Current Tajik pop begins and ends with Shabnami Soraya. She’s the Madonna of Tajikistan, the reigning pop diva. This song is a great party-starter. The chorus means, “everybody clap!”

Karcak-Shabnami Soraya

Next on the list has to be the up-and-comer Nozia Karamatullo. If Shabnam is Madonna, Nozia is Britney Spears, just before she lost the nice girl image. She’s taking the country by storm, while slowly shedding the unibrow-sporting, traditionalist image she started with. This song never fails to make me happy.

 Track 05-Nozia

Daler Nazarov is a Tajik singer-songwriter with more high-art pretensions. He’s kind of the Bob Dylan figure of the Tajik scene, in that everyone pays lip-service to his songwriting, but the kids don’t listen to him anymore. Nevertheless he continues to do cool things. He composed the soundtrack to the excellent film Luna Papa, which was directed by his cousin Bakhtior Xudonazarov. This song is from the album he released in the wake of that film:

Mastam-Daler Nazarov

I’ll finish this Tajik pop overview with one of my personal favorites. This song by Suhrob Otaev is one long love letter to oshi palav, the Tajik national dish. It’s a good example of the over-the-top techno-borrowing that is taken to an extreme in a lot of tracks. But I like this one. The chorus goes, “Everybody knows it! Everybody eats it! This delicious thing, oshi palav!”

OSHI PALAV-Suhrob Otaev

So that’s a taste of Tajik pop. Hope you enjoy it. I know I do.

My students at American Corner:

Including these break dancers, who performed at my goodbye party:

Naturally, my host bro Amirjon:

And the rest of the host family. Here is Nasim and Mansura, making osh–another thing I miss:

And my Tajik grandmother, Mukhadas, with the finished product:

I think I can honestly say that I’ve never said goodbye more times than the day before I left Khujand. But that’s the way of it. If it’s not worth missing, then it’s not worth visiting. That’s what I say. So goodbye, my friends! I miss you. But that’s a good thing. It means we meant something to each other.

The travels begin next post.

A word to any Tajikistan travelers who might come across this site: my happy homestay is open to you as well. I’ll be leaving this place in 3 weeks. I can’t believe 10 months has gone so fast. But more on that later. Nasimako, Amirjon and the rest of the family are hoping to attract a few people to their place in the future, so here’s a little advertisement:

Here’s the place from the outside. And here’s my room. It has its own shower.

Moreover, we just installed a water cooler! Check out Nasimako lovin’ on some bottled water.

So, theoretical googler of “homestays in Khujand” or however else you may see this, I recommend staying with tne Nuriddinovs. I stayed here for 10 months as a Fulbright Fellow and the family was remarkably hospitable and helpful. So if you’re headed through Khujand, contact Amir (who knows English quite well) at (+992) 92 777-6114. Or e-mail him at amirnuriddinov[at]gmail.com or contact me by commenting on this blog.

Rohi safed! (may your road be white)

O how the mighty have fallen. 2 days ago during the night, a crane came and took down Mr. V.I. Lenin from his place of prominence. I tried to get a good picture of his empty pedestal, but a policemen saw me and blew his whistle, waving me away from the scene of history. So this picture from far away is all I got. Here’s to the old fella. May he rest in peace.

We’ve known for months that Lenin’s time on the pedestal dominating the city were numbered. Every few weeks I hear a rumor that they are finally going to begin taking him down. But now it seems the process is actually begun. Starting with his feet, apparently. It’s difficult to tell, but it seems that the screen around the great leader’s boots conceals the beginnings of his demolition. Feet first into the future I suppose.

Here Amir gestures to the great communist himself, exhibiting the grandeur of his decay.

And yes, here I am, in all my Obama t-shirt glory, heralding the new age of capitalism. Shortly after this immodest display Amir and I were accosted by an irascible caretaker type who tried to weasel money out of us for “illegally” taking pictures. He threatened to call the police, but we stood firm, knowing it was an empty threat–if the police came they would take the bribe money for themselves. Eventually we pretended to delete the photos and walked off. Paradoxically, after he realized he could wrangle no money from us, he called out, “come back when it’s finished! Rohi safed (white road–a blessing).” It was as if his natural hospitality finally overcame his lust for bribery. Oh Tajikistan. Always an adventure.

