Turkmenistan has economized all its holidays into one conglomerate called New Years. I was too busy celebrating to snap a picture of children in costumes waiting for Santa while we eat a feast, toasting to our health and family, at 12:00 midnight. Yes, our Halloween/Christmas/Thanksgiving/New Years party (and did I mention my sister's birthday is the 30th and my brother's is the 2nd?) was quite a sight. Is it the removal of all religious affiliation that moves it all to New Years, or is it just easier to get together only once a year?
The women began preparing several days ago, putting up decorations and setting up our tree. Santa is called "Father Freeze" here, and he sometimes looks like an old German representation--thin with a blue robe and a staff--while other times he is Santa to a T.
The salads alone took up the whole dinner table and took hours of chopping and mixing. I've never in my life seen two women make a picture-perfect feast absolutely from scratch. Everything was from scratch except the mayonnaise (which is a staple in most dishes). Several meats were cooked. Our Thanksgiving turkey was replaced with crow. Yes, crow. Even the men took part in making grilled shashlik, just like an American dad and his steak. Between vegetable chopping the women prepared for the night one tiny step at a time.
I'm in the kitchen, and before I realize she was gone, Fatima returns with her hair done and makes a cake. An hour later her make-up is in place and she's boiling pelmeni. We set up the meal upstairs with our nicest china, and at this point it's already 9:00 p.m. and I'm wondering when the heck we're going to actually eat.
The 3-year-old has been set up thoroughly for the arrival of Santa, and I wonder which grumbly, lazy man in our family will actually put on a red suit for any cause. The boy gets dressed up in a costume--he is Petrushka--or, to an American, a kind of Joker/Clown-type thing, and he is extremely cute. We sit down to our meal at about 11:15 p.m. and give a toast to our ongoing health and fortune and happiness . . . etc.
The toasts are necessary and always long and involved. The family digs in, and I can't imagine more being packed into one day, when we hear a clatter from downstairs, and my mom arises to see what was the matter! Santa arrives--a woman in a giant red suit with a Santa mask accompanied by a man with a Bayan (accordion, but pretty sounding) and a young girl. We drag Petrushka to see Santa, and after greeting him/her, Petrushka promptly cries. I'd be scared, too, if I thought that mask was a real face! This Santa doesn't just drop off a present. No, he/she comes to the feasting room and leads us in song and dance accompanied by the Bayan.
Petrushka gets used to the weird-looking Santa and has a blast. Even I am caught up in our little circle dance and song. Petrushka gets his present. Santa sits down for a toast and is off. Not a family member at all, as I could have guessed, but a genius entrepreneur! With Halloween over, we concentrate on finishing our meal and pouring champagne for a countdown. Of course to get the real time, we have to turn on the Turkmen station and listen to--guess who--until minus 15 seconds. (With no clock on the screen, we have to watch with rapt attention.) At 12:00 we toast with our champagne, and the kids run to the windows to look out.
Fireworks?!! It turns out that instead of a city-wide display, people merely shoot their own fireworks out the windows of their apartments! I've never liked huge firework shows, but for some reason this is so nice! Without regulations people set off real fireworks. The communal feelings soar, and I am proud to be here in a place where all people do things themselves. We cooked our own meal, all the neighborhood families set off one or two fireworks, and everyone gets to watch. There's a pride in independence that America tries to claim but has never felt. People here survive without help from kitchen gadgets and closet organizers.
After a few strong requests, I got out my violin and played Czardas for everyone, and they all enjoyed it more than I expected--even dad!
We set to opening presents. I had already bought and wrapped little gifts for everyone but felt quite guilty about the price and the fact that they weren't exciting. But it turns out--who knew?!?--that Turkmen are less materialistic than Americans! I gave hot chocolate, knitting needles, a small calculator and ruler set and a loofah. I think I was the big hit. My mom gave some bath supplies and, to me, a cotton dress (here, probably a nightgown) that I love! It cost a dollar here. It was wrapped in a plastic bag. So ended the Christmas holiday!
I walked around the city with my sister Aziza, and we mostly giggled at couples and talked of visiting California. I got to sleep around 3:30 and woke to a Thanksgiving leftover feeding frenzy and a viewing of the video we shot the night before. Hopefully I will get a copy so I can show everyone how convenient our overnight holiday season is!
