Here we are.
Two months into my time in Tajikistan. One-fifth of the way through.
Since my last post on my birthday, approximately one month
ago, I have done a good amount of traveling around the northern region of
Tajikistan, I have added Debate to the classes offered at the American Corner,
I have become a consistent attendee of the Aga Khan Humanities Project’s fall
Intro to Humanities course as a volunteer teaching assistant, I have moved even
further than I already was into my host families hearts ;) and my mother has
visited Dushanbe for ten days from America, on a whim. I would describe the last month as a
tornado in a valley, spinning pointedly around me. I know there is much more I could do, but I already feel
swept up in activities every day, minute, hour. Most of them are small social obligations that I am
struggling to fulfill – like a dinner with a new friend, a brainstorming tea
time with a coworker, finding the right house-ware for my host mother’s
apartment, negotiating shortest way home from a new building, or a day trip
with my mom.
In between these units of community building, I desperately
try to maintain a semblance of preparation and lesson planning. Usually I run with the first idea that
comes to my mind for the four Beginner and Advanced classes I run. I also try my best to attend
services at Jamatkhane and make it to regular workouts.
My favorite part of the city, just as it was the first week
I arrived, is running into familiar faces. In fact now, I constantly wish under my breath that the
various units of activity that build up my day will all be scooted aside by an
unexpected visitor.
My biggest setback amidst all of this movement is that the
Tajik language buzzes right by me.
I have not soaked it Tajik the way I soaked up Arabic when studying in
college. Arabic was like a hot lemon
olive oil that brightened me up.
Tajik sits on my skin like cold grease. That’s not to say I do not enjoy listening to it or
studying it. Even the coarsely
ground specks of Tajik-Russian that the minibus drivers spit at me has a rugged
charm. (Perhaps because I cannot
catch all that they are saying to the ignorant, Asian-looking, privileged
little American devoshka). But I do not have the time to steep in Tajik language the same
way I did in Arabic-speaking countries The responsibility of constantly teaching
English was not an issue while in Syria and Jordan, so I had plenty of time to
learn. It will take a renewed
commitment on my part (a commitment I renew each morning) to learn Tajik as
fast as I know I can. Or as fast
as I should, since after all, it is one of the most grammatically simple
languages I could ask for.
Arabic has an interesting presence here. A few young men I have met here have
started learning Arabic very seriously in order to better understand Islam and
the Qu’ran. My host mother’s
brother, who was present at the Eid celebration last weekend, gave me a fifteen
minute talk on the merits of praying five times a day in Arabic. We talked about dhikr, or meditation, in Arabic, and he quoted parts of the Quran
that mentioned forms of prayer. We
didn’t come to any agreement on the essence of organized prayer in Islam, but
at least it gave me a chance to practice Arabic. My Arabic is being slowly sacrificed for Tajik (bad
Eid-e-Khurbon pun intended). I was
replacing Arabic prepositions and conjunctions with Tajik ones all willy
nilly. Its funny how much
faster the mouth is at forming words than the brain…
Meanwhile, other departments of Tajik living, like the
weather, are kind of blissful. I
know everybody dreads the winter, and the snow, and the lack of street salt,
and lack of sidewalk demarcations, and lack of minibuses, and presence of grey
muck, and insufficient indoor heating.
Despite ALL of that, the fall is perfectly orange and yellow. The
pumpkins. Oh, the pumpkins. And I’ve never experienced so many
perfectly crisp light sweater days in a row. And it’s having a narcotic effect on my mood to where
everything seems light and easy.
