< Disclaimer> < Return To Issue Article Index >

July 2005 The thing you notice as you drive around Dushanbe is how well people are generally dressed. Far more suits and ties here than you will ever see back home, although I suppose my small city on the Canadian prairies is not a good basis for comparison. The traffic is what I would call chaotic, but not verging on anarchy as you would find in other parts of the world. Small buses called mashrutkas in varying states of repair - from ancient to brand new - swarm about the city taking passengers where they need to go. In the midst of them all are some larger buses and private vehicles. I've seen just about every brand of car you can think of, including Ladas, Nissans, Fords, GM, Audi, Mercedes, VW, BMW, Toyotas, Mazdas, Skodas, Volgas, Volvos, and some yet to be determined brands of Russian built equipment. I have also seen a few out-of-place Chrysler sedans. Now I wouldn't want to call the traffic heavy, just unpredictable. I don't think Dushanbe really experiences what we would think of as a traffic jam, or even the equivalent of traffic around a hockey arena in Canada after a hockey game. But in the midst of all this, there are people on foot diving in and out of traffic to get across the streets. This is when the closer calls seem to take place, although we have fortunately left everyone standing so far.

A Dushanbe Mashrutka

We started the day with some chaos at a training for women in politics, a training session whose manual had just been translated into Tajik the night before. This meant that the photocopying had been delayed, which involved a search by cell phone to find them. After some delays, things worked themselves out, and we made our way into the restaurant where the training was taking place. In one of the hallways on the way in, we passed a store full of some of the latest in computer peripherals.

Eventually, I made it to the office, where I got right down to the task of forgetting everyone's name and feeling bewildered. (Remember - none of these people has a name like anyone you've ever known, unless you're Russian. It felt kind of like being on the set of Lord of the Rings - movie studio, mountains in the background, funny names in the foreground. Now if I could only remember which one is Legolas.)

After a few hours, jet lag took over. The only trouble was that I had no idea where I lived, or how to get there, so I kept working. Around 8 pm, someone came along and said my ride was ready to go, so I went with them, grateful. We stopped at a shopping area swarming with taxis and randomly parked cars. There were people selling traditional bread on the street, along with roasted chickens on rotisseries.
 
I managed to buy some Coke (did I tell you I like it here), apple juice (tetra pak is everywhere), chicken noodles soup (just add water) and some bread. I have no idea how much it was, but I think it was well under US$5 (my colleague paid - he had some local currency). And while I am on the subject of food, thanks go out to whoever stocked my apartment before I arrived. For the first several days in Dushanbe, I survived on the nuts and raisins, cookies, biscuits, oranges and water they left here for me, along with a few instant soups I brought along. Have you ever made a chocolate bar last for three days? Me neither, until that week.
.

Selling kebabs

Ping Pong at the Market

Another day at the office, interrupted by a trip to the market. One of my colleagues is from a tropical country and needed to buy a coat. Perfectly nice morning temperatures of minus five seem cold to him, so we grabbed a car and driver and set off, along with the boss' assistant as our guide and translator.

This market was in the northwest-ish area of the city, past the waterpark (unfinished, but fancy-looking), the zoo (where the zoo-keepers had to hide the animals during the civil war to keep them from being eaten - gimme that hippo leg or I'll shoot), and the Russian Embassy. The Russian Embassy is brand new, and looks like a condo development, with a residential tower for the staff, and some other building. The Americans are working on their embassy, while Canada's is two countries over in Almaty, Kazakhstan.

Like markets the world over, this was another one in which you could buy just about anything and easily get lost. This market was sort of organized into thematic zones - we set out for the clothing zone.

While I changed some US dollars into my first Somoni (3.05 c = US$1), my coat-searching colleague rapidly found a friend in a gypsy-ish girl who pursued him for a donation for quite some time. Eventually, she gave up.

Shoes, suits, ties, shirts, dresses, sportswear, batteries, meat on sticks, electrical do-dads, heaters, curtains, impromptu games of ping pong - you could find just about anything in there. Eventually we found what we were looking for and my colleague paid in US$. On the way back to the car, I bought some oranges and a lemon off the back of a truck for 2 c.

I'll try to post some photos here - check out the ping pong table, the pointy shoes, and the kabob guys. While we were at the market, I saw a brand new black Nissan Murano parked between two old Ladas.

On the way back to the office, we stopped so that I could spend more of my new Somoni. I spent 20.40 c on some Coke, juice, chicken noodle soup, water, and bread. I think I spent about $7 on groceries today. It should last a few days.

At 4:30, suddenly it was time for a birthday party and a truly global experience. A birthday party for a Brazilian/Costa Rican with Peruvian food, Central Asian and Latin American pop music, and attendees speaking Russian, Tajik, Spanish, English and possibly other languages. There was the Texan with the Russian-speaking husband from India, the Costa Rican Spanish-speaking crowd, the Tajiks and the Russians, and yours truly, the lowly Canadian. Several of the Tajiks speak university French, so we've been practicing on each other.

After all that Peruvian food, I came home to find that the maid is now on the job. Perhaps I will meet her some day, but so far she's even less obtrusive than children in Victorian England. Buba (I think it's something more like Machbuba) is neither seen, nor heard. Her impact is simply felt - like the wind perhaps. I won't give her any divine characteristics, but in the absence of actually seeing her, it's kind of like believing in God - you can't see Him, you can't actually hear Him, but His presence can be felt.

From my experience so far, Buba cleans and cooks and remakes poorly made beds. Having been exposed to the removal of the laundry, she seems to do that too, but I suppose I shall have to wait until its time to report properly on this area of endeavour. Miraculously, food is also appearing in my fridge and in the cupboards. It's not manna, and unlike the Israelites, I'll have to leave money out from time to time to cover the cost. At US$70 per month, it’s a screaming deal.

I finally got my dial-up connection working today - now I can be online from the apartment. This is good - maybe we'll figure out these voice chat things through MSN Messenger or Yahoo Messenger one of these days and I'll be able to talk to the kids and Lynette back home. It will certainly be a relief from the half-hour repeat cycle of news on the BBC on my TV. A million satellite channels, and only one in English.

If you would like to submit an article to Escape From America Magazine Click Here
.

Brad Farquhar is a public affairs and democracy consultant from Canada. He recently spent almost four months working in Tajikistan for an international NGO. Brad can be reached at brad@farquhar.ca.

 .

Shoes for Sale

Electrical goods on offer

< Send a Letter to the Editor > < Subscribe> < Submit An Article >< Disclaimer>