Patriotism

"If there is any valuable difference between a monarchist and an American, it lies in the theory that the American can decide for himself what is patriotic and what isn't. I claim that difference. I am the only person in the 60 millions that is privileged to dictate my patriotism." 

- Mark Twain, via my mother forwarding Garrison Keillor's "The Writer's Almanac" on Election Day

I have never felt so patriotic and so American as I did in Khujand, Tajikistan on November 6 and 7, 2012, as I waited and watched for news of the Presidential election. I did not expect to care so much; I did not watch any of the debates, and was grateful to avoid the bitterness of negative campaigning. But as Election Day approached I was entirely in the U.S.A. in mind and spirit.

I got to choose my own patriotism: I posted photos of the State Department election teaching materials on Facebook, and liked every status that had to do with voting. I went to bed, and woke up at 8 a.m. to find that America had started counting. I drank Nescafe and ate a piece of cake with my eyes glued to the Washington Post's webpage - unless I changed to Facebook.  I felt sudden tears when I saw the call. I remembered that NPR is station 20 on our European satellite TV. I listened while making chocolate chip cookies to take into the American Corner for our election celebration. I listened to Romney's speech, and waited for Obama's as I began to plan how, exactly, I would share this with my Tajik students. My internet constantly paused Obama to buffer the video and I gave up and printed the transcript an hour later. I admit to a moment when I felt the urge to sing "Proud to Be An American."

When I finally went to the American Corner, I wore my Tajik-American dual-flag lapel pin on my sweater, an "I Voted!" sticker and an Obama/Biden sticker left by a visiting English Language Specialist. I brought ridiculously American, 4th-of-July-type napkins and tablecloth left by the same teacher. I beamed. My TOEFL class, which is learning strategies for the Listening section of that test, got to listen to Obama's victory speech. They learned the words "concession" and "acceptance."The Election Celebration included a re-cap of the electoral college system, which meant mock elections among the United Three States of the American Corner in Khujand as we chose between Chocolate Chip Cookies and Cake (Cake won, winning the electoral vote 4:1 and the popular vote 10:5). We colored in the map. I brought copies of the cookie recipe. During my Music Club, we listened and looked at the words to Stevie Wonder's "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" (which Obama walked out onstage to before his speech) and Ben Harper's "Better Way"(Obama's theme song earlier in the race). I felt unabashed about my showy Americanism.

It is not that I can hide being American here; I work in the American Corner for goodness' sake. But I chose and owned that role in the run-up to the election, grateful to for the chance to re-learn as I taught. I feel more acutely American while abroad, given the chance with distance to look again at the country.

And I remember how much I am shaped by American history and how much I love beautiful American words: I am so excited to teach the "I Have a Dream" speech. I love if a student asks, "So, there was a war between North and South?" I am beside myself as I plan to teach the Gettysburg Address this month. (Lincoln delivered the speech on November 19, 1863.)

And after that it will be Thanksgiving, but already, at the beginning of the month, I feel so thankful. I felt thankful as I explained our term limits. As I explained, last week, to different classes, how we didn't know who was going to win. I am thankful I could chose to wear stickers, and when and where to wave the flag. I am thankful that I could manage to vote from Tajikistan! (I think; I don't know if my ballot actually made it....) I am thankful, as Twain reminded me, that I could chose to dance around my kitchen with instant coffee and the internet, and then teach with cookies and speeches, all as my expression of love of country.

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.

Abraham's Stars; or Many Holiday Thoughts

Friday was Eid-i Qurbon (Иди Қурбон), known elsewhere in the Muslim world as Eid al-Adha (adha and qurbon are both Arabic words for sacrifice, the later used in the Persian world). Somehow amongst all of the times I have heard and read about Ramadan and Eid al-Fitr, the second great festival of Islam escaped my notice. Tajikistan has helped me rectify that omission, by hearing about Eid-i Qurbon from Tajik friends, and reading about it, and experiencing it. Like the holiday, this blog post encompasses too much: celebration, language, giving, religion, contradictions, traditions, vacation and family.

