It's Uzbekistan

t’s Uzbekistan….I heard that phrase often when trying to find out about how things work and asked various people questions . As it turns out, there are no easy answers in Uzbekistan. Everything is complicated and sometimes it’s just easiest to break it down to a phrase which captures the essence of the situation. “It’s Uzbekistan.” The motor fuel issue illustrates this concept well....From all the taxis perpetually trolling the streets of any Uzbek city, you would think that fuel was readily available. But driving to Fergana and also in the Bukhara area, we noticed lines at “gas” stations that were so long it made the energy crunch of the U.S. in the 70’s pale by comparison….we saw lines of 30-40 cars at unopened stations.“Why,” I asked, and was told several times, “It’s Uzbekistan.” Bukhara itself has a population of around 300,000 people and the province contains 1,500,000. Yet, in the entire province, there are two stations serving Methane fuel. There used to be four, but there was some unsavory aspects of some sort and two of them were closed, when I asked why they were shut down, with rolling eyeballs, I was told: “It’s Uzbekistan.” I’m assuming it had to do with greasing palms or the lack thereofThere are four main fuels in Uzbekistan…Diesel, gasoline (benzene), Methane and Propane. The latter two are the desired fuels because of the price, but cars have to be adapted to run on Methane/propane as well as gasoline..It’s expensive to adapt them, about $1,000, a significant expense for an Uzbek, but most cars are so equipped…Diesel is out, except for trucks and buses…It used to be popular when it was cheap, but now it is too expensive now since the price has risen 6 fold. And even though there are numerous “gas” stations selling gasoline, that doesn’t mean that fuel will be any more available. The two aforementioned methane stations only open on a very sporadic basis. Hence the long line of vehicles waiting to get in. People park in the line and then leave their car there overnight….kind of an Uzbek version of the rock concert ticket line. They may wait days before it opens. They go back to their homes at night, and maybe to their jobs in the day, or maybe back to the line to wait. Everybody in this country has a cell phone, I swear, from Muslim, hijab wearing grandmothers to7 year olds, so they may get calls from others in line when fuel is availbalbe. These are government run stations, as I understand it. One man had spent the last five days driving around looking for a gasoline station that was open and hadn’t found one..If he didn’t find one soon, he would have to do the “It’s Uzbekistan,” shuffle…which means paying the black market price which is 33% higher, so everybody tries to avoid that if possible. The point is that there is fuel available, but you have to work the system. Taxi drivers ply their trade for two days, then have to wait a day or so in line to get back into the action. And action it is. Taxis are everywhere. This whole dance that people have to do concerning fuel pervades Uzbek society. The fuel issue is simply typical of many aspects of Uzbek life and runs throughout the Uzbek private and public sectors. In spite of this fact, I found little discontent. There is a grudging acknowledgement that this is just how it works, and so you function in it. A peripheral issue is the automobile itself. It’s actually easier and cheaper to buy a used car than a new one….To purchase a new car which is actually produced in Uzbekistan, you have to pay 85% of the money up front and then wait up to six months to delivery. If the price has risen, I was told by a man with a smile on his face, you pay more. Therefore, used cars actually sell for more than a new one…immediate delivery. With the new cars you are at the mercy of others and you have no consumer protection whatsoever. Of course, you can get a new car faster, if you take care of the right people, but if you are trying to buck the system and do things the right way, you often have to pay with your pocketbooks and your time. Theh educational system is another aspect that requires a through understanding of Uzbek culture. Over the past two years, I have been bombarded with comments from my friends about how the educational system is not a level playing field…As I’ve noted in previous letters, the pressure on these kids is enormous. They get one shot, and no guarantee of a second. Hence, the results are critical. If your results aren’t quite up to snuff? Well, “It’s Uzbekistan.” Teachers change grades, results are doctored, decisions of refusal are reversed, and things taken care of. I don’t mean to indict the whole system, I know that there are some excellent institutions, mostly run by foreign universities (the Brits are big in this area) , and the best kids still get in no matter what, but when you’re on the bubble, the bubble can swing in different directions, depending…..and there seems to be great frustration amongst the young people about how this works. But, Students have no basic rights in Uzbekistan…they are totally at the beck and call of the institutionalized institution. Teachers may schedule and exam at 10:00 and then send word that it’s not convenient for him/her, so the test is rescheduled for 2:00 that afternoon. With the long list of those clamoring to get in, there is little rocking the boat by those already in the system, or even by those trying to get in…so it basically comes down to two choices, you can play the game, or you can take your chances. I know several really good, smart kids that haven’t been accepted yet. They have been preparing for two years to take the entrance exams. It’s expensive, but they can’t afford to miss the first time. It’s that critical Islam Karimov is vilified in the west, and many in the west consider Uzbekistan to be pretty high up on the list of human