After receiving a lot of feedback on my friend who craved soil (apparently, a condition common in South American and known as 'pico'), I advised her to visit the doctor. Thanks to everyone who commented, I told her that she might be suffering an iron deficiency and should get a blood test and supplements. When she visited the doctor, she relayed the information and was indeed found to have very low iron. She now takes supplements daily and her craving for soil has declined. I only wonder that the doctor didn't think of this when she was first consulted about my friend's desire for dirt. Obviously, the medical care here is not up to par and when I think about all the women who might be suffering similar and equally treatable conditions, it makes me shudder.
Thanks again for positively influencing the health of my friend and her baby.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Gender Roles or Constantly Cleaning Up the Messes of Others
Yesterday, my co-director was ill with fever and diarrhea. I brought her tea and some Ibuprofen and asked how she was.
“Merrrrrrrrrr,” she moaned. “I have to go home and clean because Daler is such an idiot and my Mom is coming home tomorrow.”
I advised her to stay in bed, that Daler was capable of cleaning the house on his own.
“No, he’s such an idiot,” she responded. “He left the house messy and my Mom will blame me.”
Daler is my co-director’s brother and, like my co-director and the majority of young people in Tajikistan, lives at home with his mother. His mom and my co-director take care of his daily needs because he’s a man and is unable to do so himself. For example, they wash his clothes, they cook his food, and they clean the house for him. While my co-director was working without a break at camp, her brother was working his normal eight hour days, going home, and making a mess.
Unfortunately, because he’s a man, it seems that he lacks the ability to remedy this on his own. And no one, least of all himself, expects him to be able to. Because my co-director is a woman, she should use her time off to clean up after him, while he does what he wants. Her mother expects this. Her grandmother expects this. Even she expects this.
I spoke with another woman at camp about this, who said, “It’s just gender roles in Tajikistan.” She said that, when she got married, she hoped to share household and financial responsibilities with her spouse, but that her mother didn’t see it that way. “Some of the people in our generation are moving forward,” she said, “But others are going in the opposite direction and our parents’ generation is definitely stuck in the old patterns.”
When I think about the women’s movement in the US and how a united group of people worked so hard, not only to gain equal rights, but to change perceptions of the role of women, I can’t imagine something similar in Tajikistan. A women’s movement here would be a much quieter, slower affair. It would take place in individual homes, where educated women would silently press on for their equality; constantly taking two steps forward and one step back, but moving forward all the same. I wish them the best of luck.
“Merrrrrrrrrr,” she moaned. “I have to go home and clean because Daler is such an idiot and my Mom is coming home tomorrow.”
I advised her to stay in bed, that Daler was capable of cleaning the house on his own.
“No, he’s such an idiot,” she responded. “He left the house messy and my Mom will blame me.”
Daler is my co-director’s brother and, like my co-director and the majority of young people in Tajikistan, lives at home with his mother. His mom and my co-director take care of his daily needs because he’s a man and is unable to do so himself. For example, they wash his clothes, they cook his food, and they clean the house for him. While my co-director was working without a break at camp, her brother was working his normal eight hour days, going home, and making a mess.
Unfortunately, because he’s a man, it seems that he lacks the ability to remedy this on his own. And no one, least of all himself, expects him to be able to. Because my co-director is a woman, she should use her time off to clean up after him, while he does what he wants. Her mother expects this. Her grandmother expects this. Even she expects this.
I spoke with another woman at camp about this, who said, “It’s just gender roles in Tajikistan.” She said that, when she got married, she hoped to share household and financial responsibilities with her spouse, but that her mother didn’t see it that way. “Some of the people in our generation are moving forward,” she said, “But others are going in the opposite direction and our parents’ generation is definitely stuck in the old patterns.”
When I think about the women’s movement in the US and how a united group of people worked so hard, not only to gain equal rights, but to change perceptions of the role of women, I can’t imagine something similar in Tajikistan. A women’s movement here would be a much quieter, slower affair. It would take place in individual homes, where educated women would silently press on for their equality; constantly taking two steps forward and one step back, but moving forward all the same. I wish them the best of luck.
