This has possibly been the most exciting, action packed couple of days of my semester (with the possible exception of the Pamirs trip, but even that is debatable). On Thursday I woke up and went out to the kitchen as usual for breakfast. Matluba, my host mother, was there, bustling around, which is unusual, as she usually makes breakfast and sets it out, then goes into the living room to curl up near the space heater. When I came in, she told me “tonight is Guldasta (my second oldest host sister)’s son’s birthday, so I am going to stay with her” I said “oh, cool!” with, I thought, proper enthusiasm for a birthday party, but only after I responded did I realize that several things were wrong with what she had told me. For one thing, Guldasta doesn’t have a son (but she is pregnant), and for another, she and her husband live in Uzbekistan. They’ve been staying with us for the last month or so, but on Wednesday, she disappeared. After riddling through what Matluba had told me, and considering all possible translations of the Tajiki, I concluded that either Guldasta had had the baby (although the “tonight” confused me) or was having the baby, and that Matluba was planning to go to the hospital for the evening to stay with her. Unfortunately, by the time I had pieced all this together, Matluba had left the kitchen, and I felt a little silly chasing after her and asking “wait, what?”, so I never got the chance to clarify, and I went through the day extremely confused.
When I got home Thursday night, nobody seemed particularly excited in a our-daughter-just-had-a-baby way, so I assumed I must have been mistaken. At dinner, though, Gulnora, my oldest host sister, turned to me and asked “did someone tell you that Guldasta had a son?” and Matluba said “oh yes, I told her this morning.” So, it turns out I do have a new host nephew, but the whole thing was very confusing and took a while for me to figure out. I asked what his name is, and Rahmatullo (my host father) said he doesn’t have one. Guldasta and her husband are thinking about it, and maybe he will get a name next week, but no promises.
In the midst of all this excitement, Sunday was one of the biggest holidays in Tajikistan – Idi Qurbon (the sacrifice feast), which celebrates Abraham not sacrificing his son. To recognize this, a big thing in Tajikistan is to sacrifice a goat or a sheep. Then, people go around from house to house eating with their family, friends, and neighbors. I asked my family what we were doing, and Matluba said we would have a party, visit friends etc. And in the middle of all the Idi Qurbon preparation, she was busy welcoming Guldasta and her son home (they came home on Friday), so there has just been an absurd amount of food and cooking and busy-ness in my house lately.
On Saturday, a bunch of Americans and I took a trip to a big bazaar on the edge of the city, where they have absolutely everything. It was pretty crowded, and there was a lot of traffic getting in, because everyone was shopping for the holiday, but it was still fun to look around, and nice, at least, to get out of the house for a while. When I got home, I went into the kitchen where Matluba and Munisa (the youngest host sister) were making two deliciously fried snacks for Sunday: fried-dough-cookie sort of things (something like Mandazzi, if you’ve ever been to Africa) and these fried almost-dumplings with potato inside. I went into the kitchen to sit with them while they did this, and was instantly told to “Gir” (take). Well, I should have expected that. They were really good, and trying them turned out to be dinner, so that worked out.
