Varzob

Since most of my activities have been centered in the center of Dushanbe, I have lately been longing to get out of the city and see some of the countryside. Today I got my chance when some friends suggested a trip to Varzob, a district in the foothills outside the Dushanbe where Tajiks often go to relax for the day. The idea quickly spread from friend to friend and at seven this morning a group of around fifteen Americans, Tajiks and one Iranian gathered to begin this trip. I should point out that seven in the morning should be loosely interpreted; arriving at 7:15 I was still forty-five minutes earlier than the latest person. Among the group were Sitora, whose sister’s wedding party I attended, Nazir and Gulya, the Bukhoran Jews who hosted me for dinner, and Malika, who studied for a year in Idaho and speaks perfect Russian, near perfect English, but no Tajik.

The drive out of the city was beautiful. We quickly reached an area where the road, which ran along a rapid-filled river, was surrounded by cliffs on either side. Many large houses (drug money?) and resorts lined the riverbank, with platforms built out over the river where people can enjoy their meals. We passed the ostentatious summer house of the president, gaudy and yet somewhat impressive. We kept driving, however, until we reached a slightly more remote spot. In the distance, snow-capped mountain peaks pierced the cloudless blue sky. We found a spot near a river and settled down for a rest. Yellow flowers and short scrubby trees surrounded us, while two calves, for some reason without their mother, wandered in the area. Several of us tried to climb the nearest hill, but it was covered in loose rocks so I turned back with several other people. We enjoyed the fresh air and sunshine…and then began to get hungry. While most of the Tajiks had wanted to bring food and cook, several of the Americans had overruled them, wanting to try an Iranian restaurant several miles away. We waited and waited, but it seemed the driver had travelled to some village for an unknown reason. Finally we decided to all pile into one bus and make the drive, although as we went in this squished fashion the other driver finally appeared behind us. We divided into two vans and finished the short trip.

At the restaurant, we sat outside on a raised platform close to an artificial lake, which was quite pretty and surrounded by hills. The lake was full of swimmers and boaters, and several of us swam before our meal came, as well as after. We lazed around this area until nearly 5 pm. Of course, the day ended with a delicious watermelon.

I must say, though, that I was very disappointed to go to the restaurant. The food was overpriced and not good at all. I would have rather cooked food as the Tajiks suggested-I think it would have been much better. But it has been a struggle for me to be on a program that is so focused on Iran while my interest is Central Asia. That is the way of things, however. It is unbelievable this program will soon be ending and I will move on.

Sufi Shrine

This weekend I visited the Yaqub-e Charkhi Sufi Shrine, located on the outskirts of Dushanbe. This beautiful site is home to the grave of one of the first disciples of the Naqshibandi Sufis. While many people travel to the shrine to make a pilgrimmage or visit the mosque located on the site on Fridays, on the day I visited there were few other people. Upon entering the site, which is enclosed by high walls, one finds oneself in a beautiful garden. A variety of brightly colored flowers line a fairly large square. Large trees provide shade. After venturing in further, one comes upon a calm square pool of water. The surface was smooth, like glass. In a square a level down from this, ancient trees twist up from the ground. Their trunks are so broad, I can only guess at their age. In this square is the mosque, and a small minaret twists up. The walls of this square were lined with seating areas, and several women with children reclined on them. At the other end of the square, the caretaker of the shrine has an area where he reads prayers to the visitors. He recited a prayer for us, and then we were able to enter a gate to the actual location of the grave. We circled the path around the grave. As my group finished, a mother with two small children entered. They also circled the path, and in one corner the mother knelt down and said a prayer. After we left that area, I noticed a water-pipe emerging from the edge of the pool. The mother filled several bottles with the water. According to one of our language teachers, while this shrine is not associated with a spring as so many Central Asian shrines are, the water from the place is still considered sacred and is taken by people for this reason. People might visit this shrine, or others like it, for several reasons. They might have some problem they need help with and go to pray in a place they consider sacred. They might go simply for the sake of making a pilgrimmage, as is required for Muslims. For those who cannot afford to make the Hajj during their lifetime, this can serve as a substitution. The place was very peaceful and I would have liked to stay in the atmosphere longer and perhaps watch as other people visited. Unfortunately, as part of a group, this was not possible.

The next day, I visited a large bazaar on the outskirts of Dushanbe. I actually really don't like bazaar other than food bazaars, but I wanted to get some material to have some dresses made that will be suitable for my future travels. The bazaars are really too crowded for my liking, but I did notice one interesting thing. Many of the people in the bazzar were obviously quite religious-one could tell because of their dress and in the men's case, the beards. I am not sure if this is because the bazaar is away from the center, and so this is simply not visible where I am living. For the most part the bazaar is filled with cheap goods from China-really not very interesting at all. We did wander through the section of baby cradles, which was quite interesting. The cradles are wood and the baby is strapped with a small contraption through which the urine should flow so diapers are not needed. I've never figured out whether this is actually effective. The most interesting part of this trip though was the friend who was showing us around. Nazir is a Bukhoran Jew whose grandparents moved to Dushanbe to help develop area. There are so few Bukhoran Jews left in Central Asia, he is the first I have met. Soon he will emigrate to Israel-most others already have left for Israel or for New York. Nazir is so friendly and helpful, I am very much looking forward to an invitation to his house later this week.

Later that day I met my friend Sitora, whose sister celebrated her marriage in my last post. We went to her neighborhood by mini-bus and she introduced me to a seamstress who will hopefully finish my dresses in time for me to leave Tajikistan. After all of this I was exhausted and ready for bed!

