A Five-Paragraph Essay in Response to the Question I am Asked Everywhere in Tajikistan

Dedicated to the people I am teaching to write essays. (Universities here focus on translation and oral exams rather than writing, so thesis statements and topic sentences are mostly new ideas.) 

Whether in a taxi or at a university, whenever I meet people in Tajikistan, they are invariably eager to ask questions. Most have never met an American in person, and want to find out whether their ideas about America are correct, and what my corresponding ideas about Tajikistan are. They are particularly excited that I can speak Tajik, although at times the conversation gets confusing when I do not understand what they have asked, and instead answer from my mental list of expected queries. These interactions, I sometimes think, are more important than my formal teaching here. So this is my response to the most important question: yes, I do like Tajikistan, because of the great natural beauty, the hospitable people, and the opportunities to learn.

Outline, on ХГУ notepaper.

My first impression of Tajikistan was from photos of the mountains and rivers, and I thought that it was beautiful and that I wanted to go. Since arriving in the summer of 2011 and again in the fall of 2012, those pictures have been surpassed by my own awe at the 93% mountainous country, both in Badakhshan and in Sughd. I admire the peaks of the mountains that frame Khujand, as well as the valley's water features: the Syr Darya ("Secret River") and the Kairakkum Reservoir (the "Tajik Sea"). I cannot wait for the spring, when the mountains will spring up in green and the trees will blossom. The fruits of those flowers are sweet, juicy, and endless: apricots, peaches, figs, mulberries, apples, pears, pomegranates, persimmons, and more. These delicious fruits take over my kitchen and fill my stomach in many forms. Whether in tasting or viewing, in Khujand or Khorog, the natural wonders of Tajikistan make every short trip a chance to see and taste something amazing.

Not only is Tajikistan's nature worth experiencing, but also the kindness and generosity of its people. Tajik people treat me not as a foreigner, but as a guest. The questions about my well-being are underscored by concern that I have been treated as a guest ought to be. "Come to my house for tea," they say. "I will make you plov." "Thank you, thank you," I reply, and even though I do not go to most of those houses, it is the earnest offer that is special. Every culture has a parable about welcoming guests, but Tajik culture fulfills this universal value in a way that is not universal. In America we are taught to think about our own grades, our own profession, our own close circle. Tajik culture teaches people to be more generous, and to spread that care beyond yourself to others, whether as a host or as a guest. This teaches me to think more about others, and also makes my time here so pleasant, since everyone is always eager to welcome me. 

Draft, with edits.

The people in Tajikistan welcome me enthusiastically, and also make every interaction a source of new information about history, culture, or language. I talk with people around a dastarkhan and they tell me about the three-day invasion of Khujand just after the Civil War. I teach an English class about Halloween and trick-or-treating in America, and I learn about Navruz and boichechak. I think that "archa" means "New Year's Tree," and then I learn from following a six-year-old around a park that it actually means "evergreen." Though I can read about history, culture and the Tajik language in books, it is through meeting people that I learn. 

My experience in Tajikistan is the sum of more than learning, people, and nature, but together they provide a good beginning to answer what I most appreciate about this place. And once I have begun, they can continue: "Do you like plov?" "Are you married?" "I will find you a Tajik husband." "What is your work?" I reply with invitations to the American Corner and my own questions: "How many children do you have?" "When did he leave for Russia?" "What is that called?".  The conversation ends with one or both of the pleasantries that do not mean goodbye, exactly, but well wishing. The first is хуш омадед (khosh omaded), which literally means "(your) good coming,"and is translated in dictionaries as "welcome," though they say it both when you arrive and when you leave. The other is саломат бошед (salomat boshed), which means "be healthy," and is added at the end of any store interaction or conversation. So: хуш омадед, саломат бошед. 

Two Months

October has come and gone, marked by visitors and cooling weather, and now I'm left wondering how two months could have passed already, since I think I wrote that it was one month only yesterday, and so how it could possibly be November.