Happy New Year!
Jan 5, 2005
Jan 4, 2005
Essay #14 (The Diet)
"Mom, please! Mom! A cucumber, Mom, please," Aziza pleaded, or rather the pit in her stomach asked her to plead.
"Nope. Not allowed. Aziza, you're 14 years old and you have stretch marks! If we're on this diet, we're not cheating!" her mother fired back as she reached out and lifted the side of Aziza's shirt to reveal the cursed signs of weight-gain. They both giggled and set out to look at what inedidible, saltless, sugarless food they were to have for dinner. The diet plan come through a neighbor who promised they'd lose 12 kilos in 12 days. Their giggles were sucked back in when they read:
Day V:
Breakfast - Black coffee
Lunch - 1 large boiled carrot; 500 g. boiled fish
Dinner - Salad of raw cabbage and oil
The diet was almost bearable, save for the presence of the man of the house, Rustam. He weighs more than both of them together, probably due to his habit of eating mayonnaise straight from the jar with a larger than standard-sized spoon. When his poor, mildly chubby wife gave the candy dish a sidelong glance, he taunted, "Not allowed, Fatima!" as he licked butter and sour cream off his fingers one at a time. She failed to retort that the one who had had a heart attack and simultaneously had managed to swallow a giant bone that lodged itself in his throat, giving him chest pains twice over just two weeks ago, shouldn't really be the one to scold.
Fatima optimistically chopped cabbage and liberally poured oil over both portions. With a smile, she brought them into the living room and presented Aziza with dinner. They both sat, pushing their raw cabbage around their pools of oil, visualizing hot shish-kebabs and borsch.
"Mom, I can't eat this. I can't!" Aziza whined.
"Ooph. Me neither, Sweetie!" Fatima responded as they whimpered and giggled their way to the kitchen to dispose of the whole mess.
"She's too young to be that big," Fatima had argued four long days earlier. "She gets it from her father's side, but she certainly doesn't do anything to prevent it, sitting here all day."
"What do you mean I just sit here all day?!" Aziza shouted from the living room where she was sitting watching TV. "What should I do, run?!"
"Hey, I'll run with you, if you want." I said, hoping I could get some much-needed excercise out of this new leaf.
"Really? You will run? Okay! Let's go!" Aziza complied much faster than I had expected.
With that, we headed out to the heath walk, a 4k path set against the mountains that happens to contain more stairs than the Empire State Building. Agbar, Aziza's 16 year old brother, was happy to drive us with his newly gained privileges. Besides almost killing 8 old ladies and overusing the brakes almost as much as the speakers, he got us there safe and sound. With Aziza's enthusiasm in soprano range (a high Eb on a good day), we began a slow jog. Much to my dismay, that slow jog lasted approximately .13k before my chubby sister couldn't possbly carry herself any farther.
"Kari, please, just rest one minute! Just one minute, I'm so tired . . . so tired!" she once again pleaded, this time from her legs, leaning against the rail as if maimed by some unseen force.
"Aziza, come on. Just walk. We'll power walk. A nice brisk hike. Aziza!... AZIZA!"
The rest of the 4k, needless to say, had continued much the same, though I didn't blame her for not siphoning more energy out of her boiled carrot.
By Day 5 Aziza's enthusiasm was a mellow, warm-toned alto. We ran by day, and she begged for cucumbers by night. Though Fatima relented and let her eat 2 cucumbers and a mandarin after the inedible cabbage went down the garbage disposal, I believe her own softness may have come after I caught her on Day 3 drinking a beer in the closet and on Day 4 eating a chocolate bar while pretending to iron.
Just don't tell Aziza or she'll never finish her boiled egg and fish!