Updates from the Taj
This past week, the American students went to stay with their first host-families. I hate to be left out of an adventure, so I went to stay with a host-family, too! One of the Tajik instructors, Mavjuda, graciously invited me to come to her parents' house and then to a village an hour outside Dushanbe to visit some relatives.
Her parents' home has been built recently and is in a depressing suburb of Dushanbe. Half-completed homes are scattered in large lots without grass or trees. The road is unpaved and bumpy. As the neighborhood is near to the airport, planes fly overhead constantly. However, things are nicer than they seem. Driving through the gate into her parents walled compound, I saw a garden covered in grape arbors, trees, and flowers everywhere. Family members drank tea and mineral water in the shade, while grandchildren road bikes on the drive.
We ate and ate and ate, drank tea, and ate some more (I am working on gaining back my water weight ;). After sleeping in an expansive and new-smelling guest room, I woke early the next morning and drove with Mavjuda and her brother to the village. The road took us through the mountains to a small village with washed-out roads in a valley, where sheep and goats grazed on the sides of the hills. The home of her relative was a basic structure - a long building with rooms for each of the sons and their wives. The three kelins (daughters-in-law) brought us course after course of food, not to mention fruits, chocolates, bread, tea, juices, and cookies. As a guest, I had to try everything or risk causing offence. By the end of the day, I was almost in tears at the thought of having to eat something else.
I returned to camp with the American students on Tuesday morning. I was exhausted and probably ten pounds heavier, but speaking Tajik better than I had when I left. Guesting is fun for a few days, but constantly eating and being stared at is so tiring that I wouldn't be able to keep it up.
Her parents' home has been built recently and is in a depressing suburb of Dushanbe. Half-completed homes are scattered in large lots without grass or trees. The road is unpaved and bumpy. As the neighborhood is near to the airport, planes fly overhead constantly. However, things are nicer than they seem. Driving through the gate into her parents walled compound, I saw a garden covered in grape arbors, trees, and flowers everywhere. Family members drank tea and mineral water in the shade, while grandchildren road bikes on the drive.
We ate and ate and ate, drank tea, and ate some more (I am working on gaining back my water weight ;). After sleeping in an expansive and new-smelling guest room, I woke early the next morning and drove with Mavjuda and her brother to the village. The road took us through the mountains to a small village with washed-out roads in a valley, where sheep and goats grazed on the sides of the hills. The home of her relative was a basic structure - a long building with rooms for each of the sons and their wives. The three kelins (daughters-in-law) brought us course after course of food, not to mention fruits, chocolates, bread, tea, juices, and cookies. As a guest, I had to try everything or risk causing offence. By the end of the day, I was almost in tears at the thought of having to eat something else.
I returned to camp with the American students on Tuesday morning. I was exhausted and probably ten pounds heavier, but speaking Tajik better than I had when I left. Guesting is fun for a few days, but constantly eating and being stared at is so tiring that I wouldn't be able to keep it up.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
The Mystery of the Clothes in the Toilet
The Crime:
Yesterday, Malika returned from her day off to find her bathing suit in the toilet. Not only was it floating in toilet water, but someone had squeezed foul smelling shampoo all over it. Malika retrieved her bathing suit and had it cleaned, but she’ll forever think twice about wearing that suit.
Today, we found another girls’ suit in the toilet, along with another students’ facial cleanser. The cleanser had, once again, been squeezed all over the suit. To add a further element to the mystery, several of the students had previously admired the girl’s suit (now in the toilet). Perhaps jealousy had driven someone to give it a toilet-water bath? Malika and I retrieved the suit and sent it to be cleaned.
So far, the clothes only appear in the toilet at a particular time in the afternoon (3 – 5 p.m., during free time). We can’t install security cameras in the bathroom and no one has confessed so, for the time being, the mystery continues. We have, however, identified several suspects.
The Suspects:
Salome: She’s a mysterious child with a penchant for embellishment (I think she’s 7, but she claims 11) who appeared yesterday. Her father left her at the camp (why?) and she’s been lurking around ever since, playing ping-pong and swimming in the pool. Everyone knows that ping-pong and swimming are suspect activities.
