I’m told that Kulob experiences more power outages than most parts of Tajikistan, and that the problem is particularly bad in winter. Throughout the summer, the power would cut out once or twice a day, but would generally return within a few minutes (or at worse an hour or two). Nowadays, the power (and thus internet) usually cuts out mid-morning. At work, we typically use a generator for the rest of the day, which tends to work well. General power usually returns by later afternoon or early evening.

At home however, I’ve had a particular issue. My building seems to be on the same power grid as my office. However, until this morning (Sunday, November 1), I hadn’t had power for 5 or 6 days. This has meant to light, cooking, showers (or standing boiled-water baths, to be more accurate). Nonetheless, my neighbours had power throughout this time, meaning that my particular apartment was the problem. After some half-hearted attempts by my landlord’s son and landlord over the last couple of days, they finally brought in an electrician Sunday morning. Within minutes, they’d created a new connection from the main apartment building’s power to my apartment.

This is the box of wires outside my apartment (pictures). Most of the time I’ve been able to fix problem by making sure both wires into my apartment are re-connected (when they disconnect, which happens a lot, power is cut). My neighbour, Nizola, has been quite helpful with this. She would often fearlessly reach into the box of wires barehanded to reconnect my power. Sparks would fly but she would avoid electrocution each time (I’m told that Kulobis are particularly good with fixing electrical problems, because they deal with them so often). However, my recent power issues required an electrician and I’m glad they’re finally solved (for now).

As discussed previously, I’ve been to many weddings in Tajikistan. The common denominator at all Tajik weddings is guests eating together. There usually isn’t much ceremony to it, save for a prayer after the meal (and sometimes before).

Gulmorod, my co-worker at MSDSP, recently had a death in the family. It was one of his older sisters (Gulmorod is youngest of 7 children and the only son). Two nights before her death – Saturday – I visited Gulmorod’s house (where she was staying with her daughter) because her daughter wanted to take pictures with my camera.

I left on Monday for Khorog (see previous post). When I got back on Wednesday, I was told that Gulmorod`s sister had passed away. On Friday, Gulmorod invited the men of MSDSP to his house for lunch. I believe it was a type of wake. There wasn’t much formality to it. It was a meal attended by about 50 men. I saw Gulmorod’s deceased sister’s daughter – the one who had wanted to take pictures on Saturday night – she seemed to be in good spirits, as were most people there.

On Monday, Oct. 26 I left Kulob for Dushanbe, where I would spend the night before leaving for Khorog (in the Pamir mountains in eastern Tajikistan) by helicopter the next morning. Not only was I incredibly excited to see my fellow Canadians in Khorog (not to mention Khorog itself, which I’m told is beautiful), but I was really looking forward to travelling there by helicopter. Pictures.

I arrived at Dushanbe’s airport very early Tuesday morning and waited for the helicopter to board. Finally, at around 9:30 a.m., the helicopter was ready. I and the other passengers took an airport shuttle to the landing pad. This 2 minute drive took us past another helicopter that looked somewhat worse for wear, as well as some Tajik Air planes that had seen better days. We got to the helicopter, loaded our baggage (we were allowed a maximum of 15 kg each – I came in at 14 kg) and boarded the helicopter. I made sure to get a forward-facing window seat on the right side, so as to see the mountains in Afghanistan through my window.

The pilot briefed us on safety procedures, etc. and told us that the weather that day looked “bad,” but that we would try to fly anyway. This wasn’t very reassuring, but the combination of fear and excitement was fun. We all buckled up and prepared for takeoff. The pilots (pilot and his student-pilot) started the engine while another pilot stood outside the helicopter and watched for any malfunctions. After about a minute, the pilots turned off the engines and began to inspect the system. It turns out there was some sort of malfunction with the helicopter’s computer. We were told it could have been due to the fact that the helicopter had recently been washed. It would be 2 hours before the pilots could fix the problem, they said. We were sent back to the waiting lounge by shuttle to wait. After about 15 minutes, we were told that due to the computer malfunction and the weather, that the helicopter flight had been cancelled for that day. This was very disappointing to me. Everything about that trip appealed to me. I didn’t want to give up on the helicopter, so I decided to work at the MSDSP office in Dushanbe that day and try for the next day’s flight.