"Nope. Not allowed. Aziza, you're 14 years old and you have stretch marks! If we're on this diet, we're not cheating!" her mother fired back as she reached out and lifted the side of Aziza's shirt to reveal the cursed signs of weight-gain. They both giggled and set out to look at what inedidible, saltless, sugarless food they were to have for dinner. The diet plan come through a neighbor who promised they'd lose 12 kilos in 12 days. Their giggles were sucked back in when they read:
Day V:
Breakfast - Black coffee
Lunch - 1 large boiled carrot; 500 g. boiled fish
Dinner - Salad of raw cabbage and oil
The diet was almost bearable, save for the presence of the man of the house, Rustam. He weighs more than both of them together, probably due to his habit of eating mayonnaise straight from the jar with a larger than standard-sized spoon. When his poor, mildly chubby wife gave the candy dish a sidelong glance, he taunted, "Not allowed, Fatima!" as he licked butter and sour cream off his fingers one at a time. She failed to retort that the one who had had a heart attack and simultaneously had managed to swallow a giant bone that lodged itself in his throat, giving him chest pains twice over just two weeks ago, shouldn't really be the one to scold.
Fatima optimistically chopped cabbage and liberally poured oil over both portions. With a smile, she brought them into the living room and presented Aziza with dinner. They both sat, pushing their raw cabbage around their pools of oil, visualizing hot shish-kebabs and borsch.
"Mom, I can't eat this. I can't!" Aziza whined.
"Ooph. Me neither, Sweetie!" Fatima responded as they whimpered and giggled their way to the kitchen to dispose of the whole mess.
"She's too young to be that big," Fatima had argued four long days earlier. "She gets it from her father's side, but she certainly doesn't do anything to prevent it, sitting here all day."
"What do you mean I just sit here all day?!" Aziza shouted from the living room where she was sitting watching TV. "What should I do, run?!"
"Hey, I'll run with you, if you want." I said, hoping I could get some much-needed excercise out of this new leaf.
"Really? You will run? Okay! Let's go!" Aziza complied much faster than I had expected.
With that, we headed out to the heath walk, a 4k path set against the mountains that happens to contain more stairs than the Empire State Building. Agbar, Aziza's 16 year old brother, was happy to drive us with his newly gained privileges. Besides almost killing 8 old ladies and overusing the brakes almost as much as the speakers, he got us there safe and sound. With Aziza's enthusiasm in soprano range (a high Eb on a good day), we began a slow jog. Much to my dismay, that slow jog lasted approximately .13k before my chubby sister couldn't possbly carry herself any farther.
"Kari, please, just rest one minute! Just one minute, I'm so tired . . . so tired!" she once again pleaded, this time from her legs, leaning against the rail as if maimed by some unseen force.
"Aziza, come on. Just walk. We'll power walk. A nice brisk hike. Aziza!... AZIZA!"
The rest of the 4k, needless to say, had continued much the same, though I didn't blame her for not siphoning more energy out of her boiled carrot.
By Day 5 Aziza's enthusiasm was a mellow, warm-toned alto. We ran by day, and she begged for cucumbers by night. Though Fatima relented and let her eat 2 cucumbers and a mandarin after the inedible cabbage went down the garbage disposal, I believe her own softness may have come after I caught her on Day 3 drinking a beer in the closet and on Day 4 eating a chocolate bar while pretending to iron.
Just don't tell Aziza or she'll never finish her boiled egg and fish!
Jan 3, 2005
Essay #13 (The Theft)
As uninteresting as theft is in most respects, I'd like to recount mine to all my internet viewers.
I was in Gypjak, hugging my little sister and listening to hand-washing instruction this past weekend. My older sister had her wedding ceremony--or ceremonies, as in turns out--and my house was the hot place to be. My little sister was glad to have her American pet back to play with, and I was happy to see friendly faces from the past, even if it is the recent past. The time passed slowly, however, as one toi turned into three. And it took a lot of effort to convince the girls that I don't need to scrub my hands for several minutes in freezing cold water--because I always bring toilet paper--no, no, not a page from a book--and my hands rarely get as dirty as yours evidently do.
By the last morning I am set to go, doing a last check around the house. Unfortunately as I look in my wallet for my passport (Don't leave home without it!), I find my 200,000 manat missing. I rifle through my bag thinking, " Could I have put it elsewhere?" My mother, seeing my distress, hands me a foreign comb and asks, "Is this it?". I quickly check for other missing things as the tears well up in my eyes. My mom looks confused, and I tell her my money is gone. She tells me not to cry but also exclaims, "Weee" at how much. It comes to about $8, but I need it for the taxi home. Meanwhile the discussion of "Who would do that?" and "Well, her bag was open on the floor, no wonder," comes at me in partailly intelligable phrases and as if there were a locked area anywhere in the house. I can't imagine what I'd have done if either my Ipod or my camera (both in the bag) had gone missing, but it might have included swearing in English and making numerous false accusations.
