OVIR

OVIR registration

In the short play, “No Exit,” Camus paints a picture of what Hell actually is as being stuck in a room with people you don’t like—forever. Although I like his analogy, Camus did not know about OVIR, the civil registration service that still exists in parts of the former Soviet Union. Imagine an organization with no real purpose, no accountability, and the power to kick you out of the country if you don’t please them (within 72 hours of arriving in Tajikistan).

OVIR is a leftover of the USSR, when you were registered at an address and you had to get permission to move. It controlled the labor force, essentially preventing mass migrations that would undermine the planned economy. It continues to exist today probably in order to employ several thousand workers at, likely, between $20 and $80 per month (a gross estimate of government salary ranges). This is not enough money to live on, so the public is obliged to provide the remainder of the wage. That is: the government pays a part of the worker’s salary, and when you encounter that worker in the registration process, you are given the opportunity to provide additional financing for that individual’s salary, directly, with an amount decided upon by that worker which is going to be commensurate with the worker’s eye-ball estimation of your wealth. For this reason, and the uncertain timeline and outcome of each step, OVIR resembles Camus’ room.

Lonely Planet recommends avoiding, at all costs, registering by yourself. Of course, I went there alone. At the window, the worker told me I needed a picture. I went across the street to an entrepreneurial 14-year old’s shop and he took a visa picture of me. I went back to OVIR and gave her the picture. “You need a copy of your passport.” I went back across the street to the same shop and got a copy of my passport made. Back to OVIR. “You need your landlord’s signature.” I called her and she came. “She needs a copy of her passport.” She went across the street. “Now give me 5 somoni ($1.10) and go to this other branch of OVIR. You can’t get registered here.” The windows through which you speak to the workers are particularly small, I think to prevent two arms from reaching through to the neck of the OVIR official.

OVIR also requires an HIV/AIDS test. Diana and I both got tested in the States prior to leaving for Tajikistan, because I had read about this requirement. During the registration process, I was not asked about this because I’m on a shorter visa, temporarily, until I extend it for the entire year. Diana presented her results to OVIR when they told her it was mandatory. They looked at the paper, dated mid-August (just three weeks ago), and told her she had to be tested here in Tajikistan. One might think that being married and having a recent negative result from a reputable laboratory might be enough, but Tajikistan requires its own test. I am now looking forward to re-registering with my longer visa and receiving additional reassurance that I am HIV-negative. At this rate we’re being tested faster than those in the adult-film industry.

Ramazan

Since we arrived, until the 21^st of September, it had been Ramazan, which meant that many Tajiks were fasting from morning until evening. Cafes and restaurants were generally slow during the day, but at 7pm they began to be flooded with people. Not everyone is expected to fast here, for example children and students, or those who are ill or diabetic, do not fast. There are many adults who also don’t fast during the day.

Everyone, though, celebrates the end of Ramazan with a large feast. Yesterday, the 21^st, everyone cooks tons of sweets and food and opens their house to guests to come and share. One of my tutors invited us to her house, and we visited for a while, during which time we were fed cake, soup, bread, sweets, an oily-spiced-bread-ball (?) and tea. At one point when I had nothing on my plate left, our host explained that Tajiks like to fill-up their guests, so if one’s plate is clean it should be re-filled. This had been the custom in Armenia, also, and even though I had been brought up to ‘clean my plate’, I eventually adapted. Switching between American and Caucasian/Central Asian customs takes a concentrated mental effort before it becomes habit, and I realized that I have a lot of adjusting to do here in order to: 1) not offend people and 2) feel comfortable in my interactions with Tajiks beyond just the language.

Finding a new apartment

Before coming to Tajikistan I had arranged to rent an apartment for the month of September with the possibility of extending the lease for the entire year. The previous Fulbright student that I got in touch with recommended the apartment because it was decent and had electricity year-round. Electricity can be a problem in the winter here, because everyone heats using electricity since gas is supplied from Uzbekistan only when relations are good, and relations change seasonally. The utility service cannot meet the winter demand for electricity, so they brown-out sections of the city at different times, rationing the supply.

We’ve spent the last two weeks unsuccessfully trying to find out what sections of the city are more or less prone to having their supply shut off. Landlords swear they have electricity year-round, while lay-people say it doesn’t really matter where you live, or that the center is better than the outlying suburbs, but the center loses electricity sometimes, too. Recently, an expat told us that even in her very expensive apt, they lose electricity regularly during the winter, and that expats in $1500 per month apts lose theirs, too.

So we decided to rent a place that is very inexpensive but a nice apt, just outside of the center, and if we have electricity issues in winter, we’ll use our savings to take a vacation to Goa, India. It is warm there.

