4.6.11
10.3.11
Dog Milk, Yum!
In Tajikistan it's common to have fresh milk available, many families have their own cow that they milk daily. It's a treat, especially when your lucky enough to be offered the fresh cream!
Sometimes our office cook, Venera, brings me a mug of fresh milk in the morning. So, when my co-worker asked me if I wanted some milk this weekend, of course I said I'd like a little.
Ali-jon: Would you like some fresh milk?
Me: Thank you, I'll have a little.
Ali-jon (in English- he knows a few words and always tries to speak to me in English): I have small dogs.
My internal thoughts: His translation must be wrong, I'll clarify in Tajik
Me (in Tajik): Dogs, the milk is from a dog?
Ali-jon (in Tajik): Dog, yes. Only two puppies are alive, the others died. (He mimes milking) We have gotten a lot of milk, 5 liters.
This was a first for me. I reflected on why my internal response was not one of excitement. I drink cow milk, I drink goat milk, why wouldn't I drink dog milk? I drank a little and surprisingly it tasted just like milk, but maybe a little more like skim milk than whole milk.
Sometimes our office cook, Venera, brings me a mug of fresh milk in the morning. So, when my co-worker asked me if I wanted some milk this weekend, of course I said I'd like a little.
Ali-jon: Would you like some fresh milk?
Me: Thank you, I'll have a little.
Ali-jon (in English- he knows a few words and always tries to speak to me in English): I have small dogs.
My internal thoughts: His translation must be wrong, I'll clarify in Tajik
Me (in Tajik): Dogs, the milk is from a dog?
Ali-jon (in Tajik): Dog, yes. Only two puppies are alive, the others died. (He mimes milking) We have gotten a lot of milk, 5 liters.
This was a first for me. I reflected on why my internal response was not one of excitement. I drink cow milk, I drink goat milk, why wouldn't I drink dog milk? I drank a little and surprisingly it tasted just like milk, but maybe a little more like skim milk than whole milk.
9.3.11
Ladies...Yeah Ladies...
Yesterday was International Women’s Day, March 8th, иди занхо! This is a big holiday in Tajikistan with a lot of build up. During the past week it has been common practice for both friends and strangers alike to congratulate me on my womanhood. An email from my coworker Bobobek is a great example of the holiday’s sentiment: “Dear Ali, I congratulate you and your female families with international Women’s Day. I wish all the bests of the world, good health, and a long and happy life!” It is a day of rest for the whole country.
Madena, Makhlio, and Farzona are some of the women I spent the day with.
Our lunch at work on Monday was a special treat. Osh, a favorite national dish was prepared and our male coworkers recited poetry to us about how wonderful women are as we ate. There was an awkward silence from the male contingent when I asked if they helped out with housework on women’s day. An older gentleman broke the silence by stating “well, that doesn’t happen in every house.” My female coworkers joked that it might not happen in any house.
Madena stokes the fire to cook dinner.
The novelty of this new holiday was a wonderful experience. I’ve never before felt so glorified for being born with two X chromosomes. I spent lunch in the company of my female friends, midday was a time reserved for females to spend together in celebration and appreciation of one another. Dinner was a family affair, with more food than we could consume, and lots of toasting to women and womanhood.
The dinner spread. There wasn't enough room on the table for all the food!
In a society where men dominate everything, except maybe childbirth, it was a special day and perhaps a needed one.
Cross Border Market in Ishkashim
Ishkashim is the gateway to the Wahkan Corridor in Tajikistan. From the Wahkan a person in Tajikistan can see both Afghanistan and Pakistan; it’s a place with overlapping geography and cultures. Other than its remote location, it’s an ideal place to have a market.
The Ishkashim Market is located on an island in the middle of the River Panj between Afghanistan and Tajikistan. To get to the market we left our passports at a folding table that the Tajik military manned and walked across a bridge to the island. From Khorog it costs 60 Somoni ($13) round trip to travel to this market. It’s a high price people are willing to pay because the goods are cheap and unique, and can be resold at higher prices. The market is a place where people come to do business, tourists are less common. We were novelties and attracted a lot of attention; we were both people watching and being watched.
