Seeing whole hosts of stars in the city garden feels like a gift. I learnt one of my favourite words so far in Tajik the other day, while sitting chatting with the mother in the dusk. Galasitora , which means constellations of stars.Sitora is linked linguistically to our word star – evidence of a common language between European languages and Persian thousands of years ago.
Do feel at ease in this house, and the garden and the space is a big part of that. Space and peace to do my work. Watch the flowers grow, and the strawberries form into pale green shapes that will soon be red. Their delicate flowers glistening round the plants lined in the well watered earth. It feels like the simple life, and then in 10 minutes you are on the main street, catching a cab in 30 seconds and riding in a share cab for 26pence down the tree lined main drag with pastel coloured buildings mainly dating from the 1920s, with rich and tumbledown stucco work placed somewhat haphazardly either side.
I remember first getting into bed, on my first night here, on a pile of traditional Tajik quilts, or kurpacha , and feeling so comfortable and at peace, somehow. Feeling good about where I was. I just go and look at the flowers grow, browny orange wall flowers, roses that are not yet out, another orange flower which I have forgotten the name of. When I read these travel books. Minaret of Djam, the Short walk in the Hindu Kush, the authors know all the names of the flora and fauna. Was this just the age, this is what they knew, or did they take detailed notes about what they saw so then they could ask people back home. Of course now we would just check the internet. Must even be a site where you can upload photos of birds for example and someone will tell you what it is.
It is funny how people don’t read here; people do not sit on benches, newspaper in hand turning the pages finding out what is going on elsewhere in the world. They do not reach in their pockets for a paperback while commuting to Circ, or the west of the city. They sit. They might chat, but often you see people sitting just sitting at the side of the road.
At home, and this seems to be pretty universal, in many of the families I have stayed with, the TV is on from morning to night, a friend and a window on the world. From cartoons, to badly Russian dubbed films, to ubiquitous Russian, Tajik, Persian and American dance music. Most surprisingly I even saw How clean is your house, dubbed into Persian! I leanrt that Iran is the dubbing capital of the world, even in front of France! They also have a show similar to our Come Dine with me all with Iranians living in London,and speaking Persian!
However, you cannot fault the little kindnesses that the guest receives in the Tajik house, the shoes lifted down from the rack as you go by so you can put your feet directly in them. Rinsing my clothes, both of us , me and S going hech gap ne, no problem. She won, and carried on washing them saying ‘you are my sister’. I feel looked after here. The beaming smile of N which lights up her face when she sees me, even though we can’t really chat. I smile back.
Saw Z the other day. It was late as I left my and I was surprised to see a picheni or biscuit cottage industry going on in the main room. N was icing one type of picheni, while S and Z were rolling pastry and cutting out others.
So I sat down with them, and while S talked on the phone to her boyfriend on the handsfree, her hands were busy rolling and shaping, pinching and placing. I was impressed at how she made dough by eye, adding flour, butter and eggs, rolling it into fine sheets which then were cut into squares, a slice of caramelised apple placed in each and then folded over and covered with icing and chocolate shavings. All this activity was in aid of the tui the next day, the wedding of their uncle’s daughter. I am sure that as S talked to her fiancée rolling the pastry, she thought of her own wedding.
Z was well and busy, she wanted me to come and talk to the students, which of course I agreed to. She also said that we would work out a time for me to meet her father and ask him some questions – I am thinking he would know who I could talk to about getting in to see the Museum under the statue.
I finally left them at 1am, I heard next day that they were up for another hour. Z had to give an 8am lecture the next day, bless her.
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
Bags, bags, bags
One person I did know at the Wedding party was Johan, who is J’s friend from South Africa. I went to his workshop a couple of days before. He was a lawyer once, who decided however he was sick of making money and wanted to do some good in the world. So he is here in Tajikistan running a workshop making leather bags. He realised that people were throwing the sheep and goat skins to their dogs to eat, rather than doing anything more useful with them. Equally there is so little small scale industry here, the people are not yet used to thinking about shifting for themselves so used to working on the collective farm or kolkhoz.
In the countryside, either they think about working the land, or if that cannot support them, the only other option they seem to find is going to Russia. This obviously splits up families, and often causes divorce, or the husband returns with HIV and gives it to his wife. Now around 12 families are supported by this workshop, which as he says is a drop in the Amu Darya, however it means at least 12 families won’t be split up.
Johan has trialled various tanning techniques using all natural ingredients, one of the best emulsifiers is found in fresh brains! However none of these being forthcoming, he has found alternatives such as cotton oil.
