Last Dushanbe Days

The last several days have been very busy as I am getting ready to leave Tajikistan. Classes have been finishing, and I have been invited to many people’s houses in order to say good-bye before leaving.
Saturday we took a group trip to the Ob-I-Garm sanatorium, which is located up in the mountains past Varzob, where I visited last weekend. The trip there was beautiful as the mountain scenery is breathtaking. I had an interesting conversation with the driver, who had just returned from working as a driver for two years in Moscow. I asked him about his experience, and it turned out that he had somehow gained Russian citizenship because his dad was an officer in the Soviet army. Because of this, he didn’t face many of the problems of many Tajik labor migrants, as he is able to obtain the correct documentation and registration.
After arriving at the sanatorium, a group of us went hiking with one of our language teachers. We made our way past the rushing river and started an uphill climb. On the way we passed people, mostly kids, with donkeys going up and down the hill. Some of the donkeys carried loads of hay which seemed bigger than the donkeys themselves. We also passed some areas where beekeepers were working, the boxes of beehives spreading across a flat area in straight rows. It was very sunny, and hot, and different flowers were blooming all around. We finally made it to the top of one hill and decided we would stop there. Cows were grazing nearby. Snow covered peaks were visible in several directions. Our teacher gathered plants and roots from which he will make tea.
We returned to the sanatorium, a huge complex clinging to the side of a hill. I can imagine what it must have been like in the Soviet period, when so many people came to relax. We reclined on kats, platforms that look kind of like beds. These were built out over a ravine and so had a beautiful view. We ate plov and melons. Then several of us went to bath in the water from the hot spring (ob-i-garm means hot water). A small pool had been created to hold the water, and it was housed in a small building. The water was hot and smelled like sulfur, and there was also a very hot steam room. Despite being so hot already and then subjecting ourselves to this, we felt very refreshed afterwards and it seemed to make our skin feel nice.
When we returned from this trip, we quickly got ready to visit Nazir’s house. Nazir is such a wonderful cook, perhaps because as he has no mother and father he has had to do this for himself. He made a noodle dish that he said was Uighur, and that was excellent. Afterwards, Nazir, Gulya and Sitora convinced us to dance. Somehow I always get drawn into this and they always play Uzbek music. Because I spent some time in Uzbekistan they seem to equate my dancing with Uzbek dancing and it seems to be really appreciated, as Sitora is half Uzbek and Nazir and Gulya are Bukhoran Jews. After dancing, Gulya decided that my eyebrows needed to be darkened, something that girls apparently do here. I was a little nervous, but agreed. Gulya mashed up some sort of plant and painted the juice on my eyebrows. After a little while, I washed it off. My eyebrows were a little darker, but I am happy to say not all that much.
The next day, Sitora had invited us to her house so that her mother could teach me to make ugro, the soup that was so delicious at the wedding. While we thought this visit might be a little less intense, I guess really I should have known better. We arrived to find the table covered in cookies, candies, fruits and nuts. Sitora’s mother is incredible kind and a pleasure to visit with. We learned the soup, which is actually quite easy to make so I should have little problem recreating it. Sitora’s mom also went outside of the apartment, where there are several communal tandoor ovens, to make non. We ate so much fresh bread and soup, and then sat around the low table talking and drinking tea. Sitora’s two sisters were there, her mom, and her aunt who had just returned from Novosibirsk. Once again, Uzbek music was played and I was encouraged to dance. They were also very excited by the maybe three Uzbek words I can remember. We really thought we would be leaving soon, only to find that of course, there was a second course and we were quite silly to think this would not be the case. Sitora’s mom brought out fried meat and potatoes which were also really delicious. Afterwards, we again reclined and talked and it was nearing eleven when we made our way home.
Last night I was once again invited out, to an interesting birthday party with the family of my friend Lola. They are from Kulob, and moved here several years ago, and her father apparently holds a rather important government position. In other words, they are some of the leaders of the country, as after the civil war people from Kulob were able to gain much control over the government. While men and women attended the party, which was held in an outside courtyard of a restaurant next to a beautiful pond, the two groups were segregated by a screen. This was fine with me, as I had a great time with the women and kids. At one point Lola’s father came over to check on me and said that he felt somewhat bad about this arrangement, as only the men were drinking alcohol, but that I would be welcomed to the men’s side to have some drinks. I politely declined, although it is interesting to see this different standard for a foreigner. The women had brought salads, bread, and compote they had made themselves, which they said was important for birthday parties and wedding, while the rest of the food was provided by the restaurant. There was live music and dancing. I found it very interesting that the women praised be for my “Kulobi” dancing rather than Tajik dancing, and said that it seemed as if I must be from Kulob myself. The importance of regional identity was clearer with this group than with any other I have seen-perhaps because they are the ones that came out ahead. Finally, we ate the birthday cake and it seemed as if we would be going home. I was having a good time but I hoped this was the case as the small children were becoming tired and cranky and a handful for their mothers, as it was past ten. However, I learned that Lola’s dad had invited a well-known singer, apparently at least partly for my benefit, and so we were waiting for his arrival. This was very nice, although I felt bad for those who were so tired. Luckily he sang a few songs, which a really enjoyed, and then the party ended.
Today is essentially my last day in Dushanbe. I’ll spend one day in Kulob, and after that fly to Kabul. The focus of what I write will shift then-perhaps I’ll need to rename this blog! There were several explosions here in Dushanbe several days ago-one near a hotel quite close to my house and one near the airport. No one was hurt. There are different ideas as to who is behind this, although perhaps it has to do with a visit by the presidents of Russia, Afghanistan and Pakistan. The main street has been lined with police officers, many with bomb-sniffing dogs. Hopefully no more problems emerge as I try to leave!