Goods being sold included: rugs, clothing, opium, spices, soap, makeup, handmade and second hand shoes, juice boxes in bulk, cheap (really cheap) Chinese goods, fruit, baskets, and many other things that I’m either forgetting or aren’t worth listing. No market in Tajikistan has the same abundance of second hand western clothing, digging through piles familiar labels jumped out at me: Old Navy, Gap, Levi, and Patagonia. The second hand boots had soles that were worn past any I’ve ever seen before, it was clear many marathon distances had been walked on tough terrain by the previous owner(s).
The Afghans at the market had a few striking traits that distinguished them from their Tajik neighbors. Their skin was more weathered, their sense of style more conservative, and their eyes a variety of colors- piercing greens and blues among the most distinctive. Mikey found that many people were eager to have their photo taken, and a few of his wonderful pictures can be seen in the new slide show.
When we were ready to return to Khorog, we walked back across the bridge, retrieved our passports with ease, and looked for our driver. While we were enjoying the uniqueness of the market, our driver had driven into the Wahkan and loaded his Tengen (mini-van like vehicle) with soap from Pakistan. He returned to the market where large Kamaz trucks were waiting to be filled with his soap and other goods to take to other markets through out Tajikistan.
Over mountains, rivers, and borders, it was interesting to see some of the more extreme terrain goods pass over on their way to markets. It felt like I was witnessing a beginning stage of the entrepreneurial process, but in reality it was far along. We left the market with some cinnamon, pomegranates, a noodle maker (for Mino, see previous blog post Women in Barcheed 12/2010), and photos as souvenirs. It was a good day!
8.3.11
Tengen Tough
To tell this story I must first explain what a Tengen is, in the Pamirs it’s the most common form of public transportation. It’s kind of like a mini van, but looks more like a septic tank on wheels. A simple metal box with a go-cart sized engine that acts like the energizer bunny, it just keeps going and going. Well, until it doesn’t go anymore; we’ve been told one Tengen costs around $6,000 and can endure approximately 2 years of consistent work. The roads take a toll on cars and passengers.
The Tengen is rumored to be named after a character in a very popular Korean Soap Opera of the past. The character was abnormally small and was always working hard…just like all the motorized metal boxes in Badakhshan. If this story is true, the name is honoring the function the Tengen fills in a very harsh environment. Although it is easy to both love and hate the Tengen.
Mikey served as our tour guide in and around Khorog. He’s spent a lot of time in Tengens. He has a strategy: “Whether right or wrong, I always try to sit in the middle bench seat in the middle seat, if there is a wreck I think I’ll have the highest chance of survival if I’m sitting in this seat.”
On the day we traveled to the cross border market in Ishkashim, four of us were traveling and only one person could have this seat, and that was awarded to our guest Myles. Katie, Mikey and I piled into the back seat and Myles sat in the safest spot in the Tengen, so we thought. As our Tengen was pulling out of Khorog another passenger was picked up. This resulted in 4 full grown men being squished in to the middle bench of the Tengen.
3 hours later we arrived at the market in Ishkashim. Initially, Katie, Mikey, and I were the only passengers able to walk with out a severe limp as we stumbled out of the Tengen. On this day Myles demonstrated his tolerance for uncomfortable situations, this is a good quality to have as a tourist in Tajikistan. To love and hate the Tengen is part of visiting Badakhshan.
16.2.11
White, Wild, and Wonderful
Katie and Myles, Mikey's sister and her main man, are visiting us for two weeks. We have had an action packed time together!
Once the pair adjusted to the 12 hour time difference from Denver to Dushanbe we started our adventures by going horse back riding. This wasn't a pony ride at the fair or a follow the leader trail ride like we remembered from our youth. We rode buzkachi horses, horses that are trained to run fast and fight.