I asked the American Corner Coordinator, Madina, to explain it to me. She explained that it is the "Feast of Sacrifice," celebrating Abraham's near sacrifice of his son, and thus passing his test of faith. It is the end of the Muslim year, and the time when people go on Hajj to Mecca. The festival always two months after Ramadan, and so cycles about eleven days earlier each year. Some people fast for ten days before Eid-i Qurbon. During the holiday, people spend time with their families, and visit older relatives. Those who are able should sacrifice a sheep, and share the meat with family, friends, and those less fortunate.

When a thirteen-year-old on student said "Congratulations on our holiday!" Thursday morning, I explained that though "Eid-e mubarak" does translate "congratulations," that's not usually what we say in English. We like to say "Happy [insert holiday]," or "Have a good holiday." Imagine my delight when I learned later in the day that many people say "Иди нагз гозарид (Eid-i nagz gozareed)," which translates almost exactly to "Have a good holiday."

On Thursday afternoon, I spent time with some American Corner volunteers taking food to families in need. One of the volunteers had been inspired to put out a donation box earlier in the week, and on Thursday the money was collected and taken to the grocery. They came back with flour, rice, buckwheat (grechka), sugar, oil, black tea, soap and shampoo. We grabbed at the items hastily to put together fourteen bags in the road behind the taxi so we wouldn't have to lug the food to the Corner on the fourth floor. Five of us piled into the taxi to look for the homes on the list that the mosque had provided. The others joined us later via mashrutkeh and walking. As we walked to a house, we played the "What is this in English/Tajik?" game ("Sunflower" is офтобпараст - oftobparast - lit. sun-worshipper, which is delightfully similar. We spent ages as they tried to explain to me a small bird is in the hopes I would know the English name.). The experience was entirely similar to Thanksgiving and Christmas volunteering run by schools and churches at home.

I first heard Abraham's story at church when I was young: God tested Abraham's faith, asking him to sacrifice his son. Abraham was ready to cut Isaac's neck when an angel appeared to stop him and he sacrificed a ram instead. Since he has passed the test, God made a covenant with Abraham: he would have as many descendents as stars in the sky.

When I heard the story in church it was mostly upsetting ("Mom, would you kill me if God asked you to?" The answer better be 'no'). Of course that is exactly why it is a powerful illustration of faith.

But I got a very different reading junior year in a seminar entitled "Bible as Literature" with an inscrutable old professor named Leslie Brisman. It was a secular class based in the English department, and involved comparing different translations and discussing the text in relation to the documentary hypothesis of the Pentateuch (four different authors). Brisman delighted in surprising us with literary analysis, and I particularly remember his explication of Genesis 22. If there are different authors, one intends the story's moral much as I first understood it: God sends his angel to stay Abraham's hand. Another reading - if verses 11 and 12 are excluded - is that an angel did not appear, but the ram did, and Abraham took advantage of its presence to sacrificed it instead of his son. The moral of this story is not blind obedience but ingenuity and problem-solving in the face of a difficult task; can he obey to the extent that is reasonable, and figure out when not to obey.

I was interested to read (a translation of) the passage in the Koran. I had heard that it is Ishmael who is nearly killed, not Isaac, but figured the message is the same. There is an interesting twist, though: Abraham actually asks his son whether he is willing to die. Ishmael agrees, which is seen as a sign of his own faith and maturity. The faith of both father and son is important. This is in contrast to Genesis' Isaac, who seems to be ignorant of what is going on, though smart enough to catch on to the fact that something is not quite right since he notices that there is no sheep as they are headed to the sacrifice. Abraham basically lies and tells him not to worry about it. Both versions of Abraham show him as a father to one boy - in one personal and emotional moment. This is more relatable than Abraham, Father of Three Religions. The scripture gives a story which is then layered and refracted through the rituals of Hajj and Abraham's vast legacy; this is a time to celebrate.

