To Khiva

Doug and I went to Khiva Saturday. Khiva lies west of Tashkent (about an hour by air) near Urgench. As with much of Uzbekistan it is full of history and beautiful buildings.

 Most impressive to me was the amazing patterns of blue, green and white tiled walls of the madrassas (schools), the elaborately painted tri-panelled ceilings that looked down on these walls and one mosque that was full of 230 intricately carved wooden columns. The artwork is truly stunning. I could have taken hundreds of pictures just to try and capture each pattern represented. Symbolism is rife in the patterns. Our guide, Timur, pointed out that the figure that we, unfortunately, know as the swastika is an old Zoroastrian symbol innocently present long before the nazis. If you looked closely you could also find figures of Hindi gods like Shiva and Ganesh, the Christian cross, Star of David, arms and fingers reaching up in praise and, I’m sure, many hidden symbols - the meanings of which have yet to be disciphered. One column combined the various religious symbols signifying man’s unity. Supposedly the meaning of that was not made known when it was originally carved as that would have been met with ugly opposition. I wish more of our world were ready for it today.

I need to develop a better attitude towards vendors. I tend to shut down when people are shouting at me and pushing goods in my face, even when I am interested in buying something. I wanted to buy some Christmas gifts while in Khiva. Doug and I were looking for some decoratively carved cutting boards we had seen earlier. One young woman started in on us to come closer and look as she named all the things she had - even though they were in plain sight and we were already looking at them. He told her we were looking for cutting boards, which were not in sight. She said she had some. In the meantime another woman said that she had cutting boards. Doug went one way and I went the other to see cutting boards. Though pretty, they were poor quality, barely sanded smooth and unfinished. The woman who was showing Doug the boards kept yelling at me to get my attention. I ignored her as I was with someone in conversation. At one point she yelled in an ugly tone of voice, “Get over here!” She did this twice. We left. Earlier the silk vendor Timur introduced us to came over to us humbly, looking a little embarrassed at the attention and with a slight smile and showed us into his shop. I liked him. Even if I hadn’t been looking for suzani, I would have just wanted to buy something from him. I bought three suzani. I wish I had more language skills to tell that woman why I’d never even consider buying from her. I also wish I had a better attitude towards these people who work so hard, earn so little and are so desperate to prove themselves.

In the week leading up to the trip I read “A Carpet Ride to Khiva” by Christopher Aslan Alexander. He lived in Khiva for seven years and would probably still live there had he not made himself unpopular with the corrupt politicians he encountered. He started a carpet school/shop with high standards of using natural dyes and old school methods of weaving and pattern seeking eventually becoming the largest employer in the area. If you’re curious about the history of the area and life today I recommend reading his book. It is witty and informative without going overboard and helps develop perspective on the differences between our cultures. Some things you read will be disturbing like it’s illegal to beat your wife - in public. The government corruption is so rampant you may find yourself angry for these people. I can understand how lying is so prevalent, understood and accepted here.

I have often found myself wondering, “How, in this day and age, can anyone . . .?” Someone I shared the following story with said, “Well, until they (the Uzbeks) decide that they don’t want to live that way anymore, that’s what they’ll have.” As though they can change it by admitting that they don’t want to live that way. I have a short answer to that. There was a horrible massacre in Andijon in 2005. There was a protest over the bogus arrest of a prominent citizen. The people (mostly women with their children in tow) gathered outside the prison and waited asking for his release. There are many versions of this story. They were peaceful and unarmed. Tanks were positioned ‘just in case’. Depending on whose version you believe, some radicals heard of the peaceful protest and showed up. Eventually gunfire broke up. The tanks were moved in and indiscriminately gunned down everyone they could. Official death toll was 169; eye-witnesses put it in the area of 500-700. Quite a difference. What is unfathomable to us is that people in Khiva (and other parts of Uzbekistan) didn’t even know what had happened for some time. News programs are regularly blocked in Uzbekistan.The people had no way of knowing. The government regularly runs programming that features people (often children) singing songs about Uzbekistan. They are kept ignorant. The writer had access (somehow, that’s unclear to me) to BBC and knew of the uprising. It could be a simple matter of cable being too costly for the average citizen, I don’t know. I do know that certain internet sights remain blocked. Today news sights that have news of this area are blocked, Google maps is typically blocked, some American newspapers are blocked (sometimes by article; sometimes the entire sight), local newspapers are about four pages long and are full of editorials that pass as articles about how good the Uzbek government is. For their recent 20th Anniversary celebration a program was run on (and on and on) television of a split screen; half showing riots in France, half showing people picnicking in a Tashkent park, half showing the twin towers being attacked and half showing people playing music on the street in Tashkent. The message: life is good here; you don’t want to go there. It’s really unbelievable, but it’s true.

