Ain't no party like an Uzbek party

Birthday parties are always good in my office because it is the one time I see people relax and enjoy themselves. Sometimes they seem to be taking things too seriously. Get a little vodka in them and their true personalities start to shine. On Monday we celebrated our driver Ravshan's birthday at his house. It was a great dinner (in the States we would probably call it a feast). There were, of course, toasts sprinkled throughout the evening. By the end of my stay here, I may actually be able to give a decent one. After dinner and quite a few shots of vodka we were all dancing in the living room. A laptop and some speakers provided the music. Good thing too because the power went out for about an hour in the middle of the festivities.


the feast



Mumin says, "Vodka makes you strong!"



the birthday boy gets down to the music



Furkat mixes it up (in the dark no less)


Mumin, Furkat, Davron and Albina relax after dinner.

But just how angry?

A friend sent me a link over the weekend to a site called Condi Rice is Angry. The name alone was enough to make me laugh. Then I clicked on the link and the first line on the page read:

"We at Condi Rice Is Angry would like to congratulate our subject on being named the new Secretariat of The Fatherland. To think that Dr. Rice has worked as hard as she has her whole life, just to become a secretary. "

I couldn't hold the laughter in. My colleagues gave me a strange look so I showed them what I was laughing at. I think some of the humor was lost. Nevertheless, it started my Monday morning off on the right track. Check out the site for some wonderful pics of Condi at her finest.

burn baby burn

The weather here is still very mild. It rained the other day, but the mercury still hovers around 15 C on most days. The coldest I’ve seen in the morning is about 5 C. The trees are still shedding their leaves, which makes it still look like fall. I hear last year all the leaves fell off in about a week. While the colors of the leaves make the city really beautiful when the sun is low in the sky and everything is golden, I must say my eyes and lungs will be relieved when there are no more leaves for people to burn. Every morning people sweep up the leaves into piles (sometimes adding trash to the mix) and set it ablaze.

leaf burning
On my walk to work I will pass about 20 smoldering, smoking mounds. It keeps the streets nice and clean, but it makes the air heavy and suffocating at times. In case you are wondering what Ferghana looks like, here is a picture of the main boulevard.

Ferghana in the fall

Ruza Hayit

The past month was a month of fasting and prayer for Muslims around the world. This past weekend was the end of Ramadan and was celebrated with a holiday called Ruza Hayit (also known as Eid in other parts of the world). For those who don’t know, Uzbekistan is a predominantly Muslim country. The Ferghana Valley where I live is the most conservative part of the country and many people are very observant. I thought about trying to fast for a day or two, but didn’t realize that liquids were prohibited too. So I quickly dismissed the idea.

Never having lived in a Muslim country, I was curious about Ruza Hayit and how it was celebrated. I asked a few people from my office about it and most said they were going to go spend it with family. They didn’t give me too many details beyond that. While I was eating with some friends from Peace Corps on Saturday night, one of them invited me to come out to his village to spend Hayit with his host family. I was so excited; it sounded like the perfect way to experience the holiday first hand. The plan was to get lunch in Ferghana, head to a bazaar just outside of Ferghana and then off to the village.

Sunday was quite a day. The PCVs got into a deep discussion the night before that lasted into the wee hours of the morning… so they were sleepy. Walking in to town to meet everyone, the smell of food was in the air. It reminded me of the smell of a Thanksgiving feast. I wondered what kind of food awaited me in the village.

As I approached the center of town, I was amazed by how many people I saw on the streets. My sleepy town had come alive. Many people from nearby villages had come into the city to get supplies and celebrate the end of Ramadan.

I met my friends and we started to walk through town to find a place to eat. As we walked through town, I was amazed by people’s behavior. One of my friends is a tall black woman and she gets attention whenever she goes out in public. Black people are a real curiosity to the locals. Usually this means a series of ignorant questions or pointing and whispering. It was appalling how people were acting on this day though. It was ten times worse and the attention was really unwanted. Groups of men following, pointing, talking… it was really uncomfortable. Even when we sat down inside at a café, people were stopping to come in and take a look. She told me that this is why she usually doesn’t like to go out during local holidays. Unfortunately she decided not to come along after lunch, but I don’t blame her.