I experienced the celebration on Friday mostly as a holiday in the British sense; no work or school. The streets were quiet without the gangs of black-and-white-uniformed children. Somon bazaar was closed. It rained for the first time in the months I have been here, which led to Sarah and I sleeping in and then making a luxurious breakfast of crepes (banana and nutella) and American coffee. The afternoon was clear and chilly, but not cold. So we went out on a walk, and realized that fall has come as we walked over fallen leaves and past yellow trees. We walked over the river and through the mosaics to Ismoil Somoni's statue.

I was obligated to take photos for my parents and my local coffee shop. My parents sent me the coffee via a coworker's husband's visit to Dushanbe and then an Embassy delivery north. The coffee is from Misha's, the Alexandria coffee shop  that my dad and I visited every Saturday morning from when I was three years old through high school.  On their fridges, Misha's posts photos of people holding their coffee cups in far away places. I would like to think I have made some sort of record.

I held a cup from home and it felt like a fall holiday, so Sarah and I started talking about our Thanksgiving traditions at home. For our Thanksgiving holiday here, we plan pumpkin pie and a bird and some cranberry sauce via Bishkek if we are lucky. Perhaps even some American Football - we have a ball at the American Corner. I can practice being thankful for what I have learned and had time to think about, and plan for how to explain our own holiday in its own glory of story and history and contradictions and tradition all wrapped in language.

Fall Food

I procrastinate by baking, and have done so since high school. I have a sweet tooth, and baking is my way to both satisfy that craving and feel that I have accomplished something tangible (and edible). These are the products of feeling restless and unprepared to sit down and plan lessons.

This pumpkin bread is cooling by shells from the Tajik Sea, which is what people call the Kairakkum Reservoir. Pumpkins are available in abundance here, though they are not always the perfect round and deep-orange pumpkins from home. Many are elongated gourds of a lighter hue, or fat, ridged beasts streaked with green. The only problem with the pumpkin bread was that it doesn't use much pumpkin, and I had to make another batch. This was the second loaf, more successful than the one made before we found nutmeg. 

I have made several apple pies, since there are so many apples here. This quintessentially American recipe travels well to Central Asia, where apples originated, and was happily consumed by folks from Europe. Though usually pies are seen as part of old family traditions, the source of my pie-making is not my parents or grandparents but my camp family. I think of West Virginia as I cut butter into the dough.

Yesterday I had a sudden desire for scones, so this morning I got up and made some, even though I knew we were also making pancakes at 11. Our oven can be temperamental, so I was glad that these turned out beautifully browned, baked all the way through without burning. I ate my first drizzled with raspberry preserves made and given to us by one of Sarah's friends. The others were eaten with the apple syrup I made to go on the pancakes. I had to take their photo with the tree behind them; I have loved the yellows appearing this week.

Welcome to Омӯхтан @ Blogger

Welcome, whether you have found me here from the old site or you are newly here. 

I have moved from my other site to make this blog more public, and because the other host was having great difficulty working for some reason. I have uploaded a few of the posts that I wrote for the old site so that this is not starting from scratch in October when I arrived two months ago in August. 

I hesitated to start a blog because I didn't (still don't) want to say something blatantly wrong, or inadvertently offend someone. I was afraid to make a wrong step, especially in public view. I don't think that I'm so important that my voice must be heard. Travel blogs are mostly the same, and mostly say the same things. It is not unbroken ground.

But I want to share what I am learning, even if I am wrong or unoriginal. Mostly with my family and friends at home, but also with anyone else who is interested in Tajikistan. I realized that I was eager to swallow anything that I could find before I arrived.

Please let me know if I say something interesting, or offensive, or wonderful, or wrong, or all of the above. I want to know, and would love to talk about it.

I hope that autumn is falling well for you; we are drowning in apples here. I was given something close to 50 apples in Shahristan this week, so yesterday I made an apple pie, today Sarah made apple cookies, and we've been giving away apples as gifts. We still have a ways to go. Maybe we could get serious about winter preparation and make apple butter.