Once the park surrounding the statue is remodeled the pedestal will be the new home of a statue of Ismoili Somoni. It’s going to look great actually.  Workmen are already tracing murals  along the stairs approaching the pedestal. But I think I will be in America by the time it finishes. As with any project like this, the finish date is supposed to be Independence Day, September 9.

As with anything like this, I cringe a little looking back on poems I wrote a few years ago, but I quite liked the work Justin did with the pieces. It’s a flattering thing to see one’s work used this way. So here they are, with the text following each composition. (note: In Praise of Forgetfulness underwent some editing, so the text here may not match word-for-word with the sung text)

In Praise of Forgetfulness

This patterned absence: shadow leaves on snow,

a strain of music on the wind, a wisp

of scent you lose in passing. Subtle gifts

are given in his place, and somehow known

as traces, tracks left by some animal,

who, great as men are great, would naturally

impress himself on his surroundings, I

reason, not willing to admit that all

the tears aside a door will be a door

without his heavy knock, a book will be

a book without his voice.  The way I see

him missed in his apartment’s dusty floor

persists, as dust persists, but then again

did not the dust itself once pass—to man?

After the Ascension

Angel: Why stand you staring after him?

He’s gone but he will soon return again,

And you will drown in floods of glory when

He rends the earth’s thin veil, but do not swim,

Inhale. Yet while you breathe stale air, I say:

Do not forget what wonder round about

Enshrines your dry dust path. Soon you will doubt,

It will be long, you will not know the way

But do not be so foolish as to think

That dust is dust, and not the stuff God’s hands

Made into you, that man is only man,

And not the image of the great unseen.

So now go forth, shake temples, shudder kings.

Go forth! This world must shatter ere it sings.

This may be old news for some of you, but the big scandal in the world of relief and development also happens to involve some places not far from my location here in Tajikistan. Greg Mortenson, founder of Central Asia Institute and author of the best-seller, Three Cups of Tea–which I read not long before beginning my own adventure in Central Asia–has been accused of both fraud in the way he operates his organization and deception in the books he wrote.

The point-man for the Mortenson attack is none other than Jon Krakauer, of Into Thin Air and Into the Wild fame, who also happened to be a financial supporter of Central Asia Institute before becoming increasingly dissatisfied, and finally disgusted, with the way Mortenson ran the organization. Krakauer went so far as to do his own investigation on the matter and publish the results in an e-book entitled Three Cups of Deceit, which I read when I should have been making lesson plans.

Krakauer’s book breaks down into 3 accusations (the titular “three cups” I suppose):

1. In Three Cups of Tea, Mortenson lied about his time in Pakistan in order to make the story more dramatic.

2. He subsequently engaged in fraud by misallocating large amounts of donated money.

3. His program’s model was unsustainable, leading to a number of “ghost schools” which are no longer in use, including one in the Wakhan corridor which had featured prominently in the plot of Mortenson’s second book Stones into Schools.

The first of these is the one most commented on in the media, though I think the second and third are far more troubling. But no one likes swallowing a tall tale, especially one as feel-good as Three Cups of Tea. Let’s be honest, Three Cups of Tea is very effective. It’s an inspiring story, with a great sense of dramatic timing and a flair for suspense. I couldn’t put it down. But sadly, some of the key events are apparently fabricated. Specifically, Mortenson claimed to have been nursed back to health in a village named Korphe after failing to summit K2. This event is central to the myth of Mortenson the humanitarian. But Mortenson’s porters and climbing partners contradict his story. It seems he actually never set foot in Korphe until after the K2 attempt, once he had already raised the money to build a school. The Korphe nursed-back-to-health story was a later fabrication to make CAI’s beginnings into a more exciting narrative.

Krakauer uncovers other apparent fictions in Mortenson’s two books, but even more saddening to me is the misuse of donor funds and the unsustainability of his program model. Krakauer accuses Mortenson of using funds donated to CAI in order to promote his books, definitely a fraud since the profits from both books go to Mortenson’s private account, not CAI. This is extremely disappointing, and reveals an incredible lack of accountability within CAI’s organization. According to a former CAI staff member quoted by Krakauer, Mortenson “regards CAI as his own personal ATM.” That’s hard to defend, and Krakauer makes his case persuasively.

The third accusation is that Mortenson’s organization is operating in an unsustainable way, building schools but not properly providing them with teachers or materials, thus leading to “ghost schools,” empty of both teachers and students.