rights violations…(right up there with George Bush and the Neocons) but he is generally popular with the people. They may not like everything he does, but the country borders on Afghanistan and they don’t want that kind of turmoil. Uzbeks don’t want to rock the boat…the only discerning comment I heard was in the Fergana/Andijon area where I was told to be careful what I said because, “The walls could be listening.” It was said to me to be cautious. But Uzbekistan is peaceful and calm. There is a police presence everywhere, but it’s not intrusive. They’re just there. They wear dark green uniforms and are referred to with the Uzbek word for “cucumbers,” You’re always just reminded that they are there, but they mostly seem to talk to themselves rather than scanning the crowds or being intrusive. . It must take a huge chunk of the national pelf to keep that number of policemen on the streets. Most don’t wear guns. I never saw one that did, but was told that some do. Military presence on the road was again, not intrusive, but present. Document checks are common, both in rural and urban areas. And yet, there is no air of despondency or morose behavior on the streets. On the contrary, the streets are filled with laughing, joyful people, young and old, enjoying life. They love their country, are very proud of its history, and very optimistic about its future. Family units are well intact, there is national pride, and young people see bright times ahead. I’m torn between my cynicism and my hope for their future. It’s a great place…I love Uzbekistan and I have been treated with kindness, friendliness and generosity of spirit where ever I’ve gone in the country….They all love America…certainly a lot more than I do, and I want them to succeed. I’m rooting for them.

Uzbek weddings

Of all the aspects of Uzbekistan culture that I have discovered in the two years between the trips, it is the whole love and marriage thing that has been the most informative. Most of these kids are either entering marriage age, or are already there. They are in the process of experiencing one of the tried and true aspects of their culture. How men and women get together. In the two years since I was last there many of my facebook friends have married and now are mothers and mothers-to-be. Others are going through the whole “sovchi” thing where the parents of the boy in question visit the parents of the girl and things get decided or at least proposed. Even when two people find themselves, the tradition of the visitation is very much ingrained in the culture. There seems to be a lot more young people who are making their own decisions than in the past, but certainly parents maintain a very heavy presence in the process, and if either set of parents objects to the match, almost always the match is off. Period. No questions asked….We heard that repeated continually. But we also heard of many cases where the parents made the proposal, but left it up to the brides to be, to see if it was what they wanted….In the several cases which I was aware of they all accepted. Once the match is made, phase two of the process begins, and here is where things are done as close to the tried and true as financially possible. It’s not a cheap process, but it is so much a part of the culture, that people help make it happen for brides. People are very generous to contribute where necessary to give the bride the ceremony/party they all dream of from little girls, and have watched countless times as they grew up, and it was almost exactly the same each time they saw it. I must also say that what follows is the tradition in The Tajik area of Bukhara…I’ve been told that there are differences in the process, depending upon the area, but the core remains the same. First of all, there isn’t a ceremony as such, but rather a long series of events spread out over three days and nights. Technically, they get blood tests and sign the papers one month early, but they are not officially married in their passports. But when that has all been processed, they start the good stuff. On the morning of the first day, guests come along with the groom’s family to present gifts to the bride-to-be at her home. Since they all come at the same time, the procession has a festive air to it. Performers surround and intermingle with the group dancing and frolicking as they make their way to the house. With the men in one room and the women in another, they will pray for the happiness and success of the union. The bride’s family will organize a party for luncheon for men and women at a restaurant, while the bride and her friends remain at her house. They will eat separately since the meal is just for guests. That evening the groom and his family come with the groom to the bride’s house. His friends form a circle around him and act the role of people trying to prevent him from proceeding. His advance is announced by the blowing of long horns, similar to the shofars of Tibet…they blare as the happy procession proceeds along its pate…there is a fire which is built along the path and the groom and his friends must dance around and circle it three times. The groom is all dressed in his very best traditional finery, lots of sparkly beads and ribbons to highlight the festive nature. Upon their arrival, the groom and the other men go to one room and the bride and the other women are in another room. After all the preliminaries, the first night together begins, but it is unlike any first night of a marriage I’ve ever heard about, because a curtain is draped from the ceiling and in a corner of the room, and this curtain, the chimildiq, is folded in one corner so that there is visual contact with the females in the room…Only women will observe the first night, and there is one simple rule, no hanky panky…no kissing, no snuggling, no nada…touching is kept to an absolute minimum.

