Category Archives: Friends
16 Diram
Today I was taken to the villages surrounding Khujand to research the gender equality status quo from the point of view of the local government. My ambassador was the great and wonderful Malohat, possibly my favorite co-worker, who has lived in Spitamen (the name of the district) for most of her life. At the moment, Malohat lives with her family in Spitamen and commutes into the city (30 minutes by mini bus) each day. Not only does she know the area well, she also speaks near-perfect English, Tajik, Russian and Uzbek (all necessary for the task). Read the rest of this entry
The Root Cause
What is the root cause of gender issues nationally, internationally, in the private sphere (home), and throughout the public realm (professional & public sector jobs, on the street, in the market, at schools)?
Last night I had dinner at a friend-of-a-friend’s, now my friend’s, house. As we dinned over our scrumptious plov, paprika tomatoes, bread, and pomegranate juice, the conversation took to what we each did professionally in Tajikistan. As you know, I work at Saodat, a local human rights group focused on creating a more equal and just Tajikistan. As you also probably know, equality, justice and gender issues are a hot topic in almost any country (for some reason privilege and the sharing thereof makes many people nervous … hmm I wonder why?).
So we’re sitting there chatting and eating, sharing about our lives, when the conversation turns to what we each think of the gender issues in our native countries (USA, Canada, Tajikistan all present at the table). Jamie, psychologist from Vancouver, Canada, asks, “What do you think the source of all our gender issues are? Politics? Religion? Family dynamics? Education?” The conversation paused … and paused … and, not loving silence, I blurted out, “All of them!”
Now I turn the question to you … What is the root cause of gender inequality in the world? In your nation? In your community? In your home? One source, or all of them?
12 Hours of Tajikistan
One word: Whirlwind
One thought: The adventure don’t stop
I knew Tajikistan would be a bit of madness when I arrived at my gate in the Istanbul airport. The idea of an orderly line and boarding groups were not an option. In one big herd everyone struggled onto the plane, and then struggled even more to load the 100 ‘personal items’ into the overhead bins. Never, and I mean never, have I been on a flight with so much overhead bin congestions. Literal madness. Add to the brimming luggage bins, the demands for seat changes and the kid rolling down the aisle in those shoes with wheels in the soles (PS: I hate those things).
Funny story: In the row just in front of me this woman requested to sit in the aisle so as not to be positioned between two large men. Read the rest of this entry
Fez, Morocco
Last of the pictures from Morocco. I have so many stories. Not even sure where to start. I’ll just throw one out there …
In Fez, Mike (my travel friend) and I went to hammams. Say what? A hammam is a bath, kind of along the lines of the Roman or Turkish baths. Basically you go to these places for one of two reasons; (1) to get pampered because you are a rich tourist looking for an escape from the chaos, or (2) to get a deep clean if you are a local in need of a bath.
Mike and I stayed at a great riad (Moroccan bed and breakfast) run by this young guy that spoke perfect English. On our last day I knew it was now or never so I asked the riad man to help us find a local hammam. No problem, he said. Off we went to our respective hammams (men and women are in completely separate locations). Our plan: Do our business, meet back at the riad with details of the experience, grab some dinner. My experience went as follows:
Our riad man walked me to the hamman, yelled into the doorway and negotiated my rate/service with the ladies. I was ushered in. I was immediately asked if I spoke French or English. English please. Didn’t really matter, they didn’t speak a word. I was told to take off my clothes and put them in the waiting area where all the other ladies’ things were and everyone was chatting after their bath. I wasn’t sure how naked ‘all of it’ meant, so I just threw caution to the wind and went for it … yep, I was totally nude and loving it. Unfortunately, I learned later that ‘all of it’ meant ‘take everything but your panties off’. Long story short, I took that hammam to a new level of risque.
My new best friend, the women who was to bathe me (I paid extra for this), took my hand and walked me through the hammam to my little corner. If ever there was an odd couple it would have been us; Me: tall, relatively skinny, and white/blonde as could be; and her: short, very curvy, and nicely tanned olive-kissed skin. I was then politely told to stand in my designated spot as my lady went to get buckets and a wash-cloth thingy. After what felt like an eternity standing there completely naked in sauna type heat/humidity as others passed by to get more water from the fountains (yes there are two fountains, one hot and one cold; amazingly simple, functional and beautiful), my lady finally returned with her equipment. She then stripped down and began the service.
Imagine this, me completely naked sitting on the floor as another women, naked except for her little panties, bathes me. To be honest, this felt a little bourgeois but I went with it for the sake of cultural experience. The first step was this wash-cloth loofah thing. She scrubbed and scrubbed until what can only be called the first layer of my skin came off. Yes this hurt a little. Once my body was a new shade of bright white, having the tan rubbed completely off, I was then given a soap bath which entailed my lady giving me a deep tissue massage at hyper speed using a bar of soap rather than massage oil. At one point I was lying with my stomach on the tiled floor and she was sitting on my butt as she cleaned/massaged/beat (whatever you want to call it) my shoulders. This was a whole hell of a lot to handle. Please add to the picture the fact that this lady was a big woman and her weight was a lot to bare, literally, while lying on my belly. After the soap it was time for the hair washing and brushing and then a number of rounds of bucket showers to get all the grime off. I was then ushered out by my lady friend.
In reflection, I was quite scared to do this, but am so so glad I did. It was overwhelming being the only white, foreign woman in what was clearly a locals’ place. I didn’t speak the language. I didn’t know the rules. But you know what, it turned out great. My lady even helped me put my bra on at the end of the treatment (I didn’t ask for this help, she just offered and did). Needless to say, there was some serious sisterhood in there. I may not have looked like a local, but I sure felt connected to them.
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