The next morning, the weather again grounded all flights. I didn’t want to take the 14-hour drive to Khorog, especially since I needed to be online at 6 p.m. that day in order to write a government test. So I decided to return to Kulob and try to get to Khorog again in the next weeks.

Getting back to Kulob even proved tricky. Our cab broke down 3 times – among other odd delays – but I made it back to the office by 6 p.m., in time to write the test.

Often on my morning jogs I notice a peculiar smell throughout Kulob. It’s a mildly acrid kind of fog that seems to descend upon the city some mornings (and sometimes at other moments during the day). I finally found the source: burning garbage. It seems that garbage in Kulob is burned rather than taken to a landfill. Here are a couple of pictures.

The second monitoring visit in Shuroobad took place the following Sunday. My boss decided it would be a good idea for me to attend the opening ceremony of a new water facility in Sari Chashma (“Sari” means “head” and “chashma” is “(water)spring”).

In the morning, we visited the newly-build water treatment facility. It provides water to 3 villages in the area: Sari Chashma, Uzbeko, and Bobo Nosir. We then visited a number of water taps where villagers gather to collect water. Last, we visited a reservoir on the top of a hill where water is collected before distribution. The tour was given by the chairman of Shuroobad district.

A small ceremony – complete with Tajik band – was held to mark the opening of the water facility and the new water taps. A number of people made speeches, including an older man from the community who started a small argument with the district chairman during his speech. Finally, the ribbon-cutting ceremony took place and the music started. Some people danced, but I declined this time. Lunch had been delayed and, not having eaten much during the day, I wasn’t in a festive mood.

We then attended a lunch with the MSDSP staff and village leaders. Following lunch, we drove back to Kulob across an interesting landscape.

On Friday, my colleague Safarmo and I visited two villages in Shuroobad at which surveys were being conducted with the village organizations. Village organizations are a key part of MSDSP’s contribution to local governance in Tajikistan. Thousands have been started with MSDSP’s help since the end of the civil war. They serve to identify development ideas and priorities from the grassroots upward, so that projects are relevant and sustainable. We’re running two large-scale surveys of village organizations and Jamoats (sub-district organizations) to determine their effectiveness. Enumerators are in the field conducting surveys, and we’re supervising their work. Pictures.

We visited the villages of Anjirob and Hojidara. The first village was located on the Panj river across from Afghanistan. You could see a small Afghan village on the other side. The village organization leader was very kind. He invited Safarmo, our driver, and me to his house where we had pomegranate and walnuts. He also knew a lot about international sports and mentioned that the Olympic flame had been lit the previous day and was on its way to Vancouver. We then attended a meeting of the village organization at which our enumerator discussed the survey with the organization’s members. I asked a question in Tajiki about female representation, as there was only one woman in attendance. I was told that all the women were busy with housework, and thus not in attendance.

When we left, the village organization leader gave me a large bag of walnuts as a parting gift. People are quite generous and kind here.

We visited the second village, Hojidara as day turned to evening. On our way there, while posing for pictures with an Afghan village in the background, we noticed the car’s right-rear tire was deflated. After about 15 minutes of energetic pumping (with the equivalent of a bicycle pump), the jeep was ready to go. Hojidara was tucked between large mountains and felt less accessible. They mentioned difficulties they often have with electricity. We attended their village organization meeting, observed as the enumerator discussed the survey with them, and then decided to head back to Kulob. I was given another bag of walnuts as a parting gift (this one bigger than the last), as well as some apples. Unfortunately the bag was so overstuffed that it broken inside the car, which made me pick up walnuts in the dark of the jeep during the 2-hour ride home. After a brief rest stop, we noticed the jeep wasn’t starting. So, in the dark under a sea of stars, I and the driver pushed jeep until it had a rolling start, which somehow helped the engine to start.

We were then stopped at a military checkpoint for a few moments. After passing the checkpoint, we again noticed the rear-right tire was deflated. After another round of enthusiastic pumping, the tire was inflated just enough for us to get home. We got back to Kulob and had dinner at Gulmorod’s house, where I stayed the night.