When the bride enters behind the curtain, she has an aunt place two loaves of round bread over her head, symbolizing preciousness, since bread is the food of life. Two candles are brought, with the bride carrying one lit candle with her as she enter, and the groom will bring the other lit candle. It is a symbol of their love burning. The bride is dressed entirely in traditional clothes with a cloak, or veil, covering everything from head to foot and she wears black soft-leather boots on her feet…the veil can be lifted for the purposes of ceremonial tea and sweets which are brought to the room for the couple…Hard boiled eggs are eaten for fertility, dried apricots and fruits are also placed for the couple… The husband comes to meet his wife again with two breads over his head, carrying the other lit candle. they sit on cushions for the entire night, vigilantly watched by the females in the room….. there will be a bowl of honey in the little cubicle and the husband dips his little finger in the honey and offers it to his wife. After she accepts the honey, she will reciprocate and do the same for him. Licking little fingers dipped in honey doesn’t violate any rules. Tea is offered by the new bride in a very ancient, ceremonial manner. There will also be sweetened water and tea and walnuts for the couple to snack on during the night. A woman reads from a book offering blessings in song form, yor-yor, ,as it is called. She offers prayers and positive words in singing form. The couple will spend several hours just talking and eating the snacks. Later that evening, the guests will leave, and the groom will return to his home. Before he leaves, he will tie up much of the leftover food in a waistband that he wears…he will take that outside where his male friends have been waiting…He will turn his back to them and throw the tied shawl, full of food, to the waiting crowd. Whoever catches it will be the next to marry…apparently, it can be quite a mad scramble for it….this is the Uzbek male’s counterpart to the bride throwing the bouquet over her shoulder in America. The following morning there will be a breakfast for men only at a restaurant while the exhausted, (I would think) couple go off for their wedding photo sessions…The bride changes from the traditional Uzbek/Tajik clothing to the big, puffy, cotton ball wedding dress that girls in the west wear as well….Hair is styled elaborately, and the couple will have their photos taken at ceremonial locals…historical, religious, or cultural sites for greater emphasis.

That night the wedding party takes place, and now is when everything cuts loose, well almost everything. There will be way too much food, a lot of music and dancing and it is a party like only Uzbeks/Tajiks can throw. There will be hundreds upon hundreds of people there…People with even the remotest contact with either family will be invited and there are several large restaurants/ party halls in all towns devoted to just wedding parties….I said that almost everything cuts loose, because at the end of this party, the bride still goes home to her house, and the groom to his…

Finally, on the morning of the third day, the bride’s family will accompany her to her new home, the groom’s family residence…there they will live for several years…depending upon the new mother-in-law, this can be both a blessing and a curse for the new bride…lots of stories about how helpful this is, and how the new wife is treated like a new daughter, but I also heard how the new bride is treated poorly by the mother-in-law, who she can be jealous of a new woman in her house, but still in almost all cases the couple will live with the grooms family. After passports are officially changed to represent the marriage, things are all complete and the new couple begin their life together.

I had hoped that we would be able to experience the above process, but the wedding we were going to see was postponed, so this was the process told to us by a bride to be. Steeped in historical and cultural traditions, it is a central part of Uzbek/Tajik life. Every girl awaits the same ceremony as she grows up and it is often the highlight of their life.