We arrived mid-morning to a village where the horses and chirvandos (buzkachi competitors) lived near Dushanbe. Mounting the horses was an experience in itself. Katie who hovers around 5 feet tall was assisted by the chirvandos. Viraf, a fellow Fulbrighter and Southern Califronia native was not the recipient of such help. Men don't insult other men by offering assistance. Viraf had never sat on a horse, much less ridden one, and my laughter prevented me from being any help. Eventually our horses were led to a near by wall where Viraf and I were able to settle into the wooden saddles and join the group.
Once on the horses, we realized the plan was unclear. We were delighted when two chirvandos joined us as guides. They were clearly unaware of our expectations which were based on horse back riding tourism in the states. Initially, we were all confused. We were startled when our horses started bucking and kicking towards one another. The guides were surprised we were stupid enough to put our horses so close together, yelling "these are buzkachi horses, they will fight!" A variety of lessons were learned quickly.
The weather was snowy with near white-out conditions for the duration of our two hour ride. If there had been scenery other than white, I'm not sure we would have been able to enjoy it. The majority of our energy was spent trying to stay upright in the saddle and to restrain our horses from galloping. Katie's horse was the spunkiest; it dumped her in a pile of snow half way back to the village. What a way to be welcomed to Tajikistan! She showed her gumption by remounting the feisty steed and leading us all back to the village.
This weekend we will attend a buzkachi match with a clearer understanding of how spetacular the chirvandos and horses are!
Once the pair adjusted to the 12 hour time difference from Denver to Dushanbe we started our adventures by going horse back riding. This wasn't a pony ride at the fair or a follow the leader trail ride like we remembered from our youth. We rode buzkachi horses, horses that are trained to run fast and fight.
We arrived mid-morning to a village where the horses and chirvandos (buzkachi competitors) lived near Dushanbe. Mounting the horses was an experience in itself. Katie who hovers around 5 feet tall was assisted by the chirvandos. Viraf, a fellow Fulbrighter and Southern Califronia native was not the recipient of such help. Men don't insult other men by offering assistance. Viraf had never sat on a horse, much less ridden one, and my laughter prevented me from being any help. Eventually our horses were led to a near by wall where Viraf and I were able to settle into the wooden saddles and join the group.
Once on the horses, we realized the plan was unclear. We were delighted when two chirvandos joined us as guides. They were clearly unaware of our expectations which were based on horse back riding tourism in the states. Initially, we were all confused. We were startled when our horses started bucking and kicking towards one another. The guides were surprised we were stupid enough to put our horses so close together, yelling "these are buzkachi horses, they will fight!" A variety of lessons were learned quickly.
The weather was snowy with near white-out conditions for the duration of our two hour ride. If there had been scenery other than white, I'm not sure we would have been able to enjoy it. The majority of our energy was spent trying to stay upright in the saddle and to restrain our horses from galloping. Katie's horse was the spunkiest; it dumped her in a pile of snow half way back to the village. What a way to be welcomed to Tajikistan! She showed her gumption by remounting the feisty steed and leading us all back to the village.
This weekend we will attend a buzkachi match with a clearer understanding of how spetacular the chirvandos and horses are!
Prostate Stimulator
This is a story I must tell vicariously, as it is another's experience not my own.
In a Tajik village there is a foreigner who rents a room with a family, the head of the household is a local doctor, he is a family practitioner, an everything doctor. This doctor is a pragmatic person. There are certain medical supplies that aren't available in Tajikistan and a foreign friend can be the supplier of much needed medical equipment.
The foreign lodger was leaving Tajikistan for the holidays and was asked by his doctor-friend to pick up supplies he needed for his practice: a blood sugar monitor and a prostate stimulator. The first request was self explanatory, but the second request needed an explanation for the the foreigner to understand specifically what was needed.
The doctor informed him there was a man in the village who was having difficulties pleasuring his wife, Viagra hadn't done the trick, and the doctor assumed a prostate stimulator was the next reasonable medical prescription. The only hitch was prostate stimulators aren't readily available in Tajikistan. There are no XXX shops with neon lights advertising adult toys like where the foreigner was traveling to.
While on vacation, with a good sense of humor, the foreigner visited a sex shop to obtain the requested prostate stimulator. The conversation went as expected:
Foreigner: "I'd like to see the varieties of prostate stimulators you have in stock. It's not for me, it's for my friend...no, really, I live in Tajikistan and this is for medical purposes."