I’ve now been to around 12 Tajik weddings. I’ve lost count of the exact number. The reason I’ve been to so many is that the majority of Tajik wedding take place in the weeks before and after Ramadan. This year, Ramadan lasted from late August to late September, so the wedding season began around the time I arrived in mid-July and is now coming to a close.

What’s more, Tajik weddings are far less formal than wedding in North America, in my experience. A recently passed law limits weddings to 1 day and 100 guests, in order to ensure poor families don’t feel societal pressure to borrow money to host large and long weddings. However, I’m told traditional Tajik weddings still tend to last 2 or 3 days despite the law. As such, there are several opportunities for attending. Some people attend during lunch time, some for dinner, and some stay for music and dancing at night (see post from Oct. 10). As discussed earlier, I’ve mostly been to weddings during the day. Often, a colleague’s relative will be getting married and the whole office will travel to their house for lunch. Less often, we stay for the night ceremony.

At each night time wedding ceremony (I’ve attended 2 now), I’ve been asked to make a speech. It seems there is a tradition of having foreigners make speeches at Tajik weddings (when there are foreigners present, of course). Being the only foreigner at every wedding I’ve been to here, the responsibility has always fallen on me. The first time this happened (see link), I simply walked up to the microphone and spoke for about a minute – all in English. I wished the newly married couple – whom I hadn’t met before – a happy, health, and prosperous marriage on behalf of 33 million Canadians. The 200+ wedding guests mostly just stared blankly at me, but seemed to enjoy it. The second time I made a speech (see pictures), I was able to throw in a couple of lines in Tajik (congratulations on your wedding, I wish you happiness, etc.) which went over well. It’s hard to be afraid of public speaking when your audience has no idea what you’re talking about anyway.

The night of Oct. 23 an earthquake shook me out of sleep. It happened at a moment of deep sleep, and afterward I was unsure whether or not it had actually happened. I even incorporated it into my subsequent dreams, commenting on it with the various bizarre characters that inhabit that world.

When I got to the office this morning, I was reminded of the mid-night earthquake by my colleagues. I was told it happens 4-5 times a year, which to me seems quite common (coming from the relatively earthquake-free city of Montreal). As a child, I slept through earthquakes when they rarely happened, only to be told about them the next morning by my parents. This was always quite disappointing, as I really wanted to experience one (a mild one, of course). I got my wish in Kulob!

Update: another earthquake hit a couple of days later, at around 10:30 p.m. while I was still awake. I got to experience this one fully. The apartment building shook and made noises as it seemed to lurch from one side to another. It only lasted about 30 seconds, but, seeing as it wasn’t serious and no one was hurt, it was quite a lot of fun.

October 10, while I was at Mohammad’s wedding, my friend Umed called and suggested we make a trip to Shurobod the next day (Sunday). Shurobod is one of the regions in which MSDSP works – one that I had yet to see. It’s located east of Kulob and its eastern border delineated by the Panj river, the other side of which is Afghanistan. However, due to a late start, we decided to skip the 3 hour round trip to Shurobod and take  a tour of areas around Kulob instead. We decided on visiting Qala Khulbuk (Khulbuk palace or castle) and Kui Namak (a mountain made of salt). Pictures.

Umed’s cousin, Firdavs (the son of my landlord) accompanied us and we set out to find a cab for hire. Umed wisely left Firdavs and I out of view of the taxi stand and negotiated a reduced – had the driver known I was a foreigner, the price would likely have been higher.

The drive to Khulbuk lasted about 30 minutes. We spent about another half hour exploring the castle. It was mostly re-built over the remains of the original castle that dates from the 9th century. Umed was kind enough to narrate the tour. Part of the reason for the day’s trip was for him to take pictures of the various sites around Kulob. He has started a small tourism company, offering customers guided tours of sites around Kulob, Dushanbe, Khujand (and the north generally) and the Pamirs. I will help him create a website and advertisements in English so as to reach the foreigners (who are mostly based in Dushanbe) who seek to visit Kulob and other regions.