My mom gave a precious 200,000 manat to the still-crying-out-of-shame rich American without batting an eye. I deduced that the thief was probably someone we know well since our guests were close friends who know I'd have money and also who would be unable to use possessions which would be obviously mine. Either it was that, or it was the famed "Narco-man" who got blamed again. Narcomen are heroin users, and they get universal blame for petty theft. At any rate, I made it back safe and sound and am planning to give my family something in thanks the next time I visit.
I was in Gypjak, hugging my little sister and listening to hand-washing instruction this past weekend. My older sister had her wedding ceremony--or ceremonies, as in turns out--and my house was the hot place to be. My little sister was glad to have her American pet back to play with, and I was happy to see friendly faces from the past, even if it is the recent past. The time passed slowly, however, as one toi turned into three. And it took a lot of effort to convince the girls that I don't need to scrub my hands for several minutes in freezing cold water--because I always bring toilet paper--no, no, not a page from a book--and my hands rarely get as dirty as yours evidently do.
By the last morning I am set to go, doing a last check around the house. Unfortunately as I look in my wallet for my passport (Don't leave home without it!), I find my 200,000 manat missing. I rifle through my bag thinking, " Could I have put it elsewhere?" My mother, seeing my distress, hands me a foreign comb and asks, "Is this it?". I quickly check for other missing things as the tears well up in my eyes. My mom looks confused, and I tell her my money is gone. She tells me not to cry but also exclaims, "Weee" at how much. It comes to about $8, but I need it for the taxi home. Meanwhile the discussion of "Who would do that?" and "Well, her bag was open on the floor, no wonder," comes at me in partailly intelligable phrases and as if there were a locked area anywhere in the house. I can't imagine what I'd have done if either my Ipod or my camera (both in the bag) had gone missing, but it might have included swearing in English and making numerous false accusations.
My mom gave a precious 200,000 manat to the still-crying-out-of-shame rich American without batting an eye. I deduced that the thief was probably someone we know well since our guests were close friends who know I'd have money and also who would be unable to use possessions which would be obviously mine. Either it was that, or it was the famed "Narco-man" who got blamed again. Narcomen are heroin users, and they get universal blame for petty theft. At any rate, I made it back safe and sound and am planning to give my family something in thanks the next time I visit.
Jan 2, 2005
Essay #12 (The 5th Grade Presentation I Never Did: Turkmenistan)
Turkmenistan is a desert country situated east of the Caspian sea, north of Iran and south of Kazakstan and Uzbekistan. The capitol city of Ashgabat is close to Iran in the central south. There are few roads connecting the cities, but there is a paved road (sometimes only one usable lane) to Nebitdag, now renamed Balkanabat. On the way to Nebitdag one travels past roaming herds of camel, goat, cow, and sheep. There is also an above ground pipe that holds the water to the west. Someone once said that if you drive past a lake on the way to Nebitdag, you shouldn't expect a shower when you get there!
Trains run east to west overnight, and several of the large cities have airports. Nebitdag has approximately 110,000 people, and the country has 4.5 million. Though we assume the figures are correct, there would/could never be a census here. We also assume the numbers are fudged a bit by the government. The country is declared Muslim, but religion doesn't permeate life beyond the village. Many new mosques and government buildings are built yearly with (we figure) money from oil. Our velayat (like a state) is rich in oil, and we have an open contract with Russia giving us a great deal of money now, but many understand that it won't last forever. So we have many beautiful new "gifts from T____ the Great" to his people. There are taxes on business but not for regular citizens. The weather is like southern Indiana but with little precipitation. I won't miss it! The summers will be hot as heck, because of the desert climate. It really does look like a desert, especially out of town. For the most part, people own TVs and other conveniences. Cars are little needed because of the gypsy taxi system (which I adore).
