunting.

---

On the other hand, I get to learn how to make osh today, and I can always drown my sorrows in goat and oily fried rice.

As always: Ташаккуру худо ҳафез.

چه هرگز نبود...

Museums are usually, for the most part, not the first thing you want to see when you’re living in another country. I think many people will admit this. So when our final excursion for the semester was to a museum (or more aptly, to two museums), I was less than thrilled. After all, we’re in another country, and we’re…oh, looking at old rocks and bones. Fun?

Well yeah, actually, surprisingly interesting.

For you see, Tajikistan is old. This is a fact that has been stressed by literally EVERYONE here for as long as I can remember. And yeah, when you go to places to Hisor, with the fort that’s older than an Iran, or Istaravshan, the city of Alexander’s Roxana, you realize this place is old. But the National History Museum here in Dushanbe was actually able to drive home what this place was like. It wasn't some back corner of nowhere like it (unfortunately) has become, it was a cosmopolitan center of East Asian, Indian, Persian, and Greek cultures, which made something truly interesting and unique.

Seeing the old statues (like the Leaning Buddha) and the artwork makes you think of a place where the lingua franca is Persian with Greek letters, where Hindus, Buddhists, Zoroastrians, and Christians all mix and mingle in a shockingly tolerant environment. Where the artwork is bizarre and colorful and you feel like this is the center, the true center of Eurasia. Basically, something amazing.

You will note, of course, that this is no longer the case. This ancient past was destroyed by a force so destructive; no army has ever managed to replicate it: The Arab invasions. The Russians left the language, the Mongols left the religion, but the Arabs trounced everything. 

And that's the end of that.

As always: Ташаккуру худо ҳафез.

بعد از یک هفته ای مهمترین :با ایرانیان

Let’s get one thing out of the way with this: I want to go to Iran. I’m in Tajikistan now because my requests to study in Tehran (and there were several) were denied by groups stretching from the Office of Study Abroad to the Dean of the Elliott School. Not saying I blame them for that decision, but it happened.

Now, onto the meat of this update, I've talked about language in terms of Tajiks/Russians. But there are always multiple sides to an argument, and after some lovely conversations yesterday, I figure it’s time to talk about Iranians. First, there are lots of Iranians (and Afghans, they’ll be making an appearance too) in Dushanbe. They may or may not own a bank in this city, so way-to-go sanctions, and I can usually find them in the Dushanbe equivalent of DC’s Moby Dick (non-DCers, look it up). They’re fairly easy to spot; women with shoddily placed headscarves that make you wonder why they’re bothering to wear the thing in the first place, and men looking surprisingly dapper aside from the bushy mustaches and permanent five-o’clock shadow. Normally, it’s fun to just find them on the street and start laughing because you can’t believe that the stereotypes actually exist (granted, the Western expats all look stereotypical as well, but come on, where’s the fun in talking about them).

Yesterday though, I figured I’d try to find some Iranians and strike up a conversation, using the masterful logic of Why the hell not? And, as luck would have it, I managed to walk into the Iranian café as lunch hour was wrapping up, so I ordered a pot of tea and a hookah, and watched (I shit you not), a Farsi-dubbed Home Alone. Simply put: Having fun where you can make it.

I ended up having conversations with three people yesterday, two of whom were Iranian and the other being an Afghan. The Iranians were a fun bunch, and aside from general ta’aroffing (‘No, we can’t smoke your hookah…) and making fun of the story I had to read for my class, we got into the seemingly inevitable halves of any conversation with people in this part of the world:

1. Why are you learning Farsi in Tajikistan?
2. Something about sanctions/US government not liking Iran/etc.

On the first one, it never seems to sink in that maybe, just maybe, the fact that the US and Iran don’t have formal relations might be an issue for me trying to study over there. And that the Iranian visa process for Americans might just be a bit rougher on students than vice-versa. (NOTE: I am basing that comment off of the number of Iranians who say they have relatives in America when I say “It’s impossible for me to get a student visa.”) Likewise, trying to explain away the US-Iran international enmity thing is difficult, especially when their list of grievances is a bit lengthier than ours.

But here’s the point I wanted to get to. Whenever you talk to Iranians, the feeling you get is that, by trying to learn Persian (not Farsi at this point, Persian), you've committed some grave injustice by coming to Dushanbe and studying ‘Tajiki’. And yeah, listening to conversational Tajiki, which can range from archaic, Ferdowsi-era Persian to a Russian creole, makes it blatantly clear that just speaking Farsi (at the level that most Americans do) isn't going to help alone. But ultimately, what is Farsi? The language is almost as Arabic as it is Persian, something Tajiks love pointing out. And I’ll be honest, the less ‘ع’ I have to pronounce, the better, I like not choking on my tongue when I talk.