Salesperson: "Ok, so hypothetically speaking what is "your friend" looking for?"
The selection was made, the prostate stimulator was purchased, but the foreigner had doubts about the appropriateness of his selection. His first night back in Tajikistan he had dinner with the doctor's family. New Years gifts were dispersed and the medical equipment was passed to the doctor in a brown paper bag with a discreet comment and a wink, "we can discuss this later."
Shortly afterwards the doctor unexpectedly opened the brown bag to examine its contents at the dinner table. He was pleased with the blood sugar monitor and perplexed by the prostate stimulator. The foreigner showed the doctor how to turn on the vibrating mechanism. Subsequently, the prostate stimulator was passed around the dinner table from family member to family member, vibrating all the while.
When the foreigner realized that the whole family knew who and what the prostate stimulator was for, he changed from subtle to diret communication. He inquired if the anal vibrator was what the doctor wanted for his patient. He offered to return the stimulator if it wasn't what the doctor wanted. The doctor addressed his and the foreigner's uncertainty by responding "we can let my patient try it out, and if it doesn't work, you can return it."
Having lived in Tajikistan for a while, the foreigner was able to respond to the unexpected with ease. He explained that once the prostate stimulator was used it would not be possible to return it. We can all be hopeful that what the doctor ordered is what the patient needed, and that the vibrator doesn't find intself incarnated as a child's toy in a Tajik village!
In a Tajik village there is a foreigner who rents a room with a family, the head of the household is a local doctor, he is a family practitioner, an everything doctor. This doctor is a pragmatic person. There are certain medical supplies that aren't available in Tajikistan and a foreign friend can be the supplier of much needed medical equipment.
The foreign lodger was leaving Tajikistan for the holidays and was asked by his doctor-friend to pick up supplies he needed for his practice: a blood sugar monitor and a prostate stimulator. The first request was self explanatory, but the second request needed an explanation for the the foreigner to understand specifically what was needed.
The doctor informed him there was a man in the village who was having difficulties pleasuring his wife, Viagra hadn't done the trick, and the doctor assumed a prostate stimulator was the next reasonable medical prescription. The only hitch was prostate stimulators aren't readily available in Tajikistan. There are no XXX shops with neon lights advertising adult toys like where the foreigner was traveling to.
While on vacation, with a good sense of humor, the foreigner visited a sex shop to obtain the requested prostate stimulator. The conversation went as expected:
Foreigner: "I'd like to see the varieties of prostate stimulators you have in stock. It's not for me, it's for my friend...no, really, I live in Tajikistan and this is for medical purposes."
Salesperson: "Ok, so hypothetically speaking what is "your friend" looking for?"
The selection was made, the prostate stimulator was purchased, but the foreigner had doubts about the appropriateness of his selection. His first night back in Tajikistan he had dinner with the doctor's family. New Years gifts were dispersed and the medical equipment was passed to the doctor in a brown paper bag with a discreet comment and a wink, "we can discuss this later."
Shortly afterwards the doctor unexpectedly opened the brown bag to examine its contents at the dinner table. He was pleased with the blood sugar monitor and perplexed by the prostate stimulator. The foreigner showed the doctor how to turn on the vibrating mechanism. Subsequently, the prostate stimulator was passed around the dinner table from family member to family member, vibrating all the while.
When the foreigner realized that the whole family knew who and what the prostate stimulator was for, he changed from subtle to diret communication. He inquired if the anal vibrator was what the doctor wanted for his patient. He offered to return the stimulator if it wasn't what the doctor wanted. The doctor addressed his and the foreigner's uncertainty by responding "we can let my patient try it out, and if it doesn't work, you can return it."
Having lived in Tajikistan for a while, the foreigner was able to respond to the unexpected with ease. He explained that once the prostate stimulator was used it would not be possible to return it. We can all be hopeful that what the doctor ordered is what the patient needed, and that the vibrator doesn't find intself incarnated as a child's toy in a Tajik village!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)