These skins all get sent to the workshop in Dushanbe from around the country, he pays between 30 and 40 somoni for each skin. Here they get made into bags, slippers etc. We went round the workshop with J, her friend, N, F the Professor’s son and J’s boss Mr Tamavadeh. He was lovely and unpretentious and we had a joke about Iranian taarof. He was from Iran!
So we sat in Johan’s flat, eating biltong and drinking tea, having a conversation which veered between Persian and English, with only F being able to understand both, and to a lesser extent J and then Johan – who speaks some Persian. I bought a bag to carry round my extra stuff in when I have my laptop.
http://www.tajiktrading.com/index.html
In the countryside, either they think about working the land, or if that cannot support them, the only other option they seem to find is going to Russia. This obviously splits up families, and often causes divorce, or the husband returns with HIV and gives it to his wife. Now around 12 families are supported by this workshop, which as he says is a drop in the Amu Darya, however it means at least 12 families won’t be split up.
Johan has trialled various tanning techniques using all natural ingredients, one of the best emulsifiers is found in fresh brains! However none of these being forthcoming, he has found alternatives such as cotton oil.
These skins all get sent to the workshop in Dushanbe from around the country, he pays between 30 and 40 somoni for each skin. Here they get made into bags, slippers etc. We went round the workshop with J, her friend, N, F the Professor’s son and J’s boss Mr Tamavadeh. He was lovely and unpretentious and we had a joke about Iranian taarof. He was from Iran!
So we sat in Johan’s flat, eating biltong and drinking tea, having a conversation which veered between Persian and English, with only F being able to understand both, and to a lesser extent J and then Johan – who speaks some Persian. I bought a bag to carry round my extra stuff in when I have my laptop.
http://www.tajiktrading.com/index.html
Visit to the sacred spring or mazar
On Monday we went to Romit, with J and the Professor, I had such a good afternoon out, slightly feeling like I was winging school, sitting in a nice car eating icecream when should have been working! We drove out past Vaksh, in the direction of Kulob and the Pamirs. Along Aini street, past J’s old flat, along a dusty section of unsurfaced road, without markings where the cars raced rally style as they jostled for position. Another wacky races moment. The road had been like that for eight months.
However we soon left the city behind and at Vaksh, which is a major city in Tajikistan, took a left and started climbing, first along a plain with the mountains in the background, and then along the banks of a river, passing ever more simple villages, with farmers herding goats and sheep, past holiday homes for the Academy of Sciences, the railway workers the police, all left over from Soviet times and still used today of course. The Professor drove slowly and it was a joy to be outside the city, with friends.
We drove as far as Romit, where there is a national park on one side of the road, we three and our picnic of bread and yoghurt drink hopped over the gate on the other side and climbed through the old Soviet garden with sweet smelling white lilac, where we came to the mazar or Sufi sacred spring, where there was a tree next to it hung with cloths of people who had visited the mazar. The spring was there beside it, sparkling down the rocks, looking out over the valley with the river at the bottom. Someone had tapped the spring higher up, and there was a water pipe running high over our heads to a place in the valley.
On our way home we stopped at what looked like a gutter, which apparently was fresh spring water, the Professor and J drank their glasses of water with gusto, I was slightly more cautious but drank it down anyway, trusting it would be alright. It was and I am fine, having no worse than the usual which seems to come and go just as quickly as my body accustoms itself to new diet (!) and bacteria.
The next day we saw the Professor’s garden and his den, the library on the top floor reached by a precarious set of metal steps, into the roof space. It was a magical place, and one I could dream of having one day, full of books and pictures on esoteric subjects. After showing us books of tankas of Tibeten health, of philosophy and yoga, he gave me a book on Aryan anthropology, one of his. I will have to get it translated.
After a quick breakfast, TV on of course, a host of Iranian singers accompanying J wherever she goes, of cream, non and walnuts as well as two fried eggs (well maybe it wasn’t that quick) we set off. The Professor kindly dropping me home in time for my Tajik lesson.
However we soon left the city behind and at Vaksh, which is a major city in Tajikistan, took a left and started climbing, first along a plain with the mountains in the background, and then along the banks of a river, passing ever more simple villages, with farmers herding goats and sheep, past holiday homes for the Academy of Sciences, the railway workers the police, all left over from Soviet times and still used today of course. The Professor drove slowly and it was a joy to be outside the city, with friends.
We drove as far as Romit, where there is a national park on one side of the road, we three and our picnic of bread and yoghurt drink hopped over the gate on the other side and climbed through the old Soviet garden with sweet smelling white lilac, where we came to the mazar or Sufi sacred spring, where there was a tree next to it hung with cloths of people who had visited the mazar. The spring was there beside it, sparkling down the rocks, looking out over the valley with the river at the bottom. Someone had tapped the spring higher up, and there was a water pipe running high over our heads to a place in the valley.