Disgruntled Camp Staffer: I’d be disgruntled if I had to clean up after fourteen messy girls every day, too. However, I can’t imagine that someone would risk their job for a childish prank.
Student with Evil on their Mind: This person has yet to be identified, as I don’t think any of them have evil deeds on their minds. However, we can’t rule out this possibility, as girls can sometimes be really, really mean to one another. Is it a nice girl who is hiding a bitter soul? Or a snobby student who thinks that she’s not getting the attention she deserves? I’ll observe them with an eagle’s eye.
I need to figure this out before Ann Rule gets on the case. Most importantly, I need to figure this out before MY swimming suit ends up in the toilet. You never know who might be next.
Yesterday, Malika returned from her day off to find her bathing suit in the toilet. Not only was it floating in toilet water, but someone had squeezed foul smelling shampoo all over it. Malika retrieved her bathing suit and had it cleaned, but she’ll forever think twice about wearing that suit.
Today, we found another girls’ suit in the toilet, along with another students’ facial cleanser. The cleanser had, once again, been squeezed all over the suit. To add a further element to the mystery, several of the students had previously admired the girl’s suit (now in the toilet). Perhaps jealousy had driven someone to give it a toilet-water bath? Malika and I retrieved the suit and sent it to be cleaned.
So far, the clothes only appear in the toilet at a particular time in the afternoon (3 – 5 p.m., during free time). We can’t install security cameras in the bathroom and no one has confessed so, for the time being, the mystery continues. We have, however, identified several suspects.
The Suspects:
Salome: She’s a mysterious child with a penchant for embellishment (I think she’s 7, but she claims 11) who appeared yesterday. Her father left her at the camp (why?) and she’s been lurking around ever since, playing ping-pong and swimming in the pool. Everyone knows that ping-pong and swimming are suspect activities.
Disgruntled Camp Staffer: I’d be disgruntled if I had to clean up after fourteen messy girls every day, too. However, I can’t imagine that someone would risk their job for a childish prank.
Student with Evil on their Mind: This person has yet to be identified, as I don’t think any of them have evil deeds on their minds. However, we can’t rule out this possibility, as girls can sometimes be really, really mean to one another. Is it a nice girl who is hiding a bitter soul? Or a snobby student who thinks that she’s not getting the attention she deserves? I’ll observe them with an eagle’s eye.
I need to figure this out before Ann Rule gets on the case. Most importantly, I need to figure this out before MY swimming suit ends up in the toilet. You never know who might be next.
Take That, Tajik Tummy!
I finally folded to the Cipro. Five years ago when I arrived in Kyrgyzstan, I heard horror stories about Cipro – it’s like a nuclear bomb for your intestines; it causes farts with three heads and five arms; it will make your intestines shrivel and die; your stomach will never be the same again.
Because of these fears, I’ve always avoided Cipro. However, I’ve been in Tajikistan for just over two weeks and have been ill for over half of that time. When I weighed myself on Saturday, I was shocked to find that I’ve lost around ten pounds. It’s not a nice fit-into-tiny-jeans weight loss, mind you. It’s a pale, stooped, weak, and bloated kind of weight loss (sort of like Lindsay Lohan at her worst). People keep asking me if I’m tired. I am.
The turning point, however, was when we watched Pirates of the Caribbean III and I almost cried. Why can’t Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley be together? Why?!!! After tossing and turning all night, tortured by their tortured love, I knew that something had to change. I only have sensitive feelings when I’m sick and I’m tired of being sick.
In a moment of final desperation, I nuclear bombed my stomach. After writhing on my bed in an agony of nausea for an hour or two, I’m beginning to feel better! I’m no longer doing laps between my bed and the bathroom. And, I only woke up once in the middle of the night and that was because Malika, my roommate and co-director, was too scared to go to the toilet on her own.