And what about the Afghan, what happened with him? He shared his lunch (meat/fat off of a lamb femur with rice) with me, and we had a lovely conversation about our respective families. No politics. No culture clash. Just lamb and family.

It was a damn fine Wednesday.

As always: Ташаккуру худо ҳафез.

قبل از یک هفته ای مهمترین

So the end of my first semester in Tajikistan is rapidly approaching its competition (a mere 6 weeks away), and as such, now there’s a lot less to talk about regarding places I've been going, and now I’m stretching to find topics to write about wherever I can. And given that Election Day is three days away…

I’ll be talking about language in Tajikistan.

I assume by this point that a fair portion of my readers will stop after that above ‘switcheroo’ of sorts. So let’s begin. Tajikistan is, as you may imagine due to the fact I’m studying Persian here, one of only three countries which has a variety of Persian as the national language. And if you were to go by the various, Rahmon-centric propaganda posters that dominate the sides of buildings and the corners of major intersections (including a particularly amusing poster in Khujand that quite literally blocks out the sunlight for all the apartment dwellers that live behind it, leading to a scenario where Emomali Rahmon is, for a lack of a better comparison, a supervillain), Tajiki Persian is the beating heart and driving force for the past, present, and future of this lovely and interesting country.

And then you meet the Russians.

Like all of the post-Soviet republics, Tajikistan has a large population of ethnic Russians, left over from the century-plus domination of the country by powers centered in Russia. Now, just looking at Tajiki, with its block-like, ugly Cyrillic alphabet instead of its flowing Arab-Persian ancestor shows a clear legacy of its Russian past, as to the various Russian loanwords that have snuck their way into the language over the last two centuries. But simply walking down Rudaki or Ismail Somoni, you’re going to see an ethnic kaleidoscope of Tajiks, Uzbeks, Russians, Koreans, Pamiris, Chinese, Indians, and expats. And the only language that binds this disparate group is not Tajik, but Russian.

Now, as Tajikistan is the only post-Soviet republic I've ever been to, I can only speak to the effect of what I've read in that this is nothing new, and is fairly common throughout most of Central Asia. Tajikistan’s major difference seems to be that, as opposed to what I would've imagined, the degree of assimilation between the various ethnic groups in Tajikistan with the Tajik majority is more than just existent, it’s pretty active. While Russian is the unofficial language of anything more than personal conversation (and depending on the time of day, the news), I've met a good number of Russians who can, and usually with a good deal of encouragement will, speak Tajik.

But wait, doesn't this mean that Russian isn't that important you may be asking. Wait, I’m getting to the kicker. Now while there are Russians that exist that can speak Tajik, the number of Tajiks that can’t speak Tajik Persian to any relative proficiency is far…greater. Now there are plenty of reasons for this, and it’s the same kind of thing you find in many African countries in the post-colonial world (yet another reason to call Tajikistan a ‘cold Africa’). That doesn't make it any more sensible, or really understandable. A good example of this phenomenon can be found in my host family. My host mother and grandfather speak Tajiki at a level that can border on the limits of my comprehensions. The two youngest girls speak as much Tajiki as you would expect them to. The two oldest boys…five and nine years (respectively) of Russian-language school have quite literally gutted their Tajik vocabulary, to the point where ‘conversational Tajiki’ is ‘bastard Russian’ at my family. Similarly, I've had Tajiks ask me to help them with their Tajik because "They never bothered to learn it." I actually can't even think of a parallel for that last one.

As I said before, this isn't a unique phenomenon. The whole of the former Soviet Union has the same problem (although Central Asia without a doubt has it worse than their former Caucasian or Eastern European comrades), as do the former colonial states of Africa. But I would argue for Tajikistan it’s different. For the other states that have had the misfortunate of their native languages destroyed by a larger, global equivalent, the language in question is spoken only in the country of its origin, and often in only a small local. With Tajiki, you have to include the over 70 million speakers of Persian in the region alone, let alone worldwide. As long as Tajikistan is closely tied to Russia, or as it seems to tie itself closer and closer to China, one wonders what the fate of Tajiki will be.

Questions and comments welcome as usual, best of luck to the various American readers following Sandy (you’d be amazed how concerned Tajikistan has been about that) and to all of the candidates that the election goes well. As always: Tashakkur and khudo hafez.