The next day, I was awakened to the lovely sound of children outside the front door shouting “IDI MOBARAK!!!” and banging on the door, looking for candy. Sort of the Tajik answer to Trick-or-Treating, except costumes are unnecessary and it happens early in the morning, rather than in the evening and late at night, on a day when no offices are open, so there’s no excuse for not answering the door. I went out to the kitchen, where I had breakfast of eggs and more of the food from the night before. At 10:30, I was invited to eat more food. This was when the feasting of the day began – I was given a bowl of potato-carrot-beef soup, bread, more eggs, fruit, more fried things, and cake. Literally as soon as I finished one thing, I was offered more of something else. Family members came all throughout the day – all of the sisters and their husbands and children (it was hinted at several times that at my age, it’s getting unacceptable that I don’t have any of those) I sat with Matluba and the three older sisters and their collective four children (two age 4ish, one 3 months and one 3 days) for several hours, being repetitively told to GIR by everyone except the two infants (and probably only because they can’t talk) until 2:30, when Matluba got up to fetch a plate of goat meat. We hadn’t sacrificed anything, but we did have the meat (possibly a gift from a neighbor who had). Goat: the strangest thing I have eaten in Tajikistan. Not a huge fan of meat in the first place, I couldn’t eat much of it. First of all, it smelled like goat, so that was a bit of a turn off for me. Second, like all meat in Tajikistan, it was mostly fat, and I actually was physically unable to chew it. Luckily, since I had been eating since 10:30, when I said “I’m so full,” I think it was plausible. And true. After an hour of the goat, Galya (the third oldest host sister with the 3 month old) got up and suggested she, Munisa (the final host sister who’s 15) go to her husband’s house to celebrate. So the three of us left (my first break from eating in 5 hours) and took a short cab ride to her house, where we were welcomed, sat down, and given more soup and snacks by her family-in-law. Again, every time I put my spoon down, all I heard was “GIR, GIR”. We left after an hour (the appropriate visiting duration) which was good, because someone had poured me a glass of this awful electric green (I’m trying to think of something to compare it to, but I really can’t imagine anything that green that I’ve ever seen before. Maybe highlighter fluid, but about eleven shades brighter) soda that tasted at once like liquefied jolly rancher and non-alcoholic rubbing alcohol. So when Munisa said we were going to leave, I was more than ready, to say the least. When we got home, some cousins (I think) were on their way to my host aunt (I think)’s house for more feasting. I was more than happy to hang out at the house (I thought if I put any more food in my stomach, I’d explode) but Matluba suggested I go with them and Munisa. So, we all piled into a minivan (about 10 of us in a car that could hold 5, not to mention that I, at least, had gained about 50 pounds since the morning) and drove across town to the aunt’s house. It was really fun, actually – all of the cousins were dancing and chatting and teasing one of them about how she’ll never impress her future in-laws (it kind of reminded me of being with my extended family, because there were just cousins and people everywhere, but to my mind, we’ve never talked about the proper way to serve soup to one’s in-laws). We were, of course, served more food, but luckily only nuts and chocolate – no meat or soup, so no pressure to eat a lot – and then we just watched Tajik TV and listened to Tajik and Russian music until Munisa and I left around 10:00. Since my bedtime here hovers around 8:30, I was exhausted, and so came home and, almost without a word, fell into bed.
On Monday, I went with a friend of my host sister to an aqueduct in Dushanbe. We walked around a bit (I fell in the mud a lot). Unfortunately, the water was quite low, because it’s fall (it will get much higher in the spring and summer as the snow melts), so it wasn’t as pretty as it might have been, but we did have some great views of snow covered mountains in the background (have I mentioned that I love Tajikistan?) Afterwards we went back to his house, where he showed me into the party room (set up with bottles of juice and soda, fruit, chocolate, cookies, nuts, etc.) and instructed me to “gir”. I told him that I was still full from Idi Qurbon, and he said “it’s still Idi Qurbon. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow” but didn’t make me eat. After a tour of his house (which was huge and looked like American – especially the kitchen, which had an oven (!) and a stove with gas fans above it), he showed me some photos of his last trip to the aqueduct (in the summer, with lots of water) and of his parents’ trip to New York City (apparently there is a Tajik Oshkhona there… a prize goes to someone who can find this for me and bring me there), and then we returned to my house.
On Tuesday, I awoke to a great surprise: It had been snowing all night. The floor of our courtyard was too wet and muddy for any of it to stick there, but the roofs and trees all over the city were covered with several inches of it. Because it’s so early, must of the trees still have their leaves, so lots of fallen branches all over Rudaki Avenue created lots of public transportation problems. 24 hours later, it’s still snowing which is nice, but cold. And yesterday, we lost power all afternoon and evening, so I ate dinner by candlelight with my host mother, sisters, and week-old nephew under thick winter blankets. Also, eleven Tajikistan points to whoever can explain to me how electricity is needed to turn boiling water into tea.