These positive changes leave me hopeful. In the next couple of days, I plan to be out running again, swimming in the pool, and participating heartily in weekly dance classes. Wish me luck as my intestines and I move forward into our bright future, but don’t judge us if we bring along some crazy-looking gas.
We’ve been through a lot in the past week.
Because of these fears, I’ve always avoided Cipro. However, I’ve been in Tajikistan for just over two weeks and have been ill for over half of that time. When I weighed myself on Saturday, I was shocked to find that I’ve lost around ten pounds. It’s not a nice fit-into-tiny-jeans weight loss, mind you. It’s a pale, stooped, weak, and bloated kind of weight loss (sort of like Lindsay Lohan at her worst). People keep asking me if I’m tired. I am.
The turning point, however, was when we watched Pirates of the Caribbean III and I almost cried. Why can’t Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley be together? Why?!!! After tossing and turning all night, tortured by their tortured love, I knew that something had to change. I only have sensitive feelings when I’m sick and I’m tired of being sick.
In a moment of final desperation, I nuclear bombed my stomach. After writhing on my bed in an agony of nausea for an hour or two, I’m beginning to feel better! I’m no longer doing laps between my bed and the bathroom. And, I only woke up once in the middle of the night and that was because Malika, my roommate and co-director, was too scared to go to the toilet on her own.
These positive changes leave me hopeful. In the next couple of days, I plan to be out running again, swimming in the pool, and participating heartily in weekly dance classes. Wish me luck as my intestines and I move forward into our bright future, but don’t judge us if we bring along some crazy-looking gas.
We’ve been through a lot in the past week.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Chillaxing in the Dush
It's my night off! I'm hanging out with Jarrett in Dushanbe, watching DVDs in the AC. He's staying at his friend Anna's apartment in the middle of downtown and it all feels very luxurious compared to camp. Tonight, we might even do adult things, such as drink a beer or two at the Opera Ballet! It's the little things of independent adulthood that I miss the most lately.
The camp driver dropped me off in front of the apartment complex and the girls in the backseat shouted, "Go easy on the Sim Sim, Ailey!" I gave them my best stern look, but laughed as soon as I got out. Going easy on the Sim Sim won't be a problem for me - I've had the Tajik Tummy and a head cold for the past week. Rather, having the energy to enjoy my night off will be the issue. Thankfully, Jarrett is in a mood for relaxation.
Anyway, this weekend wraps-up my second week in Tajikistan. I'm keeping busy observing Tajik classes, writing reports and maintaining the camp blog, teaching the teachers to swim, and frying my brain with the Perso-Arabic alphabet. The time is going by quickly and I relish my rare nights off, especially when I can spend them with Jarrett (and AC).
The camp driver dropped me off in front of the apartment complex and the girls in the backseat shouted, "Go easy on the Sim Sim, Ailey!" I gave them my best stern look, but laughed as soon as I got out. Going easy on the Sim Sim won't be a problem for me - I've had the Tajik Tummy and a head cold for the past week. Rather, having the energy to enjoy my night off will be the issue. Thankfully, Jarrett is in a mood for relaxation.
Anyway, this weekend wraps-up my second week in Tajikistan. I'm keeping busy observing Tajik classes, writing reports and maintaining the camp blog, teaching the teachers to swim, and frying my brain with the Perso-Arabic alphabet. The time is going by quickly and I relish my rare nights off, especially when I can spend them with Jarrett (and AC).
Monday, July 13, 2009
Eating Soil
One of the English teachers at Camp Umeda is six months pregnant. She is funny, straightforward, open, and kind. She has become a good friend of mine, even though we've only been here for a week.
Last night, I saw my friend getting ready to leave camp. I asked where she was going. "I want to go on a walk," she responded. I insisted that I go with her, as it was getting late and soon it would be dark. We went back and forth on the issue, until she finally said,
"I want to eat some soil."
"You mean dirt?" I said. "You want to eat dirt? Like you've offended someone and now you feel bad?"
"No, I want to eat some soil. Like some stuff from the earth. I want to eat that."