Bukhara Days

We traipsed across Uzbekistan and made four separate trips to Tashkent, but it was to Bukhara where we had our longest sojourn….nine days. There was a block of friends/granddaughters there and we wanted to be able to concentrate our time there without running in and out of town on our way to some place else. It was an easy three hour train ride, made easier by the fact that our six person cabin was occupied by two sleeping women who managed to occupy all six seats…they waved Carol away as she tried to enter the compartment…they had no intention of sharing…luckily there was a three person compartment which was unoccupied and so we were relocated to it and had a quiet ride with plenty of room. The ride was a microcosm of Uzbekistan….we passed rural villages seemingly totally constructed of adobe with small gardens located within the walls of a compound. Uzbeks relish their gardens where they grow a variety of vegetables and fruits….men and women worked on their haunches weeding, watering, and maintaining the field of cotton, white gold as it is referred to in Uzbekistan, fields which seemed too large to work by hand, yet there was rarely a tractor to be seen…small herds of cattle or sheep and goats were tended by young boys who sat under whatever shade could be had, while donkeys grazed tethered to their carts waiting to do their tasks of ferrying goods or people from field to home or market…..the topography was mainly flat, but varied from lush to desert as streams worked their way across the landscape…. At the station we were met by the brother and father of our main hosts, the Akramovs….Xafiza Akramova is one of my dearest friends in the entire country…the “a” at the end of her name is an appellation given to all female members of a family, whether it is the first or last name….Aziz for a male, Aziza for a female, as an example of first name usage. “Hafi” as she is called (the “X” is pronounced like “H”) was busy at home helping mom prepare the wonderful dinner that we were served that night….We were supposed to stay in their home for our duration, but Uzbek laws being what they are, we were prevented from doing so, but we still made that home our base and were guests in their home several times over the next nine days. As we had found in Tashkent, when Uzbeks invite you for dinner, it is an absolute feast. We had commented to ourselves about how small the plates are that Uzbeks eat from…they are more like coffee saucers than dinner plates…the reason we concluded was that because of all the food on the table, there would not be any room for large plates…fruits, nuts, cold cuts, cheeses, salads and other individual dishes are placed on the table and eaten in any random order chosen. Once you have filled up on these items and can’t possibly eat any more, the main course comes out. In this case It was large platters of Palov, the main dish in Uzbek cuisine. It is fixed differently in all regions, but is a rice base with beef and vegetables added…raisins, carrots and other foods and spices are added depending upon the region. As Carol and I looked at each other and said with our eyes: “How can we put any more food in our bodies,” we were exhorted by Hafi to “eat, eat, eat.”…it became our running joke the next three days. The table was set for the entire family, grandmother, cousins, aunts and Hafi’s immediate family as well. They all live within a few houses of each other and the 14 cousins have all grown up together and are friends as well as family. The following morning we made a journey outside of Bukhara to visit a friend’s home in Gi’jduvan, a market center, where the traditional market was in super size with the same vibrancy and life emanating from every corner. It is famous throughout Uzbekistan. People come from all over the country to buy and sell because of its size and scope. Prices are lower and the variety of goods and services available are so varied that it is held every day, whereas most large market towns hold theirs once a week. Our trip by taxi was typical…I was the guest, and wasn’t allowed to pay for anything….the four females were crammed into the back seat while, as normal, I enjoyed the front seat along with the driver…a front seat witness to the possible mayhem that could have occurred as we bobbed and wove our way down the road for 45 minutes. When we arrived Yuli, Mari, and Dili went off t buy something to take to the family. It is considered impolite to show up with nothing when invited to a house…Carol always had scarves and doilies to give to the mother of the house. It gave us the opportunity to see another interesting town and a great market, as well as another hospitable Uzbek home….Nasi, who’s home we had come to visit was a perfect hostess….Uzbeks girls get a lot of practice growing up watching mom. Another friend, Yulduz, arranged for us to see the rehearsal for the big university games that were upcoming in the near future…near future, I say, because the games are another example of how things can be delayed and/or postponed by some whim of an official…It was to be held on the 26-28th of Maym but it was postponed, since it was delayed, we never saw the real deal, but the rehearsal was pretty spectacular…5,000 school aged girls aged 14 to 22 all practicing, sort of, their drills, while a thousand males carried flags for the opening ceremonies….they practice twice a day, early morning and late