Ignorance here goes deeper than political and world news. I asked a woman in the gym bathroom recently how her exercise went that day. She said she didn’t exercise because she was on her period. I just said something like, ‘yeah, sometimes I don’t feel like it either.” She waited a minute then asked if it was okay to exercise when on our period. Yes, I assured her, we can. This woman was about 30. I have often alarmed the cleaning crew when, after I exercise, I stand in front of a fan to cool down. They worriedly tell me that I'll get sick. Every time I cough, my Russian teacher feels how cold my water is because they believe drinking cold water will make you sick. Sometimes it's funny, but, really, it's sad that they are kept ignorant to a large degree.There are some horrifying stories in the book about medical practices here.

Since leaving Khiva I have learned that some of Uzbekistan (excluding Tashkent) is limited to two or three hours of power per day. This goes on while the government sells power to neighboring countries. This goes on during the scorching summers (most homes have no air-conditioning anyway) and the frigid winter.

It amazes me that they not only survive, but they can create such beauty as we saw in Khiva and as we see in the local bazaars. I wish that the players of the Uzbek folk music with the rapid fingered rhythms of the doiras, the singing and whining of the gidzhak (a small violin-like instrument played in the lap like a cello) and the strumming of the dutar (a long, narrow, two-stringed guitar-like instrument) and the dancers didn't have to put up with this nonsense. And I wish that the people I've met at the Embassy, our compound and the nearby shops had the freedom to access information so they can have the knowlege to form informed opinions and safely voice those opinions.

Mostly, I wish that our world's leaders would know when it's time to step aside. I wish this could be seen as an act of wisdom instead of weakness. (Think of George Washington when he said, after being asked to serve a third term, that two was enough for one man.) I look forward to a day when the power of wisdom eclipses the power of might and the influence of wealth.

I Know an Old Man

I know an old man who’s quickly aging. His eyes won’t see what they used to see. His ears won’t hear what they used to hear. His knees are tired of supporting him. His breathing weakens when it used to be strong. Of course this didn’t happen all of a sudden, yet it did.

When his car doesn’t work, he has no problem taking it back to the dealer and paying to have them fix it. When his body doesn’t work he waits for it to fix itself. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn't. I hope he’s learning to take his body’s concerns to his Maker and his Maker’s assistants (otherwise known as doctors) even though it’s not easy.

It’s okay today for a man to acknowledge fear, but he’s still not comfortable admitting his fears. It’s okay for a man to be sad or frightened, but it’s so much easier to be angry.

I wonder if he remembers all he’s seen through those failing eyes. I hope those pictures are alive in his sharp mind. I wonder if he remembers all the voices and sounds he’s heard through his deafening ears.

May the music of his life play on in his mind to the end of his days.

When his strength is gone will he recall all the jobs he labored at? All the sports he played? Does he know that it’s okay to rest now?

Does he know how vital he still is? Does he realize how many people want to hear his stories? Does he really believe that it’s never too late to learn? What a difference he would make in the lives of others by setting such an example as taking a class.

When he considers his regrets in life, does he realize that he can still repair some relationships or do some deeds left undone?