Leaving Khulbuk, we noticed a wedding party had gathered at the entrance to the site, by the parking lot. A bride and groom walked slowly into the parking lot surrounded by wedding guests. Children beat on drums and one played a metal flute.

Having negotiated a set price for seeing the sites, our driver was somewhat anxious to get to Kui Namak and back to Kulob to collect more fares. Once we were all back in the car, he started slowly edging out of the parking lot with me in the front passenger seat. By this time the wedding party crowded the parking lot. Our driver edged the car forward until there was a boy (perhaps 6 years old – he was the flute player) in front of the car on the right side. The driver honked his horn 2 or 3 times to clear the boy out of the way; however, the boy seemed oblivious to the car, his attention focused on the wedding. To my surprise, our driver moved the car forward, bumping the child. He quickly fell to the ground and began crying. Umed noticed that the car’s wheel – the one closest to the boy – ran over something. The boy was quickly pulled out of the way of the car by a man from the wedding party.

The wedding party immediately noticed what was happening and became agitated. Our driver got out of the car to speak with them, while Umed, Firdavs and I remained in the car. I was unsure of what do to in this situation. My limited Tajiki would have been of little use in sorting out the situation. As a foreigner, I was also somewhat weary of getting involved. I’ve hear stories from friends who’ve travelled in Nepal and encountered similar situations. They had been told by local guides never to stop after hitting someone with a car, as crowds tend to react violently when foreigners are involved in car accidents. However, this may not have been the case in Tajikistan. Nonetheless, we (those who remained in the car) thought it best to let the driver handle the situation, given his responsibility for the situation.

After some minutes of negotiation, and the news that the child wasn’t seriously injured and was walking again (the car ran over his flute, not his leg), we set off for the salt mountain. When we arrived we found a gate leading to the salt processing centre. We spoke with the employees there and they agreed to show us around.

We were led to a series of pools where rainwater washes down the salt mountain and collects. These pools then, over time, evaporate and leave salt behind. The salt is then piled into piles 3-4 feet high. There was a field of 50-60 such hills, Tajikistan’s answer to the Philippines’ Chocolate Hills of Bohol. They remind a Canadian like me of moguls on a ski hill. Fake snowball fights ensued, of course.

We then visited the area where the salt is processed. It’s brought indoors by conveyor belt and dropped onto an elevated table in a building where women collect it and pack it into bags for sale.

On our way back to Kulob, we stopped by the side of the road to take pictures in a field of cotton. It appears to be cotton-picking season in Kulob, as you commonly see overstuffed trucks brimming with cotton in the area. This reminded me of a story Umed once told me. As a university student at Kulob State University, he and his classmates were sometimes ordered to leave their studies for up to 2 weeks at a time, travel to the countryside and pick cotton for one of the state-owned (or perhaps the owner had government connections) plantations. This was common for Tajik university students; a leftover practice from Soviet times that the government has promised to phase out soon.

I live in a relatively large apartment complex on the main street in Kulob, Somoni street. The entrance to my apartment is accessed through a courtyard at the back of the building, and I live on the 3^rd floor.

There are usually a number neighbours, usually children, in the courtyard when I leave for work in the morning and come home in the evening. The children usually greet me with a flurry of “hello”s when they see me, to which I always respond by saying hello in English and asking them how they’re doing (in Tajiki).

One of the children stands out. He is a small boy of no more than 3 years old I see most days. Each time he sees me, he makes a point of coming up to me and shaking my hand, which is endearing. Sometimes, as I’m leaving my apartment or coming home, I’ll hear his voice from across the courtyard. He’ll be out of sight, but I’ll still hear him say “Acai” which is Tajik for “Mr.” He’ll then emerge from behind a tree, car, etc. 50 meters away, running full tilt (full tilt for a 3 year old, which makes it especially endearing). He’ll run right up to me, stick out his hand (which is usually covered in dirt), shake my hand, and run off again. Sometimes, when his hand is especially dirty, he’ll offer his forearm to shake instead (which is the customary thing to do in Tajikistan when one’s hand is dirty, wet, etc.)

He’s remarkably good at seeing me from a distance, and I can say with confidence that at least half of the times I’ve either left or come home he has spotted me. It’s still always a nice and funny surprise.