A Holiday Weekend in the Not-Quite Danger Zone

So a much belated ‘Eid-e Mobarak” to all those who celebrated over the last weekend, and I sincerely hope that all of you who did had as marvelous time as I did for my first real Eid. And (unlike the majority of the readers here) Eid-e Qorbon meant I got a long weekend off from classes, which needless to say was also a heavily appreciated break after a week of midterm-related unpleasantness. I’m hoping this isn't going to be a long update, just a quick recap of everything from this weekend.

Friday was the start of the general Eid weekend, and rather than sitting at home, doing nothing but engaging in awkward, forced conversation with relatives of the host families who I've never met before (don’t worry, I don’t get out of this entirely), one of our professor’s was kind enough to invite us along as he made the rounds to visit his family and friends. Now, if you’re new to what Eid-e Qorbon (or Eid al-Adha, if you’re so inclined, and I am not) is, think Thanksgiving dinner. Now think that with more dessert, multiple times (our run on Friday was 5 different houses), and of course, the centerpiece of the holiday, the sacrificing of the lamb/goat/cow. Yes, Eid-e Qorbon is, if you ignore all of the symbolism, a murderous Thanksgiving that’s been, as much in Tajikistan as in the rest of the Muslim world, rapidly commercialized. I suppose that makes it more of a murderous Christmas then…

In any case, Eid-e Qorbon was, in the short space of just 5 hours, an excuse for me to eat more food in Tajikistan than I've eating in either Tajikistan or America. Period. Also, there were the lovely edition of “Trick-or-Eid-ers”, the rather un-witty nickname given to the kids who go from house to house reciting their little mantra for money or, more likely, Chinese-made chewing gum. And then we get to my favorite part of day 1, the Quran carolers, or kids who go around singing lines from the Quran that have to do with the day (I think? I honestly forgot to ask them what they were saying).

Now that I think about it, Eid in Tajikistan is a strange combination of Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Halloween. In any case, it was awesome.

Speaking of Halloween, Saturday seemed to be the lull day in the weekend, which was spent mostly spending time in the park watching the encroaching snowcaps on the mountains around the city. Until that night, for you see, the building where we brave few study abroad-ers go for class is also the center for the FLEX program, or a program that sends Tajik students to the US for a year to study English. And the FLEX alumni were putting on their annual Halloween party. Now, while this was, for lack of a better phrase, a big high-school style house party, it was a welcome break from what is rapidly becoming monotony on the weekends, and if any FLEX kids/alumni ever end up reading this, you guys put on a damn good party, and I’d like to see if you've got any plans for St. Patrick’s Day…

And that (in quick passing) was my Eid weekend in a nutshell. Any questions, specific or otherwise, are greatly appreciated. As always: Tashakkur and khudo hafez.

زمستان داره می آمد

So midterms are almost done, and I figure that, with all my “free time”, I figured it’d be time for another update. And there’s so much to talk about…well, sort of. I realized the other day, as I was going through my previous posts, that I’d never actually done what I’d said I’d do after my first post (in my now defunct first blog), laying out my various plans for what I’d hoped to accomplish in my year here.

I’ll be covering that after my usual update of what’s going on in Tajikistan. Last weekend was out last major excursion outside Dushanbe for the program, and we headed to the village of Shahritus down south in Khatlon. A 5-hour drive (one way), Shahritus had its small-town charm, and there we saw Khoja Mashhad, which is the remnant of an old madrasseh destroyed by Genghis Khan, and, more importantly, the mountain springs known as “Chulichor Chasma”, which had some of the clearest (and safest to drink) water I've seen in Tajikistan.

And the fact that Shahritus is our last major excursion brings another major fact to the forefront: Winter is coming. It’s a common phrase (or maybe it’s a joke) that Dushanbe only has two seasons: summer and winter. I can see my breath on a regular basis, the mountains around Dushanbe now have picturesque snow caps, and sweaters are now the fashion in the capital, so I’m going to hazard a guess that winter is almost upon us. Now, I've described how the compound is set up before, and as winter closes in for the proverbial kill, I’m starting to realize that the short walk through the courtyard I have to take to the bathroom or, more importantly, the shower, feels like running the gauntlet through the frozen plains of hell. I’m personally waiting to plug in the electric heater that the family provided for me until things get particularly bad, but if you've ever lived in a house without any sort of heating or insulation, you don’t have an idea of how winter in Tajikistan is going to be (needless to say, I have no idea how this is going to be).