Does he know that seeing apology as weakness is old school? That we’ve evolved past that and realize the strength it takes to admit wrong doing and say “I’m sorry?” I hope he knows by looking at others’ lives that sometimes one’s regrets are regrets to them alone; they don’t affect other people as may be feared. Even genuine regrets may have some good repercussions as we learn from each other.

I think he grew up in a time when a man worked hard for a good life; now he sees so many people with easier jobs and fewer home responsibilities that require their own hands and time. While that’s encouraging and impressive, I think it can brew some bitterness. I hope he knows that it’s okay to let someone else help him around the house today.

I hope he knows that in accepting help he’s also helping.

A busy month

October was a busy month at the Embassy. Earlier there was a concert by a popular group that has been performing together in Uzbekistan for something like forty years. Many people were invited and hundreds showed up for the outdoor show on a perfect weather day. I learned that I have a long way to go if I really want Doug to become an Ambassador some day. I need to work on my public face. The first song performed (by a warm-up singer) was New York, New York. It was so schmaltzy and sung to pre-recorded music (a pet peeve of mine). I was glad that I was seated behind the stage while I laughed and reached for my earplugs. Why was I seated behind the stage, you many wonder? Because the Uzbeks (as well as Americans and probably the rest of the world for all I know) have one volume for music and that is ear splitting, skull cracking, teeth rattling LOUD to the point of distortion. There is absolutely no pleasure in listening to it even if it’s good music well performed. Then out came the dancers! I just had to go look. Think of your average upper aged, sheltered, traditional housewife doing an interpretive dance to Dr. Phil and you’ve got a good idea as to what I saw. To be fair I should mention that I am not a dancer for many good reasons and I don’t attend dance shows so my knowledge of dance is very limited. Many people love the traditional Uzbek dance and these young women did it well, I think. It’s just not my thing. I can’t watch it with a straight face yet. I imagined myself as the wife to the Ambassador who some may be looking at to see what I thought of the performance and I tried to put a light smile on my lips. Then I remembered that I’m not the wife of the Ambassador and why torture myself? At least the main group performing had instruments to play. I heard rumors of lip synching, but who knows? So far, outside of Doug’s and my music lessons, we have only heard one performance without an electronic 70’s disco drumbeat thrown in. It’s sad because the traditional music has such appeal.

I’m writing this on Sunday, October 23 (posting it on Thursday November 3 - I'm slow). This morning the Embassy had its second visit by Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. She was in town from Afghanistan and Tajikistan to meet with President Karimov. She also met with some local civil rights groups at the Embassy and visited a women’s wellness center the opening of which she attended as First Lady. She was late in getting to the Embassy. We had a long wait and I was glad that I brought some homework to do. I was amused at one of the hold ups. She was given a gift in Tajikistan just before departing. She was given a gift of 1,200 pounds of fruits and nuts. On the one hand, how kind and generous of them. On the other hand what in the world did they think she would do with such a gift? If she had been able to take it on the plane with her everyone would have had to eat, I don’t know, 30 or so pounds of fruits and nuts each! She offered to pass it on to the local U.S. Embassy, which apparently offended the gift givers. I don’t know how they got out of that one.

The weeks leading up to such a visit are quite busy at the Embassy. People’s work loads increase greatly. People step in to do extra jobs to prepare for the visit. They attend to the pre-arrival staff of Secretary Clinton, set up a control room where she and her staff will be staying and keep in close touch with Washington and her staff which means people like Doug checking his Blackberry whenever he awakens during the night. I walked into his office one day and he had two phones, an active radio and his Blackberry – three of which were going off while I was there. He was sort of rewarded this visit, however. Last year his boss was out of town and Doug was so busy running not only his section but others that he never even got a glimpse of Secretary Clinton. This year it was requested that he ride in her motorcade. I think all that meant was that he got to glimpse her several times while he ran the motorcade, but at least he got to see her.

That night we had what is called a ‘Wheels Up Party’. After everything is over with at the Embassy and their responsibilities with her visit have come to an end, we celebrate.