Wednesday, September 30, 2009
One year in Turkmenistan!
Hi folks! Just a quick reminder that tomorrow is my one year anniversary! And if you find yourself thinking that it doesn't seem that much time has passed, well, I agree. I'll try to send out a longer email next time I'm around the internet -- I intended to tomorrow because Elliott and I were going to go to Ashgabat to greet the newbies but problems occurred and the newbies will not be coming tomorrow....but eventually, hopefully -- anyway, I squandered my internet time looking for zucchini recipes and I've got to dash. BUT: ONE YEAR IN TURKMENISTAN!!!! One more to go :) Hugs, Jess
Enesh doesn't love Kemal
Love? ... and marriage
Enesh doesn't love Kemal. Not really. Not from the heart. And certainly not in the romanticized way I think two people should love each other when they're about to get married.I've never met Kemal, though I've seen him across the crowded, too loud dance parties (aka walk around in circles waving your hands back and forth) that pass for weddings here. He doesn't have much to recommend him as far as looks are concerned. She's definitely a lot more attractive than he is. But she says he's a good buy and believes he'll treat her right.Bagul isn't so sure. She heard he's slept with other girls -- taboo in the oba. Whether or not it was before he began dating Enejan, I don't know. But he's a guy, so it doesn't hurt his reputation as much.I ask Enesh if she's happy and she says yes. But she says shes' scared and she doesn't want to leave her house and family. She'll be moving in with his family the next town over. She says to be sure to visit because she'll miss me.I tell her not to get married. I know she's only dated Kemal for about 9 months and in that time, they've only seen each other at parties and nights when he comes over and she sneaks out of her home to meet him, telling her parents she's coming to our house. It sounds like behavior more appropriate for teenagers. Enesh is 23. But, in a village culture where even the most innocent brush of fingertips can set the gossip mill running, the cover of darkness is the only time young couples have to spend together. I don't know what Enejan and Kemal do or if they talk. I don't know how well they know each other. I know that Enesh's friends, many of whom are already married, pressured her into marrying, saying, "When are you going to set the date? Set the date!!"So I tell her, don't get married. And she looks at me and says, there is no other option. Really, there is. She could wait and see if someone better comes along. Someone she could really fall in love with. But she fears the likelihood of that happening around here is slim. So she settles for good enough. Besides, at 23 she's getting up there in age as far as Turkmen are concerned. At 24 going on 25, most women cluck their tongues at me when, in answering their inevitable question, I divulge that I am not married. Their jaws drop as they try to regain their grip on reality. The next question is, invariably, WHY? I reply that in America, I am still young. That many people wait for love, steady jobs, and/or a place to live before they marry. When I tell people that I probably won't get married until I'm at least 28 it a) scares me (so soon!) and b) sends them spitting down their dresses, hoping their daughters don't follow suit. I explained this all to my neighbor Gozel (Enejan's mother) after she encouraged me -- not for the first time -- to stay here and marry a Turkmen. When I finished, she shook her head and told me I have a "different head." I suppose the correct translation would be "different mindset", but somehow the literal "different head" seems more appropriate.Now, some girls do wait. Maybe their boyfriends are studying or working abroad. Bagul's cousin fell in love but the boy left her for another girl, now his wife. She waited until she was 30, casting away undesirable suitors until she broke down, tired of waiting, and settled for just being in like.After marriage, Enejan's next order of business is to get knocked up. Soon. If she isn't pregnant within the first two years or so of her marriage, suspicions arise. Her in-laws might take her to a doctor to undergo tests and determine if she's at fault. If the girl is infertile, the husband has grounds to divorce her and take another wife. If he's sterile the can "adopt" by buying a baby from a family member who already has enough children. If the women is infertile, she's of no use (although some men are more understanding and will still adopt). If it's the man, well, it's not really his fault. He couldn't help it.Women can be tossed from their married homes for less than that. The husband might decide that he doesn't need her. Or, maybe the mother-in-law thinks she's lazy or she sews too much or leaves the house too