So, what are my plans for Dushanbe? Well, I've had several, and my time in the city has certainly changed what my plans have been. Most recently, I've worked out a deal with one of the current peer tutors to start learning Hindi next semester (or maybe earlier?). Why Hindi you may be asking. And by “may”, I assume you probably are. Initially, I’d planned to take Russian, as Russian is the de facto language of Central Asia, and most of the post-Soviet sphere. And yes, Russian is incredibly important in Tajikistan (as I've been learning while people angrily accuse me of being an ethnic Russian that’s just trying to make things difficult by not speaking my “mother tongue”). But for a number of young, college-age Tajiks I've talked to, Russia is old news, the option for when you need money and the threat of skinheads beating the living hell out of you because you’re a tad too dark for their liking is mitigated by the lack of options here (i.e. the parents of these college-age students, cruel realities are abundant here). For them, there’s “a new land of opportunity, and it’s not the US, it’s India”. It’s worth noting that last sentence is a quote from a Tajik I was talking to earlier today.

And it’s that which brings me to my next point, and my next focus. First and foremost, I am a student of international relations, and in Central Asia, that really means only one thing: the New Great Game. Now this isn't a political blog (or at least I’m doing my best to keep it from being one), so a basic rundown of the aforementioned idea is that every power that can swing its influence in Central Asia is trying to. From the US, to Russia, to China, to even more distant countries like Japan and Turkey, Tajikistan is at the forefront of what may be the 21^st century’s greatest (if not one of the greatest) geopolitical flash zones, where countries and ideologies and non-state groups all collide and try to come out on top. I’d hoped to do some sort of independent research on this, but given how hard it is to get people to talk about anything even remotely political (at least their politics, I get plenty of dialogue in on the American elections or the war in Afghanistan…), this seems like it might be a bit too ambitious for me on top of even just the Persian classes I have now, let alone anything more daunting. Granted, I've never let that stop me before, but as of this post, that’s been put on the backburner.

Then there are the other things, like trying to find an internship, summer plans, still trying to be involved in AIESEC in another country, reading the Shahnameh in Farsi, blah blah blah…

Any suggestions, either for topics to write about or how to get around my current research-related dilemmas, are greatly appreciated. As always: Tashakkur and khudo hafez.

شما سوال کردید، من جواب میدهم...

With midterms coming up next week, and a shocking number of actual questions, I figured that I’d be able to write a (somewhat) substantial post answering some of the questions put forward thus far. So here we go…

How Muslim is Tajikistan?

This one covers questions ranging from “How’s the dating scene?” to “Are you allowed to drink?” to “Does the call to prayer wake you up in the morning?” Tajikistan is, officially, 95% Muslim, mostly Sunni and Shi’a. And that’s the simplest part about it. On one hand, this is a country where you have to look to find pork products (and no one will cook them) and the social norm is several degrees to the right of the United States, or the Western world as a whole. On the other hand, getting a drink here is about as difficult as walking into a grocery store and giving them 2 somoni (a whopping $.40) for a beer.

Now obviously it gets more complex than that. My host family is a bit more religious than (seemingly) the vast majority of people here, to the extent they pray regularly, cook halal food, and don’t partake in drinking themselves. However, I’ve never personally encountered a problem with my own drinking in this country (which I don’t blatantly do when the family is around). For the average person on the street, religion and its importance seems to vary. There are about as many hijabs and traditional garbs on the streets of Dushanbe as there are form-fitting clothes and ungodly amounts of makeup.

There are still a lot of remnants of Tajikistan’s conservative (but not necessarily Muslim) past. And while I can by no means comment on all of these, the majority to seem to focus around, I’m sure you guessed it, women. The main one, that’s the most noticeable, is the idea of marriage here. If you’re a woman, and you’re 25 (or, astaghfirullah, 30!) and still single, well tough luck for you, have fun being a spinster. And if you’re lucky enough to get married at 18, prepare to be chained to the house (often of your husband’s parents) for the rest of your life. Now, in case it seems like I’m being overly negative about this, it should be noted that this seems to be what a fair number of young women in Tajikistan want.

So globalization, eat your heart out.

How’s the food?

In a word: delicious. Here again, my stay has been different than most, in that until last week, my family was keeping to an oddly vegetarian diet of various soups and stews. However, there are very few things I’ve had in this country that I haven’t enjoyed, and the collection of grilled and fried foods is simply marvelous. The national dishes of Tajikistan are osh, which is fried rice pilaf, usually topped with carrots, mutton, and onions, and qurutob, which is bread soaked in chakka, a sour yogurt base, and topped in onions. The first is amazing (and a welcome sight on the dinner table), while the second is an…acquired taste.

Oh, and there’s tea. Everywhere. All the time. It’s amazing.

