Men and Women

The dad thinks my name is Norma, because that’s what all the paper-work said, and I think in this patriarchal society it’s a bad idea to correct him (I think I’m the only one that could, and I’m too scared. I think my chance is gone anyway – since I didn’t correct him the first few times, it would look kind of weird if I did the third, randomly). And so I am Norma, in silence. And that’s how I get introduced. Fariz kept calling me different Tajik names that he could actually remember – first Anura, and then a really weird one like Nodira or something, and then he just called me Fatima – no idea where he got that one from. We played ball for a while. It was really neat seeing how they all interacted, especially with the little kids. The grandpa and dad were very affectionate, and often held and bounced and kissed the little guys. And then handed them back to the ever-ready mother and grandmother. There was a very strict imaginary line drawn between the house (where the men lounged in the living room, watching football and every once in a while emitting a “URAA! GOAL!”) and the courtyard, where us women-folk lounged watching the babies. A few times Jamilya went over to the open window and watched the game through it as she rocked the baby. But they kept the door (normally open) closed and the men just came out sometimes. Whenever the men came out and walked over to the porch, Farzona would immediately get off and let Firdaus get on, for instance, and just stand nearby rather than sit with him. Apparently her story is that they fell in love when he was a security guard nearby the house. Their parents let her marry fairly happily, without any kind of fuss that I’ve heard about.

Supeh fun day! It started out unusually. None of the girls were at home, and so I went out for breakfast and just saw some nan on the table, and a thing of sugar and a tub of butter. Hai, ladno, I thought (hai is a Tajik word, meaning something like “okay” or “whatever” or a myriad of other things – it can mean whatever it needs to mean for the context, they say it ALL the time, even in Russian speech) I’ll just eat some bread for breakfast and be done. Then I went to the store to get some stuff. When I came back it was about 10 am and the dad was like, “hey! Where’d you come from, I thought you were sleeping in there! Mom told me to make you breakfast”. I told him I’d eaten, but yes of course I’d eat again. So when I found him in the kitchen he said he was about to make me an egg. That was one of the craziest things I’d encountered yet – besides SEEING him in the kitchen, where I think no man has ever stepped foot before – since I’d especially never seen him in the kitchen cooking. So I offered to cook my own egg. “For my daughter, I will cook an egg”, was his reply. I was touched by the sweetness of his offer, but then shook myself awake and told myself cynically that the offer was just him being a gracious Tajik, and offered again to make the egg myself, at the risk of offending him. Okay sure – go right ahead! Ha, I was right in my guess, he succumbed easily even for a Tajik – normally you’re supposed to wait for the third offer before you agree to something that you want to agree to in the first place. So I fried myself an egg in the inch of oil he had heated up on the stove, and my heart was warmed by the fact that he probably would have fried me an egg, had the circumstances been more extreme. That was the most interaction I’ve had with him yet.