afternoon, and the girls told me they were pretty tired of practicing….hence about 2,000 of the girls were talking on their cell phone, another 500 were running around hugging and laughing with friends, who they hadn’t seen for probably two hours, although they had probably talked to them on their phones… fully another 1,000 were sitting on the ground not doing anything, while the remainder practiced…all to the shrill shouts of the director into the over-amped loudspeakers screaming at them to pay attention….how anybody thinks that that many teenage and above girls can be congregated in one place and get anything accomplished outside of China, perhaps, is beyond me….we watched for a couple hours and then left…as we did so, friends came running to give us hugs and greetings, we were hijacked by a TV crew and asked what we thought of the whole deal…diplomatic answers full of praise were warmly received, and over a week later while back in Tashkent, many friends said that they giggled with delight as they saw us on TV…such is the life of celebrities…..LOL Hafi’s father acted as taxi driver and we went on excursions to holy as well as historical sights over the next few days….other friends called our room and invited us to meet and have tea, juice, lunch or whatever was appropriate for the time frame involved. We fled back to the cool of our room and its wi-fi as the temperature soared to over 100 degrees in the afternoon, but in the early evening everything changes…families come out and stroll the plaza known as Lyabi Hauz where a tree planted in 1477 stands under state protection to demonstrate that this is an ancient place. It is no longer alive, but has become a symbol of Bukhara. Little children sit in robot-controlled cars while their mothers/fathers steer them slowly around the plaza while balloon salesmen, cotton candy makers, and other hawkers of kid’s goodies ply their trade. We enjoyed our evenings sitting there with our friends chatting and taking in the whole colorful scene. Ice cream vendors dispensed soft ice cream from machines and the ever present green tea was always served…Uzbeks love their tea hot at all times of the year… while I, the pampered westerner, longed for an ice cube, which, of course, was nowhere to be had. The tourist season will soon come to an end with the temperatures continuing to rise as summer approaches, but still large groups of westerners speaking European tongues were seen and heard throughout Bukhara…very few Americans venture this far…those who do are pretty savvy travelers because most people in the states haven’t even heard of Uzbekistan. Those who do venture this far into Central Asia find a land steeped in tradition and proud of their history…Amir Temur, or Tammerlane, as previously noted, may be considered a scourge and a butt kicker to other people’s of the area, but he is revered here. He is their unifier of culture. They also find a people who are among the most hospitable and friendly to outside cultures. Foreigners are also buoyed by the fact that so many different languages are taught in Uzbekistan..Students may learn many different languages, there are several universities devoted strictly to the teaching of the great languages of the world..English, of course, is the most predominant with the new laws, but French, German, Chinese, Japanese, to name a few are well represented, and Korean is huge here. We had enough varied activities with my friends to keep our interests alive and we didn’t feel that we just sat around and talked….everybody wanted to show us their favorite spots…whether it was visiting holy sites outside of Bukhara which gave us glimpses of the different villages and terrains while mixing in lots of conversation time as well. So our time was, again, well spent here… There were two main knots of friends here and more or less split our time between the two. the first came from my friend Marhabo, who we had met two years ago and from whom maybe a dozen friends sprung, while a second came to be known as the 4 amigas to me because their friendship was as close as it could be…a kinship that would be envied by any culture…they are going their own way now that they are getting married and their lives take on a very different influence than before. The husband’s family becomes the new focus. Two of the amigas are married now, one is to be a mother, and another to be married this summer, but there is a closeness that nothing can diminish. It is wonderful to see these ties. We in the west move about so much it is hard to maintain old friendships, but Uzbeks tend to stay in one place all their lives….the government encourages this by restricting movement to the Capital Tashkent…if you are not born in the city you must get a new registration paper every six months to remain in the capital…students, businessmen, and anyone else wanting to stay in the capital must re-apply for the new “passport” to stay…it’s their own form of a “green card.” Carol had brought a stash of scarves which she had made over the last year and some crocheted doilies as well, and she doled them out to friends and mothers to whose houses we were invited…over 25 of them now reside within the various cities of Uzbekistan…they were, naturally received with great pleasure, and it was her way to help return the gift of hospitality and friendship that was continually offered to us. It’s a special place with very special people.