much. Grounds for removal. Of course, it's much more difficult for a woman to leave a man. And in either case, the man can easily re-marry. It's harder for the girl, who many will regard as second-hand goods. Friday night is Enejan's vecher -- the girl's wedding party. Two larger trailers are set up in the road. Inside one is a table for the bride and groom to sit at. The other, about 50 yards away, reveals a small stage with a a keyboard and ginormous speakers. The guests are invited to a meal at the bride's home after which they exit to the street for an evening of dancing. The musical entertainment consists of a couple of guys up on the stage playing a predictable line-up of music. Sometimes they even play the same song 3 or 4 times in one night! -- a big no-no at Home. The vocal tracks have all been altered so it sounds like the same nasal whine singing them all. There's a guy playing the keyboard and another singing. Although, if they walked away from the stage, the spectacle would go on without them. The whole act is just that -- an act: they're lip-synching and pretend playing their instruments.The bride and groom descend every now and then to dance among the crowd, but mostly they just watch, faces revealing no real emotion -- Enejan barely smiles. The women and men dance separately, for the most part. If they do dance together, it's a circle of men within a circle of women. Male dancing is particularly boisterous. They look like their doing a cross between the chicken dance and a River Dance. Not very attractive, and when they bust into the girls' circles, the girls generally drift away...The bride doesn't dance with her father or relatives. The wives don't dance with their husbands. And when the bride and groom do dance, they maintain a respectful distance between their bodies -- no slow-dance here. The following day has two separate parts: in the afternoon, the boy arrives at the girl's house to take her to his. In most cases, the couple moves into the boy's parents' home and the new bride immediately takes up the lion's share of the house work -- cooking, cleaning, and washing clothes. I'm not sure what happens when a family has multiple sons. I suppose the younger brothers have to find their own houses.The taking of the bride is so ritual that it is easy to ignore the video cameras and honking car horns and imagine the yurt-dwelling, nomadic society that began these customs. The bride eats one last meal with her friends and awaits the groom's arrival. She wears a traditional dress, her hair in braids, a scarf wrapped around her head. After the meal, she sits in a corner and cries.At first, I thought the crying was lame. A fake show put on by the brides because that's what they're supposed to do because it's been done that way since before anyone can remember. I thought, come on! This is so contrived -- weddings are supposed to be HAPPY! Then I realized that these girls are not as independent as my female compatriots and I are. They didn't go to college or summer camp. The most they've been away from home maybe is spending the summer with family in the city or other villages. If that. Now, they have to move into a strange house with people they barely know, filling a role they're totally new to. Of course they're sad. Of course they're scared. More than anything, this move signals the end of childhood for them.But Enesh doesn't just cry. She bawls, so much so that the doctor gives her a sedative. It is heartbreaking. I've been told many times that yes, the brides cry, but really they're very happy. Really. Frankly, I don't buy it. A happy woman's body doesn't collapse into sobbing while she waits for her husband. It looks the very opposite of the blushing bride to me. Enesh cries more than I did leaving my family, friends, culture and country to come to Turkmenistan, and she's just moving to the next village. A five minute car ride. A 10 minute bike ride. A 30 minute walk.The groom arrives for the bride flanked by family members cheering and the sounds of men playing drums and accordions. He enters the room where the bride cowers in the corner. A large embroidered coat is draped over her head and she's led out through the awaiting crowd to the car. (Can't you just picture this happening hundreds of years ago -- the arrival of one family to another's yurt, probably on horse-back, taking a much younger bride to a new home and to a husband she's probably never seen before? No wonder the women cried.)Kemal picks Enejan up. He frets that he has no flowers to present to her, but when someone locates a bunch of fakes, he just passes them off to someone else to carry. The jacket obscures Enejan's tear streaked face as they leave the room, wade through the on-lookers, and get into the car. They'll spend the next few hours driving around, honking the