After lunch Jonathan and I headed off to find a ride to the bazaar. As we walked through the streets there were little explosions about every few seconds. It seemed that every little kid was running around playing with firecrackers, some of which were homemade. From what I was told, this is just the beginning of their firecracker antics. Apparently it gets much worse in the build up to the New Year. Somebody even said they try to put them in people’s pockets as they walk by, but who knows if it is true.

Finding a ride to the bazaar was a little more difficult than expected. We eventually hopped in a taxi. The taxi said it was too late to go the bazaar, but we figured that maybe a few stalls would still be open. The taxi driver was right. It was a ghost town; there wasn’t a soul within sight and there was no evidence that there had ever been a bazaar. We hoped that maybe the bazaar in Margilan would still be open. We still needed to get some gifts to bring for his host family.

The streets of Margilan were still crowded with shoppers. We were able to get plenty of gifts for everyone. Margilan is supposed to be an old city with some history behind it, but exploring that will have to wait for another day. After shopping we headed to the Marshrutka staging area. We piled in and were off to the village.

people shopping in Margilon on Hayit

Oqbo’yra is village of about 6,000 people. We exited the Marshrutka and started walking down a dusty street with houses on both sides. The street was lined with grape vines that had already been prepared for winter. In summer, they would provide much needed relief from the hot summer sun.

the streets of oqbo'yra

The whole village knew Jonathan and would come up and say hello. The people were very friendly. We walked for about ten minutes before arriving at his host family’s house. It had a courtyard in the middle that was surrounded by rooms, a typical home for this part of the world. I was introduced to the extended family that was over for the holiday. I owe Jonathan a big thanks for being my translator throughout the adventure. No opportunity to practice my Russian when everyone speaks Uzbek.

We went to see the village and met a neighbor who invited us into his home for food. The man’s father had passed away in the past year and following tradition, he invited all who came by in for food. We sat down with the men and had a feast lain out before us. We were offered all kinds of fresh fruit, fresh bread, soups, tea and candy. After eating I was introduced to his family. They were so happy to have a guest from so far away. We thanked them for the food and headed back to the host family’s home.


the neighbors in Oqbo'yra

The family insisted that I stay the night and said I would have trouble getting a ride back to town because of the holiday. I had nothing else to do on Monday so I said sure. Jonathan and I then headed off to see the playground that he had built with his family for the village. As we walked down the street, all the children came out and started following along behind us. Just like the pied piper. The playground had a slide and some swings.

Oqbo'yra playground
One kid decided to try the slide headfirst and face planted into the ground. Ouch. She got right back up without a peep. The groundskeeper had taken down the swings for the winter. He had been doing it every night so people wouldn’t steal them, but it sounded like he just got lazy and made winter an excuse to just leave them down. It was getting dark, so we headed back home. On the walk back, we asked some of the kids about the henna on their hands. I’ve seen henna designs plenty of times before, but this is different. The trend here is to just soak your hands in henna. No pattern, no designs… just dye the whole hand. So we asked them why they did. They thought about it for a second, but no one knew. They weren’t really sure why they did it.

see what I mean? no designs!

Back at the house, we went into the, well, I guess it would be called a dining room, to have some more food. Of course they sat me next to the one girl who wasn’t married yet. Then they started to tease her about it. Everyone was having a good laugh.

Ruza Hayit dinner in Oqbo'yra

Eventually, we left with the other men and went to another room to eat some more. After eating, we sat around watching TV and playing with a kitten. The family then decided to watch home videos so we excused ourselves and went to try to walk off some of the food. When we came back, we caught the tail end of the video, which was actually pretty entertaining. By the end of the tape the people at the party were pretty drunk and doing some funny stuff. After the video, it was time for bed.