On our way home we stopped at what looked like a gutter, which apparently was fresh spring water, the Professor and J drank their glasses of water with gusto, I was slightly more cautious but drank it down anyway, trusting it would be alright. It was and I am fine, having no worse than the usual which seems to come and go just as quickly as my body accustoms itself to new diet (!) and bacteria.
The next day we saw the Professor’s garden and his den, the library on the top floor reached by a precarious set of metal steps, into the roof space. It was a magical place, and one I could dream of having one day, full of books and pictures on esoteric subjects. After showing us books of tankas of Tibeten health, of philosophy and yoga, he gave me a book on Aryan anthropology, one of his. I will have to get it translated.
After a quick breakfast, TV on of course, a host of Iranian singers accompanying J wherever she goes, of cream, non and walnuts as well as two fried eggs (well maybe it wasn’t that quick) we set off. The Professor kindly dropping me home in time for my Tajik lesson.
Being spoilt by the Ambassador...
Went to the Ambassador’s residence (even a crest on the wall, thought it would be all a lot more subtle!) for the Royal Wedding Party on Friday, knowing practically no one. As I got there, suddenly felt awful had brought no gift – thought it would be smarter than in reality it was. Thought everyone would be very much in their glad rags! But no – a few dresses smattering the crowd (for the ladies), but also some more everyday attire. I suppose that the kind of people who come and work in Tajikistan are mostly working for aid agencies. Nobody comes here to get rich! Strange to be surrounded by expats, and so many Brits!
The wedding was being watched on big screens, with union jack bunting aplenty decorating the garden where it was held. I made sure that I had to mingle during the sermon.
Most of the most interesting conversations I had that day were with Tajiks, however, with Mukhibullo, the British Ambassador’s political advisor who I had met at SwordeTeppaand Shurat who works for DFID, who I might interview. He knew quite a lot about the Samanid period, which he said he had learnt at school during the Soviet times. He spoke about IsmoilSomoni cancelling the people’s taxes to maintain the upkeep of the city wall of Bukhara, saying “I am the wall of Bukhara”, I had to interject that, just to show I knew what he was talking about!
Also spoke with the French ambassador, who goes by the quite fabulous name of Henry Zipper de Fabiani. He came up to me saying you’re a historian, let’s talk! He was very well informed and we chatted for a while about archaeological sites and museums in Tajikistan and Uzbekistan.
As I left I could have kicked myself, I had talked to two ambassadors, and not once had managed to fit in the immortal line, “Ambassador, you are spoiling us”!
At my local Morning Star café on Sunday was next to a group of English people who had met at the party the day before. We started chatting. They were interesting, lived in Istaravshan, teaching English and learning Tajik. They are planning to be there for the next four years! Wow, having been to that town, that is pretty hard going. But at least there are a few of them.
They were talking about people using fire to cleanse during an illness as well as not having a broom standing in the house. It is interesting how many of the Tajiks they were talking to thought these were Islamic customs. And they even said that you can find mention of them in the Qur’an. They are much more likely to be pre-Islamic Zoroastrian beliefs which are still being used and believed in almost 2000 years later.
The wedding was being watched on big screens, with union jack bunting aplenty decorating the garden where it was held. I made sure that I had to mingle during the sermon.
Most of the most interesting conversations I had that day were with Tajiks, however, with Mukhibullo, the British Ambassador’s political advisor who I had met at SwordeTeppaand Shurat who works for DFID, who I might interview. He knew quite a lot about the Samanid period, which he said he had learnt at school during the Soviet times. He spoke about IsmoilSomoni cancelling the people’s taxes to maintain the upkeep of the city wall of Bukhara, saying “I am the wall of Bukhara”, I had to interject that, just to show I knew what he was talking about!
Also spoke with the French ambassador, who goes by the quite fabulous name of Henry Zipper de Fabiani. He came up to me saying you’re a historian, let’s talk! He was very well informed and we chatted for a while about archaeological sites and museums in Tajikistan and Uzbekistan.
As I left I could have kicked myself, I had talked to two ambassadors, and not once had managed to fit in the immortal line, “Ambassador, you are spoiling us”!
At my local Morning Star café on Sunday was next to a group of English people who had met at the party the day before. We started chatting. They were interesting, lived in Istaravshan, teaching English and learning Tajik. They are planning to be there for the next four years! Wow, having been to that town, that is pretty hard going. But at least there are a few of them.
They were talking about people using fire to cleanse during an illness as well as not having a broom standing in the house. It is interesting how many of the Tajiks they were talking to thought these were Islamic customs. And they even said that you can find mention of them in the Qur’an. They are much more likely to be pre-Islamic Zoroastrian beliefs which are still being used and believed in almost 2000 years later.
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