Fake Flowers and Dogs

To my adoring fans,

I have two stories to share with you today.  I suppose a better term would be essays or commentaries, but whatever.  They are what they are.  Before I copy and paste however, a few tid-bits: 

·        I had a fascinating discussion with my host sister Bagul the other day on Turkmen folklore.  She also told me about Noah and the Ark, the Crucifixion, Creation and Adam and Eve which amazed me.  I have a copy of the Koran at home and now I’m curious to read it (this is not a hint for you to send it to me, Dad, as my bookshelves are stocked).  Apparently she read all these stories in the Koran and other Muslim books.  Please don’t think me totally naïve when I say I had no idea we shared those stories (if indeed they are in the Koran).  Interestingly enough, her versions of these stories concluded with things like this, “And that’s why the snake has a forked tongue,” etc. (There’s a word for stories like these but I can’t remember it).

 

·        I ate tofu this week and liked it.  Shocking! (And no, it was not purchased here).

·        Still happy, still healthy and still rainy

Presenting:  “Fake Plastic Flowers” and “Dogs.” 

On Fake Plastic Flowers

Flowers are the choice gift on Women’s Day – March 8.  Turkmen are incredibly confused about the fact that we American’s don’t celebrate Women’s Day because it’s actually called “International Women’s Day.”  How can’t we celebrate it?  It’s international!  (Which really just means more than one country celebrates it but they don’t get that).  Women’s Day, according to my encyclopedia, is “an important occasion for promoting women's issues and rights, especially in developing countries.”[1] 

 

Well, I don’t know about how other countries celebrate, but Women’s Day in Turkmenistan was just another day of TV specials.  I didn’t hear any talk about women’s issues or rights.  I didn’t hear anything about trying to get more Turkmen girls about of the restricting village life and into institutes and universities.   No one said anything about men helping around the house.  There was no talk about equality.  Nope.  The government gave each school girl 200,00 manat – about $14 – to share with their mothers and that was it.   Congratulations on having a vagina, now have lots of babies.  Girls who aren’t in school or who don’t work don’t get any money.  Suckers!

 

Oh, but wasn’t receiving dozens of flowers just fabulous?  I stashed mine in a corner of my room.  I pretend I’m a celebrated opera star and my adoring fans can’t help but heap flowers upon me.  I have four dozen.  That’s right: four dozen flowers.  And they’re all FAKE.  Some are okay replications, some aren’t, none are passable, some are perfumed, some aren’t.  But I am now the proud owner of 48 fake plastic flowers. 

 

Fake flowers are a nice gesture, I suppose.  And I don’t know where Turkmen would find real flowers in March except in the cities, but I still think they’re tacky.  Turkmen like them.  They keep their fake flowers in vases tucked in shelving units – they’ll be there forever.  You don’t have to buy more.  They’ll never lose their beauty, never turn brown or lose their petals. 

 

Frankly, I remain unconvinced.  At least now I have lots of flowers to re-gift!

 

 

And now a change of pace:

On Dogs

I write this as someone who loves dogs.  I mean, I love cats too, (What’s up, Bangu! [like the cat reads my emails and understands this]) but this piece in particular pertains to dogs. 

 

Turkmen don’t have the same relationship with dogs as we Americans do (well, most Americans that is.  Certainly there are people in the US who mistreat their animals.  Shameful.) In your average Turkmen village, dogs are outside animals.  They aren’t bathed or groomed or otherwise taken care of.  Some are kicked and angrily yelled at.  I’ve yet to come across a dog that had been spayed and/or neutered (although I hear there are vets in Turkmenistan).  I don’t know if they get their rabies and distemper shots like they should.  From what I gather, dogs are primarily for guarding the house. 

 

As puppies, Turkmen Alibis (their “National” dog – unsure of that spelling, really) are removed of their ears and tails because they get into fights and of course ears and tails are easy targets.  This has probably been a tradition for a long time because I haven’t seen or heard any real dog fights.   And I think it’s probably a learned behavior.  They might not have to remove the ears and tails if they a) didn’t kick or otherwise abuse dogs b) fed the dogs and c) didn’t encourage fighting.  I think dog fighting may have been sport before.  I don’t know if it’s practiced in my village but nonetheless, ear and tail removal has stuck and so you see a lot of funny looking dogs.  Russian dogs and dogs of other unknown descent are left intact (apparently they’re pacifists and eschew fighting).  Garagoz is a Russian dog and that’s why he has ears. 

