Kamila, Morhu, Munira

Morhu et sa famille, quartier Tekstil à