It’s apparent that it is difficult to gain accurate information about CAI’s effectiveness. Krakauer alleges that one of the schools which features prominently in the story arc of Stones into Schools– a school in the village of Bozai in the Wakhan Corridor region of Afghanistan–has in fact been left empty. He also cites various former employees and a anthropologist doing research in CAI’s program area, who claim that many other schools are also empty, being poorly planned, underfunded, or not supported sufficiently by either CAI or the local communities. These allegations can only be cleared up by a full program assessment by CAI, which apparently has not been done, a sign that their manner of operations does not meet the standards of most major aid organizations.

All of this information is, of course, very disappointing. I loved Three Cups of Tea. But looking back, there were danger signs, if I’d been critical enough to recognize them:

1. Never focus on the white guy with the savior complex. The good things in the world of aid and development happen because dedicated local people work in cooperation with expats who have the humility not to act like they are rescuing the “natives” from ignorance.

2. Never oversimplify the situation. Having lived in Central Asia for almost a year now (which is certainly not enough to make me an expert), even I can see that Mortenson’s claim to be rescuing children from radicalized Islam is little more than a dramatic conceit. The regions CAI works in are generally peaceful and heavily Ismaili, a sect I’ve written about before, known for their tolerant, even pluralistic brand of Islam. Mortenson claimed to have a unique insight into Islam, but actually oversimplified the religious landscape of Central Asia.

3. Never expect results too fast. Mortenson’s meteoric rise as a public figure could only create false expectations of what his fledgling organization could accomplish. I hope that CAI continues to build schools, once they figure out how to overcome the baggage left by their charismatic but dishonest leader. But it will take time, research and investment to make a real difference in the education system in rural Afghanistan and Pakistan. This kind of thing does not happen overnight. A real functioning school is not bricks and mortar, it is a social contract made by a community. CAI should seek to facilitate this development, not just throw up buildings.

My final thought on this is that I hope this scandal does not keep people from supporting legitimate organizations which do good development work in the Muslim world. I know from my experience here “in the field,” that the real work of development can often look different from the promotional brochures. But the two organizations that I have spent time with here, MercyCorps and Operation Mercy, have both impressed me with the work they do on the ground. As a matter of fact, if you are reading this and you want to support an initiative that is doing real good in the area of health and education, contact me and I can give you the information on Operation Mercy’s HINT (Health Initiative for Northern Tajikistan) Program, which is currently seeking funding.

The best part was when this old guy stepped into the ring and demanded to be allowed to participate. Some consternation ensued until applause erupted from one side of the field and another old man was thrust forward as his opponent. They wrapped these cloth bands around each other and tried to throw each other to the ground:

It ended in a tie. But everyone seemed to agree it was a good laugh, and they both got prizes.

By the time Navruz itself rolled around, my good friends Drew, Mark and David had arrived for a visit. We spent Navruz Eve with my host family. Naturally, we had what every Tajik feast requires: big plates of osh.

But things got more raucous than usual. We turned on the music channel on TV and everyone started dancing. At the commercial break, the family asked us if we could sing an American song. We froze. The only thing we could think of was the national anthem. So, hands over our hearts, we sang it. Then they sang the Tajik national anthem.  Good times had by all.

Then we hopped in a car and went to another house where we got to stir a giant cauldron of the traditional Navruz dish, semalak. Semalak is basically a big kettle full of wheat sprouts, which you stir and stir for hours, then let burble all night until the starches caramelize and it turns into a brown, sweetish pudding. This all night affair provides an excellent excuse for the youth of Tajikistan to party way later than their usual bedtimes. Dancing and flirting ensued such as I have never seen in this country.

Navruz, by the way, is an incredibly ancient holiday thought to have been established by Zoroaster himself, who may have lived anywhere from the 18th to the 6th century BC. In old Persian Navruz means “New Light,” though in Modern Persian, “ruz” has come to mean “day.” In Iran the pronunciation has changed from “Nav” to “Now,” though in Tajikistan they have preserved the “nav” from Ancient Persian, which is cited as evidence that Tajik is the modern dialect closest to the Ancient Persian language.

Navruz corresponds with the festival of Purim in the Jewish calendar, the celebration of the time when Esther saved the Jews from extinction. There is some speculation that this festival is influenced by the Persian Navruz, and/or that the events in the book of Esther took place around the time of the Navruz festival.

So happy Navruz everyone! Since March 21st, the days have been getting longer and the sun has been getting warmer, which is enough to make me celebrate.