با روز نو، زیر صد اسب، همیشه تاجیکستان

Well, the New Year/Наврӯз/نوروز season is finally over, and if I may say so myself, what a lovely first “Norooz” it was. From the expansive festivities of the “Navruzgoh”, to the company of unlikely, yet completely unforgettable friends, I seriously doubt I will ever have another experience like this ever again. But, various niceties aside, there was one part of “Norooz” that I’d been looking forward to since coming to Tajikistan.

Buzkashi.

Now, any sport that translates to “goat pulling” is bound to be amazing, but let’s go over the basics. There are people on horses. There is a “ball”, which is a goat carcass, possibly filled with sand. There are two ends of the field, and you must bring the goat from one end to the other. That’s about it. In theory, buzkashi should be a bastard child between rugby in polo. In practice, it’s an equestrian moshpit.

Yet, in the mass of what is basically men and horses (and one woman) beating the living hell out of each other for a goat, it’s still Tajikistan. Standing watching the action curiously, you get to engage similarly curious locals, wondering where you’re from, what you know about buzkashi, and what exactly you’re doing in Tajikistan. No matter where you go in this country, you’ll always find someone, or something, to make you feel welcome.

Next update: Research plans, and a farewell.

As always: Ташаккуру Худо ҳафез

بهار، آتش، و آبجو

It’s a week of festive holidays!...at the worst possible time.

This week is festive for reasons for both American and Tajik/Iranian, and I, rather than being able to celebrate to the fullest, sadly report that this also happens to be midterm week. So while I should be studying hard, I will naturally be doing no such thing.

We’re starting today with that “Irish” (READ: American) classic, St. Patrick’s Day. Surely no one has heard of this holiday all the way in Central Asia, but with the major expat bars all having a decidedly “Irish” feel to them, there has indeed been hype over the holiday. Granted, I would never condone drinking like an American on this day, I am planning on meeting with my English classes today, at the very least to try to explain this strange holiday to all of them.

More importantly for Tajikistan, however, it’s almost New Year’s! Again! Yes, Tajikistan is the only Persian-speaking country that celebrates both the Christian/Western New Year, itself a holdover of Soviet-era secularization, and the Persian New Year, known locally as Navruz (Наврӯз). Marking the beginning of spring, Navruz is celebrated by most of the cultures of what was the “Iranian” world, and here lacks some of the traditions I’ve always associated with the holiday (haft sin table, khane tekaani “spring cleaning”), but everyone’s favorite over-the-top propaganda has gone up along Rudaki Ave. and is being played on TBC, and there’s plenty of delicious samanu (semi-sweet wheat pudding, actually much better than I’d been led to believe), so I’ll take it.

I’ll also take the lovely four day weekend that comes with the holiday.

And where’s the Iranian element. That would be this Wednesday, where we get to celebrate the holiday of Chaharshanbe Suri. How do you celebrate this holiday you ask? Fire. Lots and lots of fire. While only an Iranian (and according to Wikipedia, Kurdish) tradition, the holiday consists of fireworks, people in blackface, and jumping over bonfires singing “Zard-e man az to, sorkh-e to az man”/”My yellow (sickness/misfortune) to you, your red (health/vitality) to me.” I look forward to horribly misinterpreting this one (while still avoiding any-degree burns).

Next update: Buzkashi, or How Rugby and Polo had an Amazingly Awesome Bastard Child.

As always: Ташаккуру Худо ҳафез

Қурутобу Дабстеп

In the continued lack of any publishable adventures in Dushanbe, and more or less to prove that this isn't dead yet (two more months left…well that’s depressing!), a short update.

So as most of you know, I've been teaching English here for most of the last semester. It’s a job that’s had its ups (pay day=huge up) and its downs, but I find that I, surprisingly, am enjoying teaching. And my students don’t seem to openly hate me (yet), so that’s a plus. But for the vast majority of my work days, the routine has become fairly monotonous: Walk to class, have my unruly class, hour break, have the better behaved class, go home, and repeat.

Last Monday was both a glaring exception, and a genuine example of why I love this place.

On this particular Monday, I showed up early to work, because I was coming from lunch, and didn't see much of a point in going back to the office if I had to go to work soon afterwards. After the usual “Hello/Салом”-s, I hear the call go out: “Qurutob?” For those who may not remember, qurutob was the yogurt and bread concoction that I, in the first semester, and come to completely and utterly despise. Well, turns out that time was on the side of the national favorite, and I was now as excited as everyone else in the office upon hearing the name of this surprisingly delicious dish.

So I went to class, taught for a wonderfully fast hour, and then ran upstairs to be told “Greg, we have some qurutob for you in the kitchen.” And may I say, it was a marvelous feeling getting to chow down. But then, I hear something coming from the other room. Something that belongs in the clubs and college dorm parties of the West, but not in the administrative offices of an English program: the womp-womp-womp of dubstep.

There I was, watching as my fellow staff argued over which “whatever you call someone who makes dubstep”-er was better in a mix of fast paced Tajiki, Russian, and English, hands buried in the bowl of qurutob gorging myself, realizing that dammit, this might not be home, but this ain't half bad.

As always: Ташаккуру Худо ҳафез.