A tree grew in Bukhara

Bukhara, The holy city as they call it, is a wonderful, albeit hot, place to wind up our trip…the old city dating back a thousand years maintains the characteristics it has had for that length of time…there is a tree that was planted in 1477 still standing although not alive. The madrassas are still standing with their high gates similar in structure, though lacking in size, to the ones in Samarkand, and the old walls of the Ark, or citadel, still stand though rebuilt to give them the appearance of how imposing they must have seemed to invaders. This, then, is our last stop on our journey to meet people who have become part of my life over the last two years….and it has proven to be a great way to end the trip…two years ago we stayed in a 12 story hotel away from the old city and were shuttled here and there with no real sense of where we were. All we knew was that we weren’t near anything resembling the old city…so this time I booked a little boutique hotel, cheap at $50 a night, but it is delightful with everything I need/want….AC, Wi-fi in my room ( I’m such a geek) a very helpful staff, comfortable beds and is situated right on the edge of the ancient walls…Each morning, while it is cool, we venture out and watch things come alive…it is the center of the tourist trade and nearly every corner is filled with people selling exactly the same things on every other corner. I’m still amazed at the fact that these people can make a living when you have 50 places to choose from….I guess it says something about the markup….LOL. Much of the area of the old city with the madrassas and the bazaar (market) area is blocked off from traffic so it makes for relaxed ambling. It is a place you walk in the mornings because the heat is on at this time of the year…not like it will be in blistering July and August where temperatures will reach over 110 degrees on a regular basis, but still we’re doing triple digits here on the Fahrenheit scale. That makes for a hasty retreat to the hotel room in the early afternoon, waiting for the cool of the evening to kick in. But around 7 p.m. everybody ventures forth from their homes and heads for the old city…it’s a hive of activity and wonderful to see and watch…. Flea markets in the States are weekly events where people gather to see other people trying to sell things they no longer want or need to people who for some unknown reason suddenly think they want and/or need them. But markets here in Central Asia, as in Latin America are gathering places for people who really do find what they really do want and need. There are no malls here, no glitzy shopping centers selling upscale goods at exaggerated prices…here the markets are jammed with thousands of people pouring over blankets spread on the ground with tee shirts, sandals, bras, and everything in between all spread out on the blanket. The food area is a conglomeration of fresh food…vegetables, fruits, breads, and meats are all purchased on a daily basis by the majority of people here…there are no freezers full of things to be pulled out and whipped into dinner. This spontaneity of life is both a blessing and a curse to a westerner trying to organize schedules to make sure he sees all the people he wants to see…but more about that later…..the bazaars here are such a hodge-podge of people from all classes of society…shoppers are almost entirely made up of women….it is after all, their job….LOL…while the majority of sellers also are women, but with scatterings of men as well. Small stalls selling kebobs and other food stuffs give the air a richness of different spices and herbs wafting across our faces as we carefully walk trying not to step on anybody or anything other than the uneven, pitted sidewalk beneath our feet. Wealthy women in finery and poorer women in clothes that needed to be washed weeks ago stand side by side buying tomatoes for tonight’s dinner without either taking notice of anything unusual about that juxtaposition of society. Hand carts are pushed through the crowd with appropriate shouts to get out of the way even though there seems to be no place to go to avoid them…somehow, it all works. I mentioned the “live by the minute” aspect of life here…in the west, we are so organized, super scheduled, and plan it all ahead types, but here it just happens as it happens…We were supposed to go to a birthday party in Tashkent on the 14th, but it got rescheduled that morning to the 16th, and then on the afternoon of the16th it was again rescheduled to the 18th..unfortunately, our schedule had us in Fergana on the 18th and people were disappointed that we didn’t come…Same thing here, we were to attend a wedding on the 1st of June, but it too was postponed, someone is planning a get together for us, but it is such a surprise that we don’t even know when it is…it makes for some standing around waiting for calls and some frustration when people don’t understand why we have made other plans with other people. And in an extreme example, there were some big university games planned for Bukhara for the 26-29 of May…Advertisements are everywhere, people have been practicing for months and the sports competitions are a huge thing here…but……somebody decided they weren’t ready, so it’s been postponed…at this point, no one is quite sure when it will take place, but everybody assures it will happen. At home, parents would have booked travel, made hotel reservations, arranged for the neighbors to take care of the dog and water the plants, and a huge uproar would have occurred had some official just decided they weren’t ready and postponed