I had heard of pregnant people liking to eat strange things, like chalk or pickles and ice cream, but never soil. I told this to my friend and she said, "Sometimes when I'm driving or walking, I see some soil and I think that it looks really delicious. I have to go find some now." I asked why she didn't just eat some of the soil at camp, but she replied, "I don't like the soil here; it's not so delicious."
So we walked. Sometimes my friend would spot some potentially delicious soil and would sample it, but nothing seemed to satisfy her craving for the right kind of soil. I recommended a place where I had seen some nice smooth soil, across a bridge and up the hill about 10 minutes. We went there and she sampled it and found it to her liking. She filled a plastic bag with soil (for later) and we walked back to the camp for Evening Activities.
Last night, I saw my friend getting ready to leave camp. I asked where she was going. "I want to go on a walk," she responded. I insisted that I go with her, as it was getting late and soon it would be dark. We went back and forth on the issue, until she finally said,
"I want to eat some soil."
"You mean dirt?" I said. "You want to eat dirt? Like you've offended someone and now you feel bad?"
"No, I want to eat some soil. Like some stuff from the earth. I want to eat that."
I had heard of pregnant people liking to eat strange things, like chalk or pickles and ice cream, but never soil. I told this to my friend and she said, "Sometimes when I'm driving or walking, I see some soil and I think that it looks really delicious. I have to go find some now." I asked why she didn't just eat some of the soil at camp, but she replied, "I don't like the soil here; it's not so delicious."
So we walked. Sometimes my friend would spot some potentially delicious soil and would sample it, but nothing seemed to satisfy her craving for the right kind of soil. I recommended a place where I had seen some nice smooth soil, across a bridge and up the hill about 10 minutes. We went there and she sampled it and found it to her liking. She filled a plastic bag with soil (for later) and we walked back to the camp for Evening Activities.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Back in Tajikistan
I've been back in Tajikistan for about a week now, but the internet is so slow that Blogger keeps crashing on me (shakes fist at sky). So far, things have been pretty commonplace. While cows in the road and road stops by KGB officers are not unusual to me, it's been fun to see the students' reactions. Everyone seems to have a positive outlook on Tajikistan and that pleases me. To be honest, the camp is kind of a cushy version of Tajikistan. We have air-conditioned classrooms, a sort-of swimming pool, ping pong, nice cabins, cooks, and laundry service. We're also located about 20 minutes outside of the city and in the foothills of the Fan Mountains. The air is cool and fresh and there are trees and birds everywhere.
I've been kept busy observing the students' Tajik classes (I've been learning some Tajik, myself) and participating in our daily activities. These have included Tajik dance class, traditional embroidery, painting, and, today, cooking. Farkhod, the only male camp staffer, has informed me that I will assist him in preparing osh (plov) tonight. We're going to do it the right way - in a big iron kazan over an open fire in the yard.
The best part of my trip thus far was visiting my host-family yesterday. I didn't call first, so I surprised them at home. As I knocked on the door, I was so excited that I almost cried. The only time I've felt that way has been waiting for Ritchie to get off and airplane or waiting to see him as I get off. They gave me an awesome welcome with lots of hugs, tons of food (of course), and demands to come back shortly. The kids even remembered my name and we played with the sidewalk chalk that I brought them in the garden. The visit was too short, as I needed to return to camp, but I'll visit them again next week.
On Saturday evening, Jarrett and I will be reunited in Dushanbe. I can't wait to see him and hear about his work in Garm. I've heard rumors of unrest there and want to hear about his experiences.
Anyway, that's it for now and I'll try to update again soon; that is, if the internet doesn't give me an aneurism first.
I've been kept busy observing the students' Tajik classes (I've been learning some Tajik, myself) and participating in our daily activities. These have included Tajik dance class, traditional embroidery, painting, and, today, cooking. Farkhod, the only male camp staffer, has informed me that I will assist him in preparing osh (plov) tonight. We're going to do it the right way - in a big iron kazan over an open fire in the yard.
