The cow next door sounds like its trying to deliver a calf. Its been in agony since early this morning. Chasing mosquitoes at 4am is not fun, but that is the coolest time of day. By nine am, my walking path is a snake-like meandering along patches of shade on the road. I don’t break into a sweat if I keep my snail’s pace.
Last month, Adijon’s old Hakim (Governor) got booted by the President for charges of corruption (how ironic), so now we have a new Hakim for the Andijon oblast (state). All of sudden there is money now for general public spending – like cleaning up the old city around the bazaar and improving the public transportation system. I did notice when I first moved here three months ago that there are no, or very few, buses in Andijon, but I didn’t really question it since there are flocks of little Damas (tiny taxi mini-vans made by Daewoo in Asaka, right outside of Andijon) and marachukas (larger taxi vans) along every main road. There are so many that sometimes you don’t know which one to stop in fear of having all of them run you over as they jostle one another – its pure road rally sometimes. Anyway, when I wandered out yesterday, I noticed that signs in the Damas lowered their price by a third of the previous price. Hmm – I wondered? So I wandered up to a group of idle drivers and asked – Why? Apparently, the new Hakim will be buying brand new Mercedes buses for the major routes throughout the city. Hurrah – should I think? But what will happen to all the Damas and marachuka drivers, who have now become my friends, a welcome familiar face? They are probably still trying to pay-off the purchase of their vehicles. My host sisters think they will just become drivers for the new buses, or they will maintain their routes and take passengers who demand more expediency than lumbering buses. Then I’m reminded that Tashkent operates similarly and think that buses will be good for the city. Job loss is the number one problem here, especially since Daewoo stopped production on their Tico line. Personally, I don’t want to have more unemployed, restless young Uzbek men hanging around street corners harassing me out of boredom and frustration.
Managed just now to successfully cook a pot of fluffy white rice, yeah! What it took was buying “California” brand rice from the U.S. that is distributed by a company in New Jersey. I tried to ask the store merchant yesterday why he has a burlap bag of American rice to which he only replied with a coy smile. I just hope it hadn’t been diverted from food relief programs across the boarder or anything like that.
Now that I’m cooking on my own again, I’m starting to get a feel for what I really want: olive oil, tuna fish, parmesan cheese, Chili powder, Italian herbs, and pesto will start my list. Friday night I cooked for twelve PCV’s whom I invited over from around the Ferghana Valley region. They took advantage of the refuge from their kishlocks (villages), their host-families, or their no gas/no water apartments. We chatted away the night while cooking together, doing their laundry in the full-cycle washing machine, and taking showers and baths. Some clothes I haven’t washed since arriving in Uzbekistan six months ago, like my corduroys and jeans.
Will have another gathering for the 4th of July – wish I had requested sparklers and bottle rockets in advance. Oh well – we’ll just have to make our own fireworks – the Uzbek way!!!