(my peer tutor and family. from left to right: Halim-jon, grandma-hajji, Gulshoda the Uzbek teacher, me, peer tutor's father, his older brother and sons, unidentified and unintroduced woman, and his mother)
(my dinner! from left to right: potatoes, Muhamad-amin, salad, Malika, roast chicken, unidentified silent cousin, vinaigrette)
(my, er, private dancers: Bunyod, Malika, Muhamad-amin)
(The birthday spread: Note the soccer ball-shaped sugar bowl on the birthday spread and the two heaping bowl fulls of chuchvara. )So here are a few photos from the last few days. At the top is a photo from my visit to teh home of my peer tutor, Halim-jon. To refresh your memory, he is paid by ACCELS to be my friend and speak Uzbek to me. Not a bad deal, though we all know how surly I can get.
Anyway, Halim-jon is painfully shy most of the time, speaks quietly or not at all, and slurs his speech. Other than that, he's a fabulous peer tutor. He's 20 and getting married in two weeks to a girl whose also 20. Apparently they know each other, but essentially it's an arranged marriage.
We had run out of things to do in Dushanbe (not a difficult task) and I proposed we visit his house at the "kolkhoz Rossiya" and milk his cow. So we went last week, with KC, another student, and Gulshoda, an Uzbek teacher, in tow. Little did I know that a quick visit for "milking cows" meant a full on Uzbek hosting experience. I arrived at the gates of the collective farm and found Halim-jon had cleaned up (really, he seemed somehow cleaner and lighter skinned, but perhaps it was just because he wasn't wearing his usual black shirt and black pants) and his father was by his side. I soon learned that this would be an entire visitation affair.
We were showed around their house and courtyard, which were quite large, I think becaue there was simply more land for homes on collective farms. His father used to be and maybe still is the main accountant for the farm. They also had a large family garden in back where they grow melons, loads of cucumbers, peppers, tomatoes, apricots, and peaches. They had two cows, several dogs, and many hens as well.
Since it was ultra hot we started in doors with all sorts of wonderful hot-weather food: green tea, watermelon, "dinosaur egg" melon, tomatoes, cucumbers, and katok(kefir?). The katok was hands down the best dairy I've had in Central Asia. Light, tangy, cold, and fresh from the cows. Next we went on a walk through the estate and were duly impressed and oohed and aahed. Next we went to the suite of rooms that Halimjon had recently renovated for his new bride. When I had asked what he was up to all summer he would demurely say "housework." I had no idea he was preparing for his bride! It was impressive and quite moving to watch him shows us around the two newly renovated rooms that will be for him and, god willing, their new baby in nine months.
Finally, we returned to the sitting room and had some pretty darn good plov. It wa pretty simple (no garlic, raisins, nor chickpeas) but the meat was excellent and easy to chew. The grandma kept urging us to "take, take, take" and we "took" as much as we could before we stuffed ourselves. She was quite a funny old woman. She was proud to say that her parents moved here from Andijon in the 30s (like many Uzbeks) and they had all wound up together outside of Dushanbe and hence "kolkhoz rossiya" is synonymous with "Uzbek." In 2005 she went on the hajj and described not being able to communicate with people but for hand signals. Going on the hajj is a really big deal, so now she is referred to as "hajji-opa" or "hajji-grandma", or some such formulation. She was in charge of all the prayers for the day. Halimjon's father is quite a chracter: handsome, jocular, and confident, and exactly who I think the Soviets were trying to create in Central Asia. He invited me to return next week for a tour of the farm. We were joined by Halimjon's 25 year old brother who has two kids, the eldest is 7 (!) and the youngest is perhaps 3. He's a cabdriver around town and he has a new, tiny orange Nexia. I mention him only because he's pretty young to have a 7 year old. And because his youngest child is named Shah-jahon, or "king of the world." This is of course the name of the Mughal emperor who built the Taj Mahal. Babur, the Mughal founder, was from Andijon himself. And so it's always interesting to me to see how Uzbeks name their kids. Needless to say, they're pretty darn proud of the Mughals. Needless to say, when you keep the literal translsation of his name in mind, it's pretty hard not laugh at, say, "king of the world, eat your plov."
Finally, I was moved (again) by one final invitation: Halimjon and his dad (though I think the invitation came from his dad) want me to stay in Dushanbe to be the official witness to their wedding. I think this is something like the best man, or at least the person who signs papers. I thanked them profoundly for the offer but explained that my visa expired before the wedding and that my plane ticket was in hand. Grandma-hajji kept insisting, "charlesjon, stay, stay!", but unfortunately it won't work. So it looks like another summer in Central Asia has come and gone and still now weddings. These are the biggest and grandest events in people's lives, and they love to impoverish themselves in order to throw a good party. In fact, the president recently passed a law capping the number of guests at 150 so people don't throw all their money away. But this rule is detested, is untraditional, and will not be enforced.
Ah well. Next time, halimjon. Maybe in three years I can come to your son's circumcision party (another major, major life event!).
Till next time,
Charles
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