horn, announcing the marriage.Then Enejan heads to the salon in Kerki in order to be made-up for the boy's wedding the same evening. The ceremony is the same, only this time she wears a Turkmen rendition of a white wedding gown -- a gaudy outfit more appropriate for a Barbie than a real woman, studded with rhinestones and layers of sparkly cascading polyester. More food. More dancing. And then it's all over. Husband and wife. No crushing a glass, no exchanging of vows or rings. They don't even sign a paper until about 2 months later.Now her new life beings. And I hope that she's made a good decision. I hope that he is decent to her. I hope she is comfortable and content in her new home. I sigh and consider myself lucky. This way of marrying off daughters works for the Turkmen, and I know other cultures marry their girls at even younger ages to complete strangers, but I'm relieved that I don't have to face the same future Turkmen village girls do. I can wait as long as I want. Or, I never have to get married if I chose not to. And I can pick and be picky. I can find someone who shares my interests -- someone who skis, loves to read, and wants to travel the world with me. I have options and for that I cannot give enough thanks.Lots of love,Jess
Enesh doesn't love Kemal. Not really. Not from the heart. And certainly not in the romanticized way I think two people should love each other when they're about to get married.I've never met Kemal, though I've seen him across the crowded, too loud dance parties (aka walk around in circles waving your hands back and forth) that pass for weddings here. He doesn't have much to recommend him as far as looks are concerned. She's definitely a lot more attractive than he is. But she says he's a good buy and believes he'll treat her right.Bagul isn't so sure. She heard he's slept with other girls -- taboo in the oba. Whether or not it was before he began dating Enejan, I don't know. But he's a guy, so it doesn't hurt his reputation as much.I ask Enesh if she's happy and she says yes. But she says shes' scared and she doesn't want to leave her house and family. She'll be moving in with his family the next town over. She says to be sure to visit because she'll miss me.I tell her not to get married. I know she's only dated Kemal for about 9 months and in that time, they've only seen each other at parties and nights when he comes over and she sneaks out of her home to meet him, telling her parents she's coming to our house. It sounds like behavior more appropriate for teenagers. Enesh is 23. But, in a village culture where even the most innocent brush of fingertips can set the gossip mill running, the cover of darkness is the only time young couples have to spend together. I don't know what Enejan and Kemal do or if they talk. I don't know how well they know each other. I know that Enesh's friends, many of whom are already married, pressured her into marrying, saying, "When are you going to set the date? Set the date!!"So I tell her, don't get married. And she looks at me and says, there is no other option. Really, there is. She could wait and see if someone better comes along. Someone she could really fall in love with. But she fears the likelihood of that happening around here is slim. So she settles for good enough. Besides, at 23 she's getting up there in age as far as Turkmen are concerned. At 24 going on 25, most women cluck their tongues at me when, in answering their inevitable question, I divulge that I am not married. Their jaws drop as they try to regain their grip on reality. The next question is, invariably, WHY? I reply that in America, I am still young. That many people wait for love, steady jobs, and/or a place to live before they marry. When I tell people that I probably won't get married until I'm at least 28 it a) scares me (so soon!) and b) sends them spitting down their dresses, hoping their daughters don't follow suit. I explained this all to my neighbor Gozel (Enejan's mother) after she encouraged me -- not for the first time -- to stay here and marry a Turkmen. When I finished, she shook her head and told me I have a "different head." I suppose the correct translation would be "different mindset", but somehow the literal "different head" seems more appropriate.Now, some girls do wait. Maybe their boyfriends are studying or working abroad. Bagul's cousin fell in love but the boy left her for another girl, now his wife. She waited until she was 30, casting away undesirable suitors until she broke down, tired of waiting, and settled for just being in like.After marriage, Enejan's next order of business is to get knocked up. Soon. If she isn't pregnant within the first two years or so of her marriage, suspicions arise. Her in-laws might take her to a doctor to undergo tests and determine if she's at fault. If the girl