A Tajik Wedding (Toi)

Instead of celebrating Independence Day at a party at the US Embassy with most of the Americans in my group, I gladly accepted an invitation to a Tajik wedding from one of my new friends, Sitora. Sitora works for one of the cell phone companies here and I met her when I bought a local cell phone plan. Her sister’s recent marriage was being celebrated. Sitora explained that as she was the oldest, she should actually marry before her sister. However, because she wants to continue her studies she insisted that her younger sister be allowed to marry first.

Upon arriving at the family’s apartment, I was ushered into a room where all of the women were celebrating. Most of them were older family members-not the many young friends one pictures at a Western wedding. The brides (it was actually a double celebration for two family members who had recently married) were absent. In fact, aside from several brief appearances, they remained in the back where the food preparation was happening. This was definitely a celebration for the more senior ranking family members. Most of the women were over fifty. All of them wore the beautiful, brightly colored Tajik dress. Everyone sat around the tablecloth on the floor. The tablecloth was spread with a variety of fruits (watermelon, apple, apricot, grapes), vegetables (tomatoes, cucumbers), candy, chocolate, cookies, cakes, sausage, cheese, salads, and of course non, or tandoor bread. Tea was constantly poured and handed out.

In one corner two musicians sang while playing drums. At first the song was slow and sad-sounding. However, it soon picked up tempo and some of the women started to dance. I later talked to the musicians and found out that they play at such events professionally. They were very excited that I am starting to study anthropology as they introduced themselves as folklorists. They provided other forms of entertainment as well, such as telling boisterous jokes and in generally keeping the atmosphere fun with their conversation. However, it seemed that these women might have been considered inappropriate in a different setting. Although they were right in the middle of the gathering with the guests, there seemed to be a distance maintained between them and the rest, as if professional entertainers were not quite on a level with everyone else. This was highlighted by their comparitively very outgoing, sometimes rowdy interaction.
As the music picked up, the brides finally made an appearance. Both wore sequined, bright dresses and held a sheer white, spangled veil over their heads. They entered, stood near the door, and bowed repeatedly as the music played and some of the women danced in front of them. They then quickly left the room again, projecting shyness. I asked Sitora where they had gone and she offered to show me. As we left the room, I was waylaid for a moment as the women got me to dance. But afterwards, we made our way to the kitchen. On the way, I glimpsed the room where the men were celebrating. They seemed to be quietly sitting and eating. Much the same as I noticed at weddings in Palestine last year, the women’s party seemed much more active and fun. Indeed, I noticed the same when I went to a party at the Pakistani ambassador’s house once in DC. I am glad I am a woman-I think the men try to appear as if they are important, discussing serious things, while the women are connecting and feeling and alive in the next room.

In the kitchen, various close female family members were cooking, washing dishes, and sending out new plates and among them were the brides. Weddings here are definitely not all about the girl that is getting married. Rather, they stay behind the scenes and during the several appearances they do make they remain partially veiled and bow, which appears to be a sign of obedience but I can’t be sure as Sitora was unable to explain it to me.
I returned to the main room in order to watch a skit of sorts that was being put on by one of the aunts and the sister-in-law. The sister in law was playing the shy innocent bride. The aunt, however, dressed as a man and painted on a mustache. She played a lewd husband who chased the “bride”, making gestures that at times could be interpreted as less than appropriate. They danced around like this until the “bride” collapsed in laughter.
As I talked and listened to the women more, I received yet more confirmation that to really understand this place, I will have to study Tajik, keep up my Russian, and eventually start on Uzbek. It quickly became apparent to me that a lot of Uzbek was being spoken. I asked about it, and found out that Sitora’s mother is, in fact, Uzbek. Sitora speaks with her mother in Uzbek and her father in Tajik (and in Russian at work). Many of the aunts, therefore, were Uzbek and all languages seemed to be intelligible to everyone. People shifted in and out from one language to the other, even mixing words within sentences. One of the musicians leaned in and told me that Uzbeks and Tajiks are the same, they live the same, they just speak different languages.

Soon the food was brought out. First they was a soup, I think it was called ugro or something similar, that was really one of the best things I have ever eaten. It had noodles, meatballs, and chickpeas. Then, of course, came the required osh, or plov-the standard fare of most Central Asian celebrations. This rice dish is sometimes compared to pilaf and this time had carrots, chickpeas, and beef. The ingredients can change slightly depending on the region and the availability of produce.

Then, after more dancing, the final part of the ceremony commenced. The groom entered with several friends while the brides stood next to them, again repeatedly bowing. The groom received a certain brightly colored cloth from the women, which he tied around his waist. Then, the wedding presents were brought in. The tablecloth had been cleared and a huge pile of bedding, clothing, household goods like plates and irons, bread, eggs, chocolate, sausage, cooked chicken and sambusa/samsa or meat filled pastry appeared. At the end, I prayer was recited and everyone passed their hands over their faces. Then, we all saw the bride and groom off to his house and that was the end. I was interested to learn that the groom has been working in a bazaar in Moscow for the past several years and actually seems to have been quite successful. The bride will join him there in August.

Sitora and I then played dress-up for a little while. That is to say, she dressed me in Tajik wedding clothes and took my picture. We then joined the remaining women in the living room. All those who had been working so hard in the kitchen were now lounging around the tablecloth and finally getting something to eat themselves. However, I couldn’t follow the conversation because it was in Uzbek. Like I said, my work will never be done as years of language training seem to be stretching before me.

As it was starting to get dark, I decided I had better head back to my apartment. A treat bag with candy, cookies, fruit and sambusa was prepared for me and a bowl of osh was also packed. Sitora also gave me both a man’s wedding scarf and two women’s scarves to remember the evening. But, really I would never forget it anyways.