The government is run on a purely micromanaged basis. All orders come directly from one person. Hakims are the local representatives. Most everything here works on a system of bribes. Colleges (and jobs for that matter) are techically free, but you have to have both connections as well as about $2000 given to the right person to enter. The education system runs 9 years. Just a few years back the 10th year was removed. College is supposedly 4 years, but I think it's more like 3. Army is not mandatory--for those that can finagle a way out (the draft to Vietnam?). But most go. The army is reportedly 2 years of fights, rough language, starvation, menial labor, and missing one's family. Some of the problems wth men here, I believe, may start in those two formative years. Marriage age is normally about 20-25, and most girls marry boys their own age. Many have large families here, but not overwhelming. 5 children is a bit above average. Literacy is officially 90-some percent, though I haven't met many who can read either Turkmen or Russian. The alphabet was changed from a modified cyrillic to a modified Latin alphabet in about 1995. Those out of school can't read Turkmen well, and Russian is not used officially enough to lean on. I believe literacy in the new alphabet is extremely low. Often young children read things to their parents.
Cotton is big here. The citizens as a whole are responsible for picking cotton during fall. Most is exported. The schools shut down, and older kids are bussed out to sites to pick. Many local leaders lose their jobs over low cotton numbers.
Turkmenistan wasn't ready to be on its own as we have very little production from start to finish. The economy is weak and we can't afford to import quality goods. We were the last country to leave the USSR after its collapse. We are, however, EXTREMELY, and I mean EXTREMELY proud of our independence. We are also neutral and quite proud of that as well. The people here feel safe from war in our neutral country and are therefore hesitant to critcize. Many Turkmen have said they thank Allah they were born here instead of, say, Afghanistan or any other nearby country that's had upsets. Turkmenistan is said to be a country to watch in the upcoming news. We are the only place left on earth with our unique problems and situation.
Trains run east to west overnight, and several of the large cities have airports. Nebitdag has approximately 110,000 people, and the country has 4.5 million. Though we assume the figures are correct, there would/could never be a census here. We also assume the numbers are fudged a bit by the government. The country is declared Muslim, but religion doesn't permeate life beyond the village. Many new mosques and government buildings are built yearly with (we figure) money from oil. Our velayat (like a state) is rich in oil, and we have an open contract with Russia giving us a great deal of money now, but many understand that it won't last forever. So we have many beautiful new "gifts from T____ the Great" to his people. There are taxes on business but not for regular citizens. The weather is like southern Indiana but with little precipitation. I won't miss it! The summers will be hot as heck, because of the desert climate. It really does look like a desert, especially out of town. For the most part, people own TVs and other conveniences. Cars are little needed because of the gypsy taxi system (which I adore).
The government is run on a purely micromanaged basis. All orders come directly from one person. Hakims are the local representatives. Most everything here works on a system of bribes. Colleges (and jobs for that matter) are techically free, but you have to have both connections as well as about $2000 given to the right person to enter. The education system runs 9 years. Just a few years back the 10th year was removed. College is supposedly 4 years, but I think it's more like 3. Army is not mandatory--for those that can finagle a way out (the draft to Vietnam?). But most go. The army is reportedly 2 years of fights, rough language, starvation, menial labor, and missing one's family. Some of the problems wth men here, I believe, may start in those two formative years. Marriage age is normally about 20-25, and most girls marry boys their own age. Many have large families here, but not overwhelming. 5 children is a bit above average. Literacy is officially 90-some percent, though I haven't met many who can read either Turkmen or Russian. The alphabet was changed from a modified cyrillic to a modified Latin alphabet in about 1995. Those out of school can't read Turkmen well, and Russian is not used officially enough to lean on. I believe literacy in the new alphabet is extremely low. Often young children read things to their parents.
Cotton is big here. The citizens as a whole are responsible for picking cotton during fall. Most is exported. The schools shut down, and older kids are bussed out to sites to pick. Many local leaders lose their jobs over low cotton numbers.
Turkmenistan wasn't ready to be on its own as we have very little production from start to finish. The economy is weak and we can't afford to import quality goods. We were the last country to leave the USSR after its collapse. We are, however, EXTREMELY, and I mean EXTREMELY proud of our independence. We are also neutral and quite proud of that as well. The people here feel safe from war in our neutral country and are therefore hesitant to critcize. Many Turkmen have said they thank Allah they were born here instead of, say, Afghanistan or any other nearby country that's had upsets. Turkmenistan is said to be a country to watch in the upcoming news. We are the only place left on earth with our unique problems and situation.
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