is infertile, the husband has grounds to divorce her and take another wife. If he's sterile the can "adopt" by buying a baby from a family member who already has enough children. If the women is infertile, she's of no use (although some men are more understanding and will still adopt). If it's the man, well, it's not really his fault. He couldn't help it.Women can be tossed from their married homes for less than that. The husband might decide that he doesn't need her. Or, maybe the mother-in-law thinks she's lazy or she sews too much or leaves the house too much. Grounds for removal. Of course, it's much more difficult for a woman to leave a man. And in either case, the man can easily re-marry. It's harder for the girl, who many will regard as second-hand goods. Friday night is Enejan's vecher -- the girl's wedding party. Two larger trailers are set up in the road. Inside one is a table for the bride and groom to sit at. The other, about 50 yards away, reveals a small stage with a a keyboard and ginormous speakers. The guests are invited to a meal at the bride's home after which they exit to the street for an evening of dancing. The musical entertainment consists of a couple of guys up on the stage playing a predictable line-up of music. Sometimes they even play the same song 3 or 4 times in one night! -- a big no-no at Home. The vocal tracks have all been altered so it sounds like the same nasal whine singing them all. There's a guy playing the keyboard and another singing. Although, if they walked away from the stage, the spectacle would go on without them. The whole act is just that -- an act: they're lip-synching and pretend playing their instruments.The bride and groom descend every now and then to dance among the crowd, but mostly they just watch, faces revealing no real emotion -- Enejan barely smiles. The women and men dance separately, for the most part. If they do dance together, it's a circle of men within a circle of women. Male dancing is particularly boisterous. They look like their doing a cross between the chicken dance and a River Dance. Not very attractive, and when they bust into the girls' circles, the girls generally drift away...The bride doesn't dance with her father or relatives. The wives don't dance with their husbands. And when the bride and groom do dance, they maintain a respectful distance between their bodies -- no slow-dance here. The following day has two separate parts: in the afternoon, the boy arrives at the girl's house to take her to his. In most cases, the couple moves into the boy's parents' home and the new bride immediately takes up the lion's share of the house work -- cooking, cleaning, and washing clothes. I'm not sure what happens when a family has multiple sons. I suppose the younger brothers have to find their own houses.The taking of the bride is so ritual that it is easy to ignore the video cameras and honking car horns and imagine the yurt-dwelling, nomadic society that began these customs. The bride eats one last meal with her friends and awaits the groom's arrival. She wears a traditional dress, her hair in braids, a scarf wrapped around her head. After the meal, she sits in a corner and cries.At first, I thought the crying was lame. A fake show put on by the brides because that's what they're supposed to do because it's been done that way since before anyone can remember. I thought, come on! This is so contrived -- weddings are supposed to be HAPPY! Then I realized that these girls are not as independent as my female compatriots and I are. They didn't go to college or summer camp. The most they've been away from home maybe is spending the summer with family in the city or other villages. If that. Now, they have to move into a strange house with people they barely know, filling a role they're totally new to. Of course they're sad. Of course they're scared. More than anything, this move signals the end of childhood for them.But Enesh doesn't just cry. She bawls, so much so that the doctor gives her a sedative. It is heartbreaking. I've been told many times that yes, the brides cry, but really they're very happy. Really. Frankly, I don't buy it. A happy woman's body doesn't collapse into sobbing while she waits for her husband. It looks the very opposite of the blushing bride to me. Enesh cries more than I did leaving my family, friends, culture and country to come to Turkmenistan, and she's just moving to the next village. A five minute car ride. A 10 minute bike ride. A 30 minute walk.The groom arrives for the bride flanked by family members cheering and the sounds of men playing drums and accordions. He enters the room where the bride cowers in the corner. A large embroidered coat is draped over her head and she's led out through the awaiting crowd to the car. (Can't you just picture this happening hundreds