it to some future date, to be announced when he felt that things were in order…but here, it’s just how things work, and nobody gets too upset about it…. A friend here, who has studied in Korea, led a group of Korean businessmen around for a few days at a festival they have each year, and she said they almost went nuts over the ever-changing schedule and delays and cancellations….Korean businessmen are uber-organized. In the end, it’s just travel…roll with it or get run over by it. I have a large bloc of friends here in Bukhara with whom we have been spending time. It is so gratifying how we are taken into homes and hearts…Uzbeks are such a generous people…they share everything with you….when you are their guests, you are not allowed to do anything or pay for anything. I’ve had to be VERY assertive at times when we invite people for dinner, but they don’t want us to pay the bill….I’m not trying to be some fat cat American throwing money around…I’m basically a stingy bastard, but I know that these people struggle to make ends meet and it seems ridiculous that they spend their meager resources while we sit back and let them take care of us… When I suggest that we do something that costs money, I don’t expect that others will suffer for my desire to do that….I’m throwing a birthday party for a few friends here and I’ve already had some conversation with those involved that I want to do this. I’m not making much headway. Carol understands both sides, and while I do as well, I’m just not comfortable knowing that they will suffer while I’m just saving money. There is a fine line here, just another one with which I’m struggling to find the balance. We had dinner the other night at one of the girls’ house…It was her husband and father’s birthday…It was in the old residential section of town…She had told me before we came that she didn’t invite her friends to her home because she was embarrassed by it…her friends are more financially secure…so I took it as a matter of significance that she wanted us to come. we were picked up by an uncle who had a car and traversing the maze of small streets and near alleys with the vehicle was difficult…cars are parked in the already too narrow street and getting by had to be carefully negotiated as the driver was not there to move the car, of course…the street was a series of ruts, pits, and huge mounds of dirt…no pavement, of course, just dry, dusty streets…there were piles of rubble, looked like old building materials, combinations of brick, rock, and dirt which were not taken away when the job was finished, but rather just left there to sit and wait for who knows what….people walked through unlit streets with little children at their sides as dust swirled around them kicked up by the cars inching their way through the street and the night breeze. At 10 p.m. there were still small tables where people sold band aids, string, and other little items which somebody might need at some non-traditional shop hours, and I couldn’t help wonder what it must be like in the rainy season, when the dust and dirt turns to mushy slime where people must literally slip and slide their way down the streets….Snow must be a blessing, at least for walking purposes. But the amazing thing to me was that it was clean…I say that knowing that it sounds paradoxical, but there was no trash scattered about…no litter blowing in the breeze. No graffiti marking the walls of the brick and adobe houses…it is the poor part of town, but that doesn’t mean that the people have to be uncaring about their surroundings. There is a personal pride that the people maintain…there is a dignity that comes from taking charge of their limited resources and making it as good as possible…there is honor here…and it seemed very safe as young children and young women walked in the knowledge that they were safe on the dark, unlit streets. I was very impressed. The home was behind a large metal door and down an alley past other houses….We didn’t see the whole house as such, only three rooms… it is a traditional home…the men eat in one room and the women eat in another….both rooms were devoid of furniture save rugs and pads on the floor where food was displayed on a long ribbon of cloth. As in most of the Muslim homes we have been in, the meal was begun with thanks to Allah with palms upraised, and then the prayers are brought inside the body by “washing” the hands over the face. It is a simple, yet dignified process. We started off in the men’s room, Carol and I with our friend who acted as interpreter, but we later moved to our own small room where we could talk and laugh as the men had their privacy to do their thing…I understood that the Vodka flowed after we left…. There was an ancient gas heater with pipes coming down from the walls in one corner of the room and a TV in another, while mats and quilts were piled up in another corner of the room. I presumed that they slept on these….they brought in a fan which cooled the air somewhat……laughter emanated from all rooms, ours, men’s, and women’s. Two families intertwined by marriage celebrating a birthday on each side….there is a unity to family life here…once joined by marriage, there is little distinction…sisters-in-law become sisters, and a bride’s new family becomes her own, while retaining her attachment to her blood family. It was a wonderful evening full of gracious people who again shared their lives with us…they were honored to have us in their home and their kind faces told us all that we needed to know….they are fine people, and it is I who am honored that we were allowed to see this part of life.

