Dushanbe calling

11/10/10

Arrived in Dushanbe in the middle of the night on a plane flown by Siberian Air full of young men, who had, I imagined, been working in St Petersburg or the surroundings and who were sending remittances home to their families in Tajikistan. There were few women on the flight, and no families.

I imagined flying over Russia and into Central Asia there would be vast expanses of steppe and open space, however the way we flew or the times I looked out the window, between sleep and waking, the man next to me’s head dropping near my shoulder, there always seemed to be settlements blossoming in the night strung on looping roads.

St Petersburg where I transited had rooms for smoking called ‘smoke and go’, moving between one terminal and another was an adventure as we, me and this young man going to Tashkent, followed the border guards through locked doors, which they opened, past queues of people, me dragging my blasted wheelie bin. I was grateful as it would have taken me ages to find where to go.

And so, when I arrived at 3.30am, the promised lift was not there, J who I had been in touch with, a friend of colleague at the Institute of Ismaili Studies in London. It was a bad moment, but I later found out they had good reason. I made the best of it and got a taxi to take me to the hotel where I had first stayed in Dushanbe, the Vakht Hotel on one of the main squares. It must have been lovely once however that was many years ago. However I woke up the guard and managed to get a room. The lumpy bed and next day’s dribbling shower were minor. It was great just to lie down and lock a door.

Next day however rang J, and it all worked out, they met me that afternoon. So I had time in the morning to wander around Dushanbe seeing what had changed from last time. Most noticeable, to me, was the enormous building behind the Somoni statue dwarfing it and spoiling the backdrop which was once to gardens. However I suppose that such is the importance of the site, it was not going to stay green for long. Like the graves snuggling up to the Samanid Mausoleum, buildings also would want to draw near to these objects of power.

J is a journalist at one of the daily papers, young and attractive, dressed in western clothes, tight green jeans and green eyeshadow.

So now I am staying with G. and her sister as well as another woman and a two year old boy G’s nephew. He is just off to Moscow to join his mother and father – who has been in Badakhshan (the mountainous Pamir region of eastern Tajikistan). G is lovely and welcoming and speaks good English. She is an economics student at the University here. My clean and simple room is perfect and looks out to sun covered Soviet style tower blocks surrounded by playgrounds where children dash round on toy cars.

Last night went out to a restaurant with J and G and a couple of their friends. Not just a restaurant, Sim Sim though, it is more of a entertainment venue with acts ranging from Tajik singing, to acting out scenes of the Steppe to dancing. One couple was fantastic, moving together in a fusion of western and eastern styles, sometimes with a thin black gauze that they wrapped themselves, and each other in.

But the other side of the evening was one of their friends, who was fascinated by the Samanid period and tales of the Shahnahme by Firdowsi that he told me so much, unfortunately, for me this was all in Tajik, and while I could understand the odd word, G had to translate. But it was fascinating to be out with someone, and I don’t believe this was unusual who could quote poetry from the classical poets, Hafez, Sa’adi, Khayyam and of course Tajikistan’s national poet, Rudaki, who has given his name to the main street in Dushanbe.

I am just about to go out and sort out my OVIR, my registration in Tajikistan, which needs to be done today. The weather though, is great. For some reason, even at this point expecting it to be freezing, it is actually Summer time in Britain warm, whatever that means. People in T shirts which is a bonus! Need to get on with some language learning now. Am also planning to go and see some contacts I have at the Bactria Centre and the Swiss Development Cooperation this week. Another place on the agenda is the University of Central Asia campus, which is also connected to the Aga Khan.

His Highness himself is one of only two pictures (or indeed anything approaching ornamentation in the flat I am staying in), such is his importance to Ismailis everywhere. The other picture is a small vase of flowers.