of years ago -- the arrival of one family to another's yurt, probably on horse-back, taking a much younger bride to a new home and to a husband she's probably never seen before? No wonder the women cried.)Kemal picks Enejan up. He frets that he has no flowers to present to her, but when someone locates a bunch of fakes, he just passes them off to someone else to carry. The jacket obscures Enejan's tear streaked face as they leave the room, wade through the on-lookers, and get into the car. They'll spend the next few hours driving around, honking the horn, announcing the marriage.Then Enejan heads to the salon in Kerki in order to be made-up for the boy's wedding the same evening. The ceremony is the same, only this time she wears a Turkmen rendition of a white wedding gown -- a gaudy outfit more appropriate for a Barbie than a real woman, studded with rhinestones and layers of sparkly cascading polyester. More food. More dancing. And then it's all over. Husband and wife. No crushing a glass, no exchanging of vows or rings. They don't even sign a paper until about 2 months later.Now her new life beings. And I hope that she's made a good decision. I hope that he is decent to her. I hope she is comfortable and content in her new home. I sigh and consider myself lucky. This way of marrying off daughters works for the Turkmen, and I know other cultures marry their girls at even younger ages to complete strangers, but I'm relieved that I don't have to face the same future Turkmen village girls do. I can wait as long as I want. Or, I never have to get married if I chose not to. And I can pick and be picky. I can find someone who shares my interests -- someone who skis, loves to read, and wants to travel the world with me. I have options and for that I cannot give enough thanks.Lots of love,Jess
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Melon Day
Melon Day was Sunday, August 9th
Hey folks! Well, I'm back into the swing of things in Turkmenistan. The last week went well and everybody missed me so it wasn't too bad. I still miss my Mom and my daily gelato, but that's the way vacations go -- they end. Anyway, yesterday was Melon Day in Turkmenistan. Supposedly there are many varieties of melon in T.stan, but truthfully, I've only seen two: watermelon and another football shaped honeydew-like melon. And, in fact, at my family's home, we've only eaten watermelon. It's really popular -- tractors with wagons teeming with watermelon trawl the streets honking their horns to attract customers. You can buy however much you want right in front of your home. It's like our equivalent of an ice-cream truck -- only watermelon! In my family, we eat watermelon every afternoon somewhere between 4 and 6 depending on when my host mom gets up from her nap. And, because they're Turkmen, they eat their watermelon with bread. My host mom thinks it's very strange that I don't each much bread at all, and since I came back I've been eating even less. And I would definitely not eat bread with watermelon -- weird taste combo. That's culture for you. So yesterday, as usual, I sat down to my afternoon snack and she offered me bread and I declined. Then, she started telling me about a group of doctors from T.stan who visited the States two years ago. They were impressed by our hospitals and our hospital beds (they go up and down at the touch of a button!), our cities, our "bazaars," our hotels -- everything. They said it was amazing -- you could get anything you could possible want ... EXCEPT Turkmen bread. They missed their bread and no rye or pumpernickel or zucchini or banana or pumpkin or foccacia or French loaf would suffice. The wanted Turkmen bread cooked in a Turkmen tamdor (clay bee-hive shaped oven). Turkmen are serious about their bread. Now, I would argue that it's not very open-minded -- just because we aren't ritual bread eaters doesn't mean our bread isn't good. But hey, what do I know? Zohre (host mom) told me that these people were also surprised that there are poor people living in the streets in America. She said, "We don't have that in Turkmenistan!" Which I guess is true -- I haven't seen any except for the beggar kids at the bazaars in the city who burn grass in your face and try to get money for you (the grass is supposed to be good for you somehow -- same stuff my host sister burns at home -- but I hate the smell.) In T.stan, I have a feeling that if anyone finds themselves homeless, someone in the extended family would take them in -- one of the benefits of ginormous family circles. I've also heard that the government "hides" them, so there's that possibility, too. But it got me thinking, how is it that Turkmenistan does homelessness better than we do? (assuming the destitute aren't "hidden") And then I remembered that their population is only about 5 million