Tajik Turbulance #14
Culture shock exhaustion syndrome
Sometimes, you just need to vent. I won’t bury the lede this time. Living in poverty grinds away at one’s humanity. It is a luxury to be kind and considerate. Or at least, it comes easier when you’re not worrying about the basics of human survival, like electricity, water, and safety. I came to understand this better from both perspectives: being a foreign visitor who can ultimately leave a shitty place, or those consigned by destiny to stay.
I recently spent time in southern France. The food, beaches, well-cared-for ancient ruins, and modern museums were all as lovely as rumored. The assistance for handicapped people was extraordinary. The roads were well-paved and in good condition. There were roundabouts all over. These are great inventions that imply mutual understanding and agreement of mutual rules that benefit all. Roundabouts are the essence of civilization, and France is full of roundabouts.
I can’t help but compare this culture to my experience in Tajikistan. I have yet more perspective now as to why some countries lack roundabouts, but it’s worth revisiting what it’s like to live in a world without them. Let’s look back 14 years to an autumn in Dushanbe.
12 December 2010
In the words of my wise mother: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. I have not posted in a long time. For some reason, despite life continuing on as it always has here, something snapped inside me and I have only been able to see the bad things. Every little thing began to annoy me, from the very sounds of the Tajiki language (caveman-like) to everyday aspects of life in this city have the potential to make me apoplectic.
Other frustrations: Potholes, open drainage ditches, where walking at night you could fall and break a leg and then die of exposure because the temperature drops 30 to 40 degrees at night. At night, they burn the leaves and garbage here in those same drainage ditches.
Now that the weather has gotten cold, the electrical outages have started. I went to the gym in an attempt to improve my mood through exercise and take a nice long shower, and the electricity went out when I was midway through my shower. For those who do try to refrigerate properly, the electrical outages make it all a joke. Sometimes, I think it’s “opposites day” here every day. The raw meat sits out on the table, and the fruit gets refrigerated. The light switches are on the outside of the bathrooms. The hot water is on the right, and the cold on the left of the tap. That is assuming there is hot water because they use electricity for heating and cooking here. I heard that in all the other areas of Tajikistan, except for Dushanbe, they have never had continuous electricity, and maybe not even running water.
I know I should be grateful, but for some reason, the psychological factor is prime. If for days you have what seems like a first-world life going on, and then one important cog in the machinery of the first-world life comes undone—electricity or water—it comes as a shock. I know that people who live under such circumstances develop patience and endurance—a quality Americans could learn from, but I am taking my sweet time learning this patience. It’s deceptive to go to Segafreddo Café and order a glass of Merlot and a steak, check your email, and then, the next hour, go home to no electricity.
The phrase Inshallah is used often here and in the Middle East, meaning God-willing because every day, human plans and designs are thwarted. If we have homework, we will do it, Inshallah, because perhaps we’ll get home and the electricity will be out, and we won’t be able to get the internet to do our research or take a hot shower. I’m learning to keep a flashlight right by my bed and in my big black Chinese purse in order not to fall into the ditches in the dark.
Oh, and I haven’t even mentioned the packs of dogs that roam the streets at night. There have been several incidents involving these dogs. One friend fell into a ditch and bruised up her legs while trying to get away from them, and I have at least five new gray hairs from one encounter where my adrenaline level spiked in a very unhealthy way.
It has rained only once or twice since I arrived in September. This has its upsides, like laundry drying quickly and my hair not being frizzy, but this city could really use a nice shower right about now to wash away all this dust. Walking down the street, your freshly polished shoes immediately get covered in dust or mud. I’m all whine lately.
What is this dark pit of pity and negativity I have fallen into? Things aren't so bad—at all! As with most things, God helps those who help themselves, and so I have tried to climb out and force myself to reform. The inner perspective is always more important than the external circumstances—something so obvious I can’t believe I need to be reminded that it still applies to my life, every day, day after day.
In fact, I was tired of my life back home working in an office, and so I said to myself: “Self! Bring on the adversity of the Third World!” Now here I am, walking down the street when passing people who think that listening to their music on their phones really loud is cool. No, it is not; I want to shout. I know, I know, they just want to control the soundtrack to their lives...but I want to scream at them, I don’t want to hear your music!1
The other day, I was standing on the sidewalk chatting with my friends, and a group of young people walked by, and one guy belched really loudly right as his head passed mine. For some reason, this tipped me over the edge, and I shouted out—Ewwww! They just giggled and continued walking. Some of my fellow students have similar stories of encounters with locals, which seem to turn hostile. One guy almost got into a fight with some men standing in line at a café. Not being able to control much in their lives, I imagine the occasional belch against a foreigner is all they’ve got.
The men continually shout out, “Hello, how are you? Where are you from?” when they notice us foreigners passing. Sometimes, we’ve tried telling them that they’re being rude, but it never works. One of the female students in our group had a gang of six-year-olds harass her when she was walking through an alley and refused to answer them, shrieking, hello hello, hello! They followed her and kicked her bag, which had her computer in it. Now we know: always answer children when they shout. Ignoring children is never a good idea, and in this country where adult supervision is only applicable within view, the consequences of this type of parenting and of ignoring children are of a “Lord of the Flies” quality.
So, how am I to regain my equilibrium and positive outlook that I used to pride myself on maintaining? I tried never being at home to hear the latest tale of tragedy, sadness, or arguing from my host family. I tried eating out at the best restaurants, and now I've gotten 'farbeh' after all. I tried the Tajik “white chai” (vodka) and the Russian beer, but I just got even fatter and hung over. I went to the disco and danced away my worries—but I had my camera confiscated by some scary Russian security guard and got a sinus infection from the smoke. I visited the Russian-style baths to wash away my troubles, but within a few hours, I was tired again.
It’s time to reopen the book on heart meditation—because I fear I have become tiny-hearted. An excellent expression from the military, which means just that—I don't have enough space in my heart to take all these many difficult, obnoxious, smelly, dirty, dysfunctional aspects of life here in stride anymore. Even the sound of children playing in the street makes me want to put my earplugs in. The good news is that I'm leaving on a much-needed vacation over Christmas to the States to gain perspective and reassess my priorities. I also have a grocery list of things to bring back here:
Enthusiasm.
Patience.
Tolerance.
More earplugs.
Febreeze.
Incense.
Lint roller.
Yoga videos.
Board games.
Dried oregano, basil, and rosemary.
Parmesan cheese (there are some expat Italians who would pay good money for Parmesan here).
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Thanks for getting this far, gentle reader. Let’s hope my next post finds something more positively entertaining to say about my study abroad. Meanwhile, here’s a photo of me posing with Soviet detritus in Shahritus, and a grainy video of our drive there.
Fast-forward 14 years, and guess what—everyone does this now! In Berlin, there’s always someone listening to music in the park or on public transportation, forcing you to hear the soundtrack to their life.