The best part of my trip thus far was visiting my host-family yesterday. I didn't call first, so I surprised them at home. As I knocked on the door, I was so excited that I almost cried. The only time I've felt that way has been waiting for Ritchie to get off and airplane or waiting to see him as I get off. They gave me an awesome welcome with lots of hugs, tons of food (of course), and demands to come back shortly. The kids even remembered my name and we played with the sidewalk chalk that I brought them in the garden. The visit was too short, as I needed to return to camp, but I'll visit them again next week.
On Saturday evening, Jarrett and I will be reunited in Dushanbe. I can't wait to see him and hear about his work in Garm. I've heard rumors of unrest there and want to hear about his experiences.
Anyway, that's it for now and I'll try to update again soon; that is, if the internet doesn't give me an aneurism first.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
How Perspectives Differ
In the airport this morning, I met a soldier who was returning home from Afghanistan for two weeks of R&R. He had been hit by a roadside bomb and two of his friends died. The soldier was frank about his experiences, if slightly glassy-eyed. How does one respond to the statement, "My two best friends died over there." I simply responded, "I'm sorry, man." I had never met or talked to the guy in my life.
I saw him again in the terminal and he asked me where I was going. When I answered "Tajikistan," he told me to be careful:
"That part of the world is teeming with terrorists. They're like beehives in there."
I have never seen the terrorist side of Central Asia. I've read about it in Rashid and I'm familiar with the existence of the IMU and Hizb-ut-Tahrir, but the Central Asia that I know is tea-drinking in the garden, stuffing yourself with sheep fat, vodka shooting, and desperate for peace. This soldier had obviously seen the dark underbelly of a society that I will never truly know. Conversely, he had never seen the overwhelming hospitality and humor of the people.
Our different positions have limited us to our own perspectives: mine rosy, his forever colored by the death of his best friends.
I saw him again in the terminal and he asked me where I was going. When I answered "Tajikistan," he told me to be careful:
"That part of the world is teeming with terrorists. They're like beehives in there."
I have never seen the terrorist side of Central Asia. I've read about it in Rashid and I'm familiar with the existence of the IMU and Hizb-ut-Tahrir, but the Central Asia that I know is tea-drinking in the garden, stuffing yourself with sheep fat, vodka shooting, and desperate for peace. This soldier had obviously seen the dark underbelly of a society that I will never truly know. Conversely, he had never seen the overwhelming hospitality and humor of the people.
Our different positions have limited us to our own perspectives: mine rosy, his forever colored by the death of his best friends.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Kabul in Winter
I just started reading Kabul in Winter by Ann Jones and, though I love literature about Afghanistan, I find myself constantly putting the book down in disgust. Despite claiming that the book is a journalistic account of life in the city after the fall of the Taliban, the writing is so absurdly biased that I can't take the author seriously. Take, for example, the following quote:
"Everyone knows that Bush the Lesser doesn't read history or much of anything else and thus may remain too this day the only person in the world who doesn't know that what followed the British invasion of Afghanistan in 1838-39 was the greatest military defeat in all of British history."
Ouch. But also lame. I might have strongly disagreed with his foreign policy, but I don't doubt that the man read stuff. In fact, I have it on good authority from one of his advisors that he liked to read EVERYTHING. The rest of the book follows a similar tone. The author disparages everyone working in Afghanistan from aid workers to local goverment officials and doesn't make any good arguments to support her distaste.
For a truly good account of life in Afghanistan after the fall of the Taliban, read Asne Seierstad's The Bookseller of Kabul.
"Everyone knows that Bush the Lesser doesn't read history or much of anything else and thus may remain too this day the only person in the world who doesn't know that what followed the British invasion of Afghanistan in 1838-39 was the greatest military defeat in all of British history."
Ouch. But also lame. I might have strongly disagreed with his foreign policy, but I don't doubt that the man read stuff. In fact, I have it on good authority from one of his advisors that he liked to read EVERYTHING. The rest of the book follows a similar tone. The author disparages everyone working in Afghanistan from aid workers to local goverment officials and doesn't make any good arguments to support her distaste.
For a truly good account of life in Afghanistan after the fall of the Taliban, read Asne Seierstad's The Bookseller of Kabul.
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