people (the government says 6 million -- it's debatable) and that seems like a much more manageable figure than 330 million (give or take). Anyway, it was an interesting conversation and I actually enjoy talking to my host mom when she's not nagging me (a lesson well learned: I hate it so much that I will strive in my life to never be a nag ... or at least not as bad as she is -- she nags me about stuff weeks after the fact. AH!) However, she ran out of stuff to say and by the third time she started repeating the story I got up and left. So yeah, that's Melon Day for you. There was a party last night that I decided not to go to -- I asked my sister if they'd have all sorts of melon to eat and she said no. It's just like any other party: same food, same people, no melon. In honor of melon day, make a nice fruit salad. Know what melon they DON'T have here? Cantaloupe. Mmmmm, I love cantaloupe. Enjoy your week!Hugs,Jessica
Hey folks! Well, I'm back into the swing of things in Turkmenistan. The last week went well and everybody missed me so it wasn't too bad. I still miss my Mom and my daily gelato, but that's the way vacations go -- they end. Anyway, yesterday was Melon Day in Turkmenistan. Supposedly there are many varieties of melon in T.stan, but truthfully, I've only seen two: watermelon and another football shaped honeydew-like melon. And, in fact, at my family's home, we've only eaten watermelon. It's really popular -- tractors with wagons teeming with watermelon trawl the streets honking their horns to attract customers. You can buy however much you want right in front of your home. It's like our equivalent of an ice-cream truck -- only watermelon! In my family, we eat watermelon every afternoon somewhere between 4 and 6 depending on when my host mom gets up from her nap. And, because they're Turkmen, they eat their watermelon with bread. My host mom thinks it's very strange that I don't each much bread at all, and since I came back I've been eating even less. And I would definitely not eat bread with watermelon -- weird taste combo. That's culture for you. So yesterday, as usual, I sat down to my afternoon snack and she offered me bread and I declined. Then, she started telling me about a group of doctors from T.stan who visited the States two years ago. They were impressed by our hospitals and our hospital beds (they go up and down at the touch of a button!), our cities, our "bazaars," our hotels -- everything. They said it was amazing -- you could get anything you could possible want ... EXCEPT Turkmen bread. They missed their bread and no rye or pumpernickel or zucchini or banana or pumpkin or foccacia or French loaf would suffice. The wanted Turkmen bread cooked in a Turkmen tamdor (clay bee-hive shaped oven). Turkmen are serious about their bread. Now, I would argue that it's not very open-minded -- just because we aren't ritual bread eaters doesn't mean our bread isn't good. But hey, what do I know? Zohre (host mom) told me that these people were also surprised that there are poor people living in the streets in America. She said, "We don't have that in Turkmenistan!" Which I guess is true -- I haven't seen any except for the beggar kids at the bazaars in the city who burn grass in your face and try to get money for you (the grass is supposed to be good for you somehow -- same stuff my host sister burns at home -- but I hate the smell.) In T.stan, I have a feeling that if anyone finds themselves homeless, someone in the extended family would take them in -- one of the benefits of ginormous family circles. I've also heard that the government "hides" them, so there's that possibility, too. But it got me thinking, how is it that Turkmenistan does homelessness better than we do? (assuming the destitute aren't "hidden") And then I remembered that their population is only about 5 million people (the government says 6 million -- it's debatable) and that seems like a much more manageable figure than 330 million (give or take). Anyway, it was an interesting conversation and I actually enjoy talking to my host mom when she's not nagging me (a lesson well learned: I hate it so much that I will strive in my life to never be a nag ... or at least not as bad as she is -- she nags me about stuff weeks after the fact. AH!) However, she ran out of stuff to say and by the third time she started repeating the story I got up and left. So yeah, that's Melon Day for you. There was a party last night that I decided not to go to -- I asked my sister if they'd have all sorts of melon to eat and she said no. It's just like any other party: same food, same people, no melon. In honor of melon day, make a nice fruit salad. Know what melon they DON'T have here? Cantaloupe. Mmmmm, I love cantaloupe. Enjoy your week!Hugs,Jessica
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