Friends

Friends When we left Uzbekistan two years ago, I had two young friends. One a lyceum girl I had met in Tashkent, and the other a shop girl in Bukhara….Over the intervening time, I would make comments on their photos or their posts and would then receive facebook “friend” requests from people I didn’t know. I always asked the same two questions to those requests: “How did you find me,” and “Why do you want to be friends with some old man half way around the world.” Sometimes I didn’t receive any answer, but when I did, I usually accepted….I told them that I was not interested in having thousands of “friends,” as so many people seem to have, but, rather, would be interested in being real friends where we could communicate and exchange ideas about life, culture, traditions, etc…..I was very interested in learning more about the fascinating land I had just visited. And I found my new “friends” delightful people….Most of them were female…guys were not as interested in communicating….they just wanted numbers, it seemed…I never requested “friendship,” with these females….didn’t seem right for an old man to request friendship with beautiful young ladies…my hang up. But as time passed, the number grew and grew, until I had over 70 friends in Uzbekistan..more actually than I could count outside of family members in the US…. They range in age from 17 to 26…most of them university students working on language skills…they sent me papers they were submitting for their courses, which I would help correct and suggest different ways of expressing their thoughts…sometimes they told me intimate problems they were facing and I tried to be a voice of hope and optimism about their future…..sometimes they just wanted to know about my life and America….and a dozen other reasons as well for communication. It has been delightful for me, and I shared the messages with Carol and I wanted to return to Uzbekistan and actually meet these people I could now truly call “friends.” We were invited to stay in homes, but were unable to do so, with the exception of Zazrafshon, because of Uzbek laws preventing such things, but we did visit many homes and schools and actually spent time with over 30 of the “kids,” as I like to call them. It has been everything I had hoped it would be and Carol has flourished by meeting them as well…They have called me Bobojon or Dodajon, Grandpa in Uzbek, Grampy, Grand pa, and Grandfather. Carol is now Bovijon, Granny, etc…naturally, they all love her and she has enmeshed herself into their lives smoothly and graciously. Some were busy with exams and couldn’t see us, some didn’t make any effort to do so, but all those who did proved to be as delightful in reality as they were in cyber space…they were generous of their hearts and spirits and were so happy to share with us their homes and lives…it was truly the trip I wanted to have…Carol has commented that it was a very different trip….so people-oriented, not focused on places or things….I have always told my friends back home that the thing I liked about Uzbek young people is that they know nothing of the Soviet times…they were all born at, or just after, independence. Hence they do not carry any baggage from those days, but rather are filled with the enthusiasm and optimism of youth and believe that their future is a bright one…. They see their future tied to the west and believe this will provide them with many more opportunities to branch out from a traditional Central Asian nation to one that takes its place amongst the progressive nations o`f the world, where talent and ability take the place of privilege and status. They want a better education system for their country because they believe it still represents the old system where intelligence is not necessarily rewarded, but rather favoritism and corruption often determine who gets ahead. In the west, Islam Karimov has a reputation of being a continuance of the Soviet system, but he remains very popular with most aspects of society, particularly with the young people. The only negative thing we heard was in Andijon, where we were told to watch what we said because “The walls have ears,”….the cotton season where young people are forced to pick cotton for six weeks is seen as a modified form of slavery in the west, but the young people see it as a way to demonstrate national pride, albeit a difficult experience…so all of these things give the young people of Uzbekistan a sense that their lives are full of hope and promise, and I am proud to call them true friends. It’s been a memorable trip as we head into the home stretch.