The next morning we grabbed a quick snack, thanked the family for their hospitality and we were on our way. As we walk down the dusty street, everyone says the traditional greetings to us. We made one quick stop at the village clinic so Jonathan could take care of some work related stuff. I was introduced to the nurses and was again complemented on my looks. One even offered to give me private Uzbek lessons. It was early on a Monday morning, but there were already quite a few people waiting to be treated for various illnesses. Everyone was waiting for the head of the clinic to return from a regional meeting. Apparently the way things always go down is that someone at the top gets yelled at or has a bad and then takes it out on their subordinates. This then gets passed on down through the ranks. I heard a few quick horror stories about nurses crying and passing out from the tongue-lashings they received. While I waited in the hallway I looked over the various signs telling about how to prevent basic health problems common in this part of the world. Jonathan finished up his talks with the director and we headed to the main road to find a marshrutka back to town.

From here on the story isn’t too interesting… well, maybe one bit of humor. On the marshrutka back the girls behind me started talking about me and said I looked like Michael Shumacher. Since I’ve been in Central Asia, I’ve heard Chandler, Brandon and Justin, but this was a first. It was a good weekend with some good people… I can’t complain.

Want to come visit?

Ever want to come visit? Ever wonder what it is like in my part of the world? Check out the latest happenings in my part of Uzbekistan by reading this article (courtesy of the BBC): Tensions high in Uzbek bazaars.

Locals won't really talk much about it. Some won't even acknowledge it. There have been some other interesting stories I've heard lately too. I'll write about those later though. Basically you can get idea by reading about U.S. Citizens Being Warned of Uzbekistan Danger.

So who's coming to visit?

Amerika

Ahhh, new Kylie video is on TV. What a distraction… Ok, it’s over. Now one of the three versions of Dragostea Din Tei is on. Won’t this song please go away? Thank god for VIVA’s club rotation. Every Saturday at midnight I get a little taste of the club life I miss so much.

I finished reading Kafka’s Amerika last weekend. Finishing a book is a major accomplishment for me. My attention span is about half a book. My bookshelf used to be filled with books with bookmarks at various points. It is fitting that I finished this book, though, as Kafka never finished it himself. There is a huge gap between the second to last and last chapters and the last chapter just ends abruptly. People speculate about why Kafka ends Amerika the way he does. Some say he had learned what he could from his main character, some say the novel couldn’t continue once the struggle was over. Whatever the reason, it is perfect for my reading style since I actually finished. I will have to be sure to get a copy of The Castle and The Trial since he never finished writing them either.

The book is the story of a young German immigrant named Karl Rossman who is sent to America after a sexual misadventure with a servant. America, the land of the free, is anything but for Karl. He is constantly trying to escape one situation or another. Often he is faced with choices and for some reason makes things harder on himself. Kafka seemed to see his hero as a slave to others; this is evident by the somewhat shocking name Karl says others refer to him as in the last chapter.

It is interesting to read a story of life in America told by someone who had never been. Kafka used books, maps, interviews with returning immigrants and his imagination to create the America described in the novel. Anyone who has been to New York will notice a few descriptions that are a little off. To the modern reader though, a lot of the errors may just be written off as things that have changed since the book was written in 1912.

Toward the end of the book we see a European’s perspective on American democracy; a particularly relevant section given the recent presidential election. Campaigning in America is basically made to look akin to a mob scene. Living overseas during the election, it has been interesting to hear how the rest of the world viewed the election. There was a collective hope that Kerry would win, even though most admitted little would probably change if he did. When Bush was re-elected, it was almost shock. The headlines on the papers ranged from “Oops, they did it again!” to “God help us!” with a picture of Bush in cowboy garb pointing two revolvers at readers.

In the foreword written by E.L. Doctorow in 1996, he talks of how Kafka’s Amerika is historical transplant. He then goes on to pose the question, “And if the police did not ask people on the street for their identity papers in 1913, can we say that they won’t be more likely to do so in 2013?” The sad thing is that we can now answer this question with a definite yes.

Well, anyway, I'm tired.