The weather patterns are changing; it rained for the first time last week, and again on Sunday. I can tell that the air is more humid. When I was in Shahristan (high up in the mountains) two weeks ago the leaves were beginning to turn; when Sarah was there one week ago it snowed. Now in Khujand (in the valley) the leaves have fallen in droves. But it is still autumn: cold two weeks ago, and pleasantly warmer last week - a slight reprieve from the fall towards winter.

Our apartment is colder inside than the street outside in the sun. We have experimented with our heating systems: two wall-mounted AC/heating units we turn on in the evenings when we get home, an oil-filled radiator in the kitchen, and sweaters inside. We sleep under all of our blankets. I am taking inventory of what we should buy before winter truly sets in: more blankets, another space heater, another sweater, gloves.

I have added scarves to my daily wardrobe. I still wear sandals sometimes - but with socks. That is a perfectly acceptable fashion trend here. My flats are not much warmer, and I don't want to break out the boots yet, because I know I will be wearing them all winter.

In the bazaar, tomatoes that were 80 dirham or 1 somoni per kilo now cost 8 somoni. Apples and persimmons are the 1.5-2 somoni seasonal fruits. (I had never had a persimmon before, to the shock of some friends when they offered me a khorma. I didn't even know what the English word for it was, until I came home and asked Sarah, who grew up eating the fruit in the South.)

And in the midst of the changing seasons, there was some living. I was sick with a cold, and read A Song of Ice and Fire in bed. I cooked more. My Tajik is (hopefully) improving (very slowly). I have been teaching my classes at the American Corner, and am somewhat better at planning for them. I have gotten to know the American Corner coordinator better, and have been glad to have the chance to talk to her outside of work hours.

We had visitors. ETAs/Embassy friends from the south came for the first six days of the month. We got to play host, and show off our apartment, our work places and our city. We had three (or four) people sleeping in our beds and on the floor, and dinners and movies or parties in the apartment every night. After our friends came two different official embassy visitors, the Regional English Language Officer and an English Language Specialist. With each of them we went out to dinner and spent a lot of time talking about what it means to be an ETA/ELF. Two other visits from Embassy staff not directly related to our work said hello and brought gifts from Dushanbe and took us out to dinner.

And then there have been many dinners with other Khujand expats; some at the pizza restaurant and some in people's homes. There are a few new faces since September. Some short-term volunteers have come and already gone.

Almost every week I have travelled somewhere in Sugd: to Kairakkum and Istaravshan to help interview students for new English Access Programs, to Istaravshan for a concert sponsored by the Embassy, to Ghonchi and Shahristan with the English Language Specialist to help with teacher training (by teaching the students). When I went to Shahristan I spent the night with one of the Access Program teachers and got to meet her family, eat all of the many salads she prepared for me, and hear her very interesting life story. I hope to do more of this.

October brought news - a new tunnel opened that will make it faster to get to Dushanbe! - and so will November: the President will visit for an important anniversary. In the U.S., the election will come and go and then Thanksgiving. I will celebrate both by teaching about them, and hoping that when November has gone, I will feel that I have spent the time well.

Postcard from Kairakum

 

Greetings from the Tajik Sea!

Tajikistan is a landlocked country, but people often call this large reservoir a sea. Sarah and I went with a group of other Khujandi expats (including two who own cars) to Kairakum on a lazy Sunday afternoon. We sat on a concrete tapchan/gazebo (I think there were dried corn stalks as the thatching) and ate and talked. A few of us wandered down to the sea and went swimming. The water was fairly warm; apparently the water is several meters lower now than it is in the spring, after the rains.

So we'll have to go back in the spring to see the water at its true height!

Kyle

I had to add this photo of my foot hanging off the tapchan to show how much watermelon we are and how the seeds were.

P.S. Kairakum was created with a dam on the Syr Darya River to irrigate more fields of cotton. I had to find out when it was built, because no one with us knew: 1956-58. It is 55km long and 20km wide at its widest point, covering an area of 513 km squared, an average depth of 8.1m, with its deepest point at 25m.