Some Tajik Media (and Links)

News: For news about Tajikistan in English, I end up reading Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty and Eurasianet. The former has more frequent and timely news stories, and its Tajik-language service is an important source of independent journalism as the moment (so important that its website was blocked earlier this year). The latter seems to have better feature stories, like the piece on foreign investors and the photo essay on Now Ruz.

Movie: Last weekend we watched a movie set in Tajikistan! Spies Like Us is probably the only Hollywood feature film that mentions the country. It stars Chevy Chase and Dan Aykroyd, and is a ridiculous send-up of Cold War spy movies. There is actually nothing particularly Tajik when they are supposed to be in the country, but we cheered when they mentioned that they were on the "road to Doo-shan-bee" (as opposed to Du-shahn-beh). Lots of fun. 

Music: My slightly-ingratiating answer if asked my favorite musician is "Daler Nazarov," one of the most famous musicians in the country. I got to see him in a concert in Dushanbe before I left, and he was absolutely amazing. (I will post if/when we get the BBC Persian recording of the concert.) He plays old Persian poetry on guitar with a back-up band that mixes traditional sounds with more international/modern sounds. By the end of the concert I was in love with him and his sax/flute player. A previous ETA described him as a Bob Dylan-character: he is seen as intellectual and a good songwriter, but is popular more with parents than their teenagers. He does make young people want to play the guitar. This is his website, but you can also search his name on YouTube.

Poetry: The staple of Tajikistan and the rest of the Persian-speaking world. Part of the reason I started studying Persian. Omar Khayyom seems to be the most favored Persian poet here - perhaps because Samarkand is closer than Hafez's Shiraz or Rumi's various homes in Iran and Afghanistan and Turkey. One of the local embassy workers sent me this Word Doc of a few of Khayyom's poems in Tajik and two different English translations.

Walking Advertisement

I am fairly certain that there is a flashing neon sight above my head that says: "Visa here!" Or maybe it says, "All visa questions answered!" Or perhaps, to some young men, "Marry to go to U.S.!" I'm not positive because I, of course, cannot see this sign; when it was installed, it was made visible only to some Tajiks. At the end of a long day, the desperation this sign invites can become grating, and Americans complain to one another about the feeling that people are constantly accosting us.

Mostly, though, I am sympathetic. I wish that I could do more, but the truth is that I have no power with the consular office. And I don't know that much about U.S. visas having never had to get one. The most I can do is help people understand the U.S. websites that explain visa regulations.

A different question often posed to me is, "Can I join your TOEFL course?" It hasn't started yet, so I say "Yes, come, and we will discuss who will be in the class." At the moment I am terrified because there are so many people signed up, and I need to figure out a fair system of who can be in the class - and turning the rest away. I was telling to the American Corner coordinator that though I want to help the students, I just can't make everyone happy - and I will have to turn some away - if they can't come at that time we can't change the time, it is just be too bad for them - we'll have another class start in the spring - and she said, "You sound like a counselor officer." And that was how I realized that it is the same concern and the same question: "How can you help me get to the United States? This is very important to me, and you are the best hope I have come across."

For them, that is why I am here: to help them with their English so that they have a better chance of winning scholarships and spots in exchange programs and getting to visit or stay in the United States. Or so that they can get better jobs here, as interpreters or as local staff in international organizations like the U.N. or foreign embassies. The stakes are higher than in a standard high school Spanish class in the United States, when no one really cares about learning the language - not the way that people here want to learn English.

And I can help them. Some days that is suffocating and other days it is empowering. Mostly I remain somewhere in between, with a sense of responsibility to do my best by my students. Usually I feel this responsibility more heavily than my sense of responsibility to the U.S. Embassy or the U.S. State Department or the U.S. taxpayers who are paying for my grant stipend. I am lucky that the two loyalties do not conflict in my job description, but I can see more and more clearly how my presence is viewed differently by different people. That flashing neon sign above my head is dimmer to some, and has different words for different people. I can try with writing and speaking, but I don't think I can fully control what the sign says to you.