Archive for October, 2009
Qala Khulbuk and Salt Mountain
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.
The Boy Who Shakes My Hand
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 3rd 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.
October 10, 2009
(The following posts are dated retroactively from October 10 back to July).
Today, Saturday, my colleagues and I attended the wedding of Abdullo’s (our co-worker) son, Mohammad, in Farhor, about 40 km west of Kulob. Pictures.
Attending weddings in Tajikistan (I’ve been to 6-7 in 3 months) leads to both different and common experiences. Common experiences include eating traditional meals of osh (rice pilaf with shredded carrots, chickpeas, and meat) with wedding guests. However, as most weddings take place over 1-2 full days, there are many times at which you can attend weddings. Most commonly, I’ve attended wedding lunches with colleagues. Less commonly, I’ve stayed for the evening ceremony (and another one) where guests dance to the music of traditional musicians (mostly young men singing and playing music on keyboards and bongos – see this link to a previous post)
Weddings also provide ample opportunity for exuberant vodka toasting (or “vodka terrorism,” depending on your perspective). This particular afternoon, our vodka toasts were mercifully limited to about 5 (half-full tea cups) and I was able to make productive use of the rest of my day.
September 28, 2009
Back to Kulob.
Coming back to Kulob – after having spent a week in Israel – gave me mixed feelings. Part of me felt relieved at the familiarity of Tajikistan, or, particularly, that my arrival to Dushanbe was far less unfamiliar than the last (first) time. This was due to my growing ability to speak Tajiki and my confidence in navigating the transportation system. I knew exactly where I was in Dushanbe, how to get to the taxi stand a 10-minute drive away, and how to get a taxi for the 3-hour trip back to Kulob.
Another part of me felt distinctly “far from home.” Coming back was a reminder of the distance between here and my real home in Canada, reminding me that the last 3 months were real and 5 months remain.
August 31, 2009
It’s important to establish new routines in order to build the new “normal” I seek here. One of those routines is exercise. There aren’t many opportunities for playing sports here (the only soccer fields I’ve found are arid, dusty areas with sporadic patches of withering greenery). I plan on some serious hiking, but that will have to wait until my trip to Khorog.
Going for morning jogs seems like the best way to establish routine and stay fit. However, I’ve been (and remain) somewhat unsure of people’s reaction to my running. Tajiks don’t tend to be runners, from what I’ve seen. Nonetheless, public perception be damned: I decided to run 3+ mornings/week.
My first run went well. There were some curious onlookers, but it was nothing to be shy about. I already stick out as one of the only Westerners in Kulob, so why not get some exercise while I’m at it?
Despite the usual aches from my under-used running muscles, I felt good as I slowed down and began to cool off by walking the last 2 blocks to my apartment building. Ahead, a well-dressed man (most Tajik men wear dress pants, shirts, and shoes during the day) was walking towards me on the sidewalk. He was making eye contact with me and slowly starting to move in my direction. As we got closer, he put out his hand to shake my own. I figured he was simply being friendly, so I put out my hand to shake his. He asked me some basic questions in Tajiki (Who are you? What are you doing in Kulob?) I responded in my basic Tajiki, while still shaking his hand. I realized that our handshake was beginning to last longer than I’m accustomed to. I began to withdraw my hand, only to have him hold on tighter. Noticing my unease, he put his other hand into his jacket pocket and took out an identification badge. Tajik KGB. He then asked me to come with him in the opposite direction of my home. Politely, I decline and said I had to go to work. He agreed and let me go. I suppose he didn’t need to speak with me all that badly.
I’ve heard stories of other foreigners – AKFC fellows and their friends, in particular – being approached by police officers and occasionally the Tajik KGB. So far, nothing serious has come of it, but it’s good to stay on your toes.
August 28, 2009
Today I went to Friday prayers with my co-worker Khushvartullo. He is in his late 20s and has a wife and young son. He is also a devout Muslim, and was kind enough to take me to Friday prayers with him. I felt as though attending Friday prayers would be my way of making up for being unable (well, unwilling) to fast during Ramadan.
I wasn’t sure how I would be received at the mosque. Would people know I’m not a Muslim (most certainly)? Would this be an issue? He assured that people would be very happy to welcome a non-Muslim to Friday prayers, and that they would be more curious than anything.
After a short drive, we parked and made our way to the mosque. Other men were walking with towards the mosque from several directions. We arrived later than most, and the prime seating – in front of the mullah on the main floor – was already taken. We found free space on the second story of the mosque. Luckily, the second story was open-air and shaded, which was quite nice considering how crowded it was.
Before sitting down, we removed our shoes and placed them on a ledge. We then found free space on the floor and sat. The mullah, speaking on the main floor, could be heard thanks to some speakers on the second floor. He spoke for ten minutes, and then the prayers started. I had already asked Khushvartullo how to pray – he said it was simple: just follow what he was doing and I’d be fine. So I followed his every move. He bent over to touch his knees, I bent over to touch my knees. He stood straight, I stood straight. He kneeled down and put his head to the ground, so did I.
For the first set of prayers, which lasted about 5 minutes, people seemed to go through the motions at their own pace. The second round was different. Everyone moved in unison, which made me follow Khush’s moves even more closely. The praying motion, combined with the close quarters, meant that as I leaned forward to lower my head to the ground, I was mere centimetres from the feet of the person in front of me. The same was true of the person behind me, which made me extra careful not to knock into anyone and upset their prayers.
I wasn’t sure what to think about during the prayers. Khush had translated some of what was said, but I was unable to get understand the mullah’s message in full. As a result, during the prayers I mostly focused on following Khush and not disturbing anyone around me, in front or behind.
At the end, other prayers were said and people started to leave. Khush and I stayed seated for a while, avoiding the crowd. Some other people stayed to chat. It seemed like a good opportunity for people to catch up with one another, to socialize. I appreciate this social function and see its presence in many religions. It seems to me that the common function of most religions is to bring people together and unite them around a positive message. It is interesting to see both how people are brought together (and the rituals they practice) and the way in which these messages are articulated differently while sharing a common spirit.
August 26, 2009
Most days in Tajikistan the skies are clear and the sun is shining. In fact, it took two weeks being here before I even saw a cloud in the sky. Yesterday, the air in Kulob became thick, dusty and red . I asked some people what it was: they said it was a dust cloud blown here from Afghanistan, which is about 35 km to the south. Pictures.
August 24, 2009
The only thing I ever want for my birthday is to be with friends and family. This year, it would prove to be impossible.
However, I was very lucky to spend my birthday at the home of my co-worker, Gulmorod. He has invited me over a few times, and I have made friends with his son (Saymorod), a university student studying business and seeking to improve his English. Tajik birthday pictures.
They told me that oshi palov is a traditional Tajik birthday food and we all shared a giant plate of it, which made me quite happy (it’s my favourite Tajik dish). We had a big meal, and afterwards they were kind enough to give two presents: a Tajik hat with “Kulob 2700” embroidered into it to mark the 2,700th year of Kulob’s existence; and an electric plastic fish tank, complete with plastic fish. A curious (but kind) gift.