 

My host father likes dogs and so he feeds Garagoz.  This has made Garagoz friendly and loyal to our family.  The other day, I opened my window and he trotted over and jumped up, putting his paws on the window sill and wagging his tail hello.  He hangs out at home most nights.  Or, if my father is on sleeping duty at school, he goes to school with him.  Awww.  Not all families feed their dogs.  There were skinny dogs in Magtymguly left to fend for themselves, finding what trash and scraps they could in the desert.  Not something a Westerner can easily grow accustomed to.

 

Unfortunately, because dogs aren’t neutered here, there are a great deal of unwanted pups.  Particularly girl dogs.  Why? Because girl dogs get impregnated.  Boy dogs can do it all they want and they don’t have to deal with the consequences of having puppies (SUCH a double standard).   Last month, a stray ended up on our door step.  My sister gave it some bread. Garagoz left it alone, presumably because it was a harmless puppy.  My host father, when he came home, scared it away because he doesn’t want another dog, especially not a girl dog (which she was, I checked).  She came back a few more times but I haven’t seen her anymore.  I have no idea what happened to her and can only hope someone took her in. 

 

But that’s the thing.  Turkmen don’t feel the same way about strays as I do.  Or most Americans, I assume, based on the fact that we have organizations like the SPCA and the Humane Society.  Granted not every animal taken to the Humane League is rescued, but some are.  And that makes a difference.  Here, strays are just a nuisance.   At home in the States, two of our pets were taken in as strays. (Does Stumpy count as a stray if Mom found her under a soybean leaf?)

 

Turkmenistan isn’t easy on man’s best friend but eventually, a person becomes hardened to seeing dogs without ears, skinny dogs, aggressive dogs, trash-eating dogs, stray dogs, and dead puppies in trash piles in the desert who couldn’t find enough to eat.  That’s life. 

 

But not today.  No, today was a day for tugging on heart strings.  I had just returned from Kelsey’s village where we spent a lovely afternoon with two other volunteers.  We made amazing food and played cards.  It was super.  I had a decent taxi ride back to my village which was a relief because the taxi driver on the way to Kelsey’s village kept inviting himself to eat with us and told me he wasn’t married and needed a wife.  Thus, it was in a good mood that I disembarked from the car.

 

 The driver dropped me off on the side of the road and I started the 40 minute walk to my village (hoping, of course, to be picked up along the way).  As I crossed the bridge over the canal, I heard whimpers.  Ever curious, I walked towards the sound to investigate.  A fatal mistake.  There I saw four small black and white puppies, huddling together.  I looked around and saw no mommy.  Maybe she was nearby.  Maybe someone didn’t want them and dropped them off to fend for themselves.  I have no idea how to guess how old they were, but one would have fit in my cupped hands.  I sighed, chided myself for looking and went on my way. 

 

I was not alone.  One intrepid puppy decided to take fate into its own hands, to leave the pack and endeavor for a better future.  It followed me.  I tried quickening my pace.  It kept up.  It whimpered.  I couldn’t lose the damn thing.  Every now and then I thought maybe it had turned back, had returned to its brothers and sisters.  Yet every time there it was; right at my feet, tripping over my shoes, tripping me. 

 

I started to cry.  I wanted so badly to take it home with me.  I also knew that the house I live in is not my true home.  I cannot simply show up with a dog and say, “We have a new pet!”  What would happen in two years when it’s time to leave?  And I cannot in good conscience own an animal without taking it to a vet for shots and neutering.   I didn’t know what to do.  I hoped for someone to pick me up so I wouldn’t have to see it anymore.   A woman stopped me and told me it was following me. When it went over to her feet she kicked it.  It stumbled over itself as it ran after me.  It almost got hit by a car.  And I was complicit.  I left it. 

 

Finally, it stopped following me and began trotting after two other ladies.  I was relieved.  I looked over my shoulder every few steps to make sure it wasn’t there.  A car came and picked me up.  I didn’t look back again. 

 

Sitting in the car, I prayed for the first time in a long while.  I fervently prayed for that little puppy and it’s siblings that they wouldn’t end up in a garbage heap like so many others.

 

 

 

Until next time!

Hugs,

Jessica