How’s the poverty/quality of life?

In another word: bad. I may be living in the rich part of town, but when we lost water for a few days, it made a point abundantly clear, even inside the compound, this is the developing world. The perpetual smell of rotting filth and shit near our class office is another reminder, as are the perpetually unpaved roads. And that’s in the capital. In Khujand, the second largest city, there were routine blackouts, in addition to the above. As for the villages, good luck if you even get power or water. People can hate the Soviets for some of what they did, but the infrastructure that they built here was pretty nice…until about 1992.

What are you doing for fun?

Playing with the host kids, going out with my program mates, hiking in the mountains, relaxing in the park, drinking at the Operakhona. You know, the usual.

That’s really all I can think of for now. I will admit, I’ve been writing this while having a bit of a pre-midterm ‘party’ in the office, so I think that this is as far as I’ll get. With any luck, I’ll have something notable to write about after midterms end. As always: Tashakkur and khudo hafez.

Seriously, Help Needed

Well, here we are again, another lovely week of an update. And…I have nothing. Seriously people who say you’re reading this, I need ideas, and I can’t just have adventures all the time. Losing water in the entire city and eating "soop-e kadoo" is only fun so many times…

As far as where did I go this week, our group visited the city of Hisor in western Tajikistan, famous for its historical fort, some of the bricks of which are about as old as the very idea of an Iran itself. There’s also a lovely mosque with a somewhat mystic tale about 39 armless, legless people who control the fate of everyone in existence, and a cultural center that has some artifacts they've dug up over the last few decades. And…that’s about it; Hisor is one of those places (i.e. a good chunk of this country) that has an incredibly rich history, but not too much going for it in the present. Nowadays, seems like the lumber yard is the big news for the old Silk Road…

In other news, a sad day from the home front as our resident Irishman, Andy, is leaving Tajikistan after three months working here. As someone who helped me integrate into the family and, to a lesser extent, the expat community, many thanks are in order, and I wish him the best for any future endeavors.

So yeah, ideas are appreciated, and by appreciated, I mean needed. As always: Tashakkur and khudo hafez.

Surprises, Surprises...

So, with another week past, I must admit, I had expected to write about something regarding some vague aspect of Tajik culture that had been interesting me. After all, with a weekly excursion so lovingly marked as “Tajik and Iranian bookstores and Afghan restaurant”, this certainly wasn't going to be a weekend to remember, right?

Wrong.

True, the actual excursion was nothing to write home about, and due to the Iranian bookstore being closed (for reasons that really didn't make much sense), I only came home with a Tajiki language copy of Rudaki’s works. Similarly, the “Afghan restaurant” was a Tajik restaurant, but the Afghan osh (the local Central Asian variant of rice pilaf) they served was a marvelous change of pace from the near constant menagerie of vegetarian soups that my host family has been giving me for dinner.

But then I got home…

Now, as opposed to the other two host families, my homestay has been relatively quiet. A real of lack of guests, aside from the host mother’s nephew (and his wife) and her sister (and her husband) have graced my adopted household. But Saturday night…it was a party the likes of which I’d never seen! True, it seemed to be solely for the grandfather figure of the family and a collection of other men (my inclusion to the affair was the matter of intense debate, but my promise that I would speak Farsi and change into a suit seemed to seal the deal). Upon entry, I learned the reason for the snazzy shindig…cockfighting. Apparently, harmless little Baba Bozor and his friends get together on Saturdays and watch the birds they've been raising fight to the death.

You might be wondering if I’m complaining, but wait, I haven’t gotten to the best part yet. After about an hour of having old men randomly trying to engage me in various topics in Farsi/Tajiki, the food was here. And it was (I seriously hope someone has guessed it by now)…chicken. Yep, we ate the losers. That made Saturday the first day in Tajikistan that I've had meat in all three meals. And it was glorious. Must say, ‘animal rights’ be damned, I love me some Tajik chicken…

Alright, alright, so my Saturday turned out to be eventful, which means Sunday was a day full of homework, yes? Haha, again (I imagine you definitely saw this one coming), false. I decided to go on a nice, relaxing, 15 km hike. Yes, a friend of mine somehow convinced me that the way I wanted to spend my Sunday was to go a hike with a bunch of expats in the small mountains north of Varzob. And yes, it was certainly beautiful, and yes, falling face-first into one of ponds next to the waterfall (and emerging from said pool freezing but with all my electronics working) was certainly nice. But I think I’ll wait before my next hike…

No idea what my next post will be on/when it’ll be. Ideas always appreciated. As always: Tashakkur and khudo hafez.