In an interesting coincidence, as we were viewing the apt that we would eventually take, we walked into the bedroom and on the bookshelf was, “Introduction to Biostatistics”, typically a book only MPHs are interested in. Then on the wall I saw a diploma from Johns Hopkins University School of Public Health. It turns out the landlord is in the same field as I am, and he’s currently in London doing a PhD. I hope to contact him and chat a bit.

Every Sunday, year-round, a woman named Gulya organizes hikes to different parts of the country surrounding Dushanbe. I had arrived early Saturday morning and was still jet-lagged, but decided that the hike would be worth it, and perhaps tire me out enough to sleep through the night. The description in the expat newsletter sounded beautiful--the hike would start at almost 3000 meters (10,000 feet) and climb up to a pass at 3500m, past alpine lakes and streams. I would also meet other foreigners and hopefully make some friends in an unfamiliar city.

Saturday night I hoped I could sleep and get some rest before the hike, but at 1:30am I woke up and was unable to get back to sleep, so I got up and studied Tajiki for an hour and then fell asleep for a little while before my morning alarm went off. I forced myself to get up and organize all of my hiking gear. I hard-boiled some eggs, grabbed a piece of bread and the snacks I had purchased for lunch and headed out the door. At the meeting point, there were already about ten people waiting. I introduced myself and met Swiss, French, Germans and Hungarians. British and Americans came later as the crowd started to grow, and by the time the trip leader arrived we had become a group of about 50 people!

There were to be two hikes, because there were not enough 4x4s to take everyone to the higher trailhead. I had signed up late and was scheduled for the lower, easier hike. This hike would be more appropriate for me, since I had just arrived from sea-level and hadn't acclimatized or been at altitude in a long time, and I wasn't exactly in tip-top shape. However, being me, and with Diana arriving only in several days and therefore unable to talk sense into me, I requested to switch into the higher, more difficult hike if there was room. After dividing the group into cars, there was room in the back of a Land Cruiser for me!

The back of a Land Cruiser may not sound like the most comfortable place to sit for a 2.5 hour trip on windy and bumpy roads. However, I lived in Shamb and rode Tigran's marshrutney weekly, a trip on which little children inevitably threw-up and from which everyone exited with a thick coat of dust, feeling ill. The back of a Land Cruiser is heaven. I jumped in and hoped that I wouldn't get altitude sickness at 12,000 feet 3 hours from a polyclinic on my second day in-country.

The ride to the trail was beautiful, and our driver was the wife of the director of the Swiss development agency and had been in Tajikistan for several years. She pointed out interesting sights along the way and seemed to know a lot about the country. We were one of about seven cars headed up to the mountains for the trip, and many had diplomatic plates. To Tajiks we passed, it probably looked like a head of state's visit, but inside the cars were a bunch of raggedy hikers, not suit-clad politicians.

The first hour was nice, on a paved road, but after that it got bumpy and slow, although I was feeling fine when we got to the trailhead. One of the guides said there would be two groups: a fast group and a slow group. Good, I though to myself, I'll be able to take it easy. About fifteen minutes into the hike, though, I was behind the main group but ahead of several people when another guide caught up with me and asked, "So what have you decided? Will you go up with us or not?" I had assumed I was in the slow group, but apparently there was only one group that was going to do the while hike, and I wasn't in it!

"I'm going," I told him, and picked up the pace, which was tough, because there didn't seem to be much oxygen and I was already breathing consciously. After a couple of minutes I caught up with the group, who was taking a break. As I took off my pack to grab some water, the guide at the front said, "ok, break's over, time to go!" and everyone up and left. I swigged some water, put the bottle back in my pack, and found myself at the back of the line again, racing to keep up. This happened basically everytime the group stopped. It was like an army march, with only quick short breaks, and if you're the last in line, the break ends as soon as you arrive, meaning there's essentially no break for you. After this happened to me a few times, I took off ahead of the main groups before a break was over, arrived early at the next break spot and sat down exhausted, my first break in about two hours.

Resting felt good, and allowed me to take in the scenery around us. It was beautiful.

Although talking and hiking and the same time was a little difficult in the thin air, I was managing to hold half of a conversation with some Hungarians who were volunteering long-term with Habitat for Humanity in Dushanbe. I also met a British journalist who edited the Odyssey guidebook for Tajikistan, a huge, 700-page tome with some great information for those looking for hiking and climbing beta, or just to find out more about the country than you'd be able to from a Lonely Planet or Brandt guidebook. I'm hoping to meet one of the authors, who worked for the Aga Khan health service in the Pamir mountains and is arriving here in two days.

About two-thirds of the way into the hike, I was completely exhausted. There was little air to breathe and my legs were obviously not used to hiking uphill. I considered calling it quits. Gulya would likely run the hike again, and I would probably do better to let my body relax instead of go higher and risk altitude sickness. I had been drinking lots of water, though, a good defense against AMS, and I didn't even have a headache, which I usually get when hiking up high. What the hell, I figured, and continued climbing. Let's see what happens.

When we got close to the pass, the path was covered by snow. It felt good to be on snow in September, something I haven't had the good fortune to do in a while. I felt a burst of adrenaline and sped up the final hundred meters. The view was worth it.

The mountains surrounding us topped out at about 4400m, small for Tajikistan. Yet there were alpine glaciers running off from multiple sides, and the peaks were jagged and steep. I couldn't help but imagine the possibilities with some more time, a tent and some climbing gear, and it was all I could do to keep myself from doing the Homer Simpson drool.

Everyone hung out at the top for a while, took pictures, talked about the possibility of continuing down the other side of the path to another village some kilometers away, about how tired we all were but glad that we had made it. After 15 minutes we had to begin the trip back down, in order to make it back to Dushanbe before evening. The trip was a great introduction to Tajikistan's natural beauty, and I'm looking forward to getting outside quite often!

Dublin and Riga

This is my blog for our one-year stay in Dushanbe, Tajikistan, while I carry out public health research on a Fulbright grant. That grant actually begins in November--until then I’ll be studying the Tajiki language on another State Department grant.

Disclaimer: I haven't figured out how to arrange pictures yet with this blog, and my internet connection is relatively slow, slow please excuse the fact that I've just left pictures kind of hanging around all over the place.

I arrived in Dushanbe early (read: 3:10am) Saturday morning after three consecutive overnight flights from America to Dublin, Ireland, then to Riga, Latvia and finally to Dushanbe. Diana will arrive here on the 10^th, on a much more convenient itinerary. State Department regulations about which airlines I could fly with government money effectively prevented us from travelling together, however this way we were able to squeeze in more baggage, which helps when you’re trying to move with only 20-50 kilograms of stuff.

My itinerary left me with extended layovers in Dublin and Riga, and I left the airport for the cities both times. Upon check-in in Boston, since I was traveling on two separate tickets, I asked the Continental agent if I could make sure my bags were transferred in New York, because there would be no opportunity to wait for them if they didn't make it to Dublin. He said, "Well where are you traveling on to? Are you on Continental?" "I'm going to Tajikistan on Air Baltic." He just looked at me blankly.

My bags did arrive safely in Dublin. I somehow managed to place myself in an exit row seat without paying an extra fee, so I was able to sleep a little bit on the flight. The next two legs would be on Air Baltic, a European low-cost carrier. "What's your final destination?" asked the ckeck-in agent. "Dushanbe." Another blank stare. C'mon, people, don't you know where your own airline flies to? After checking in I headed up to the gate area, wondering what the crowd would look like on this route. Do Dubliners visit Riga? Would there be Central Asians returning home on routes similar to mine? Actually, when the gate area filled up, I ended up feeling like I was in Russia. From the language to the style of clothes to the way the line formed in several different directions as soon as the gate agent announced the boarding process, it seemed I had already left Dublin.

Air Baltic has low baggage weight limits, and carry-on bags could only be 8kgs (17lbs). I found out why when I boarded the plane—there wasn’t even room to put my bag under my seat! My knees did fit behind the seat in front of me, luckily, although the guy next to me kind of spilled over into my seat. All of a sudden the plane was moving away from the gate—no announcement or anything—and we were taking off. It was like a marshrutney of the skies. There were food and drinks available for purchase—not even water was free on this four-hour flight. I’d had quite a bit before take-off, so I just closed my eyes and kept my elbow clear of the aisle as the flight attendants raced through them without much care for passengers.

I got a fair amount of sleep on the flight, but I was still pretty tired walking around Riga in the early morning. The flight had gotten in at 6am, and having not eaten a proper dinner, I was looking for a place to sit down and chow. The only thing I found open, though, was a combination coffee/sweets shop. I asked the girl at the counter if they had decaf, because I didn't want to mess up my body's clock any more than it would already be. She said no, but she could put water in the coffee if it was too strong for me. "No, I'll just have a regular coffee, then." Later that day I stopped at the same cafe to pick up some water on my way to the airport, having wisened up to Air Baltic's no-service policy. The same girl was there, and she asked how I liked Riga, and why I was going back to the airport after only a day. I told her Riga was beautiful (which it is!!), and that I was headed to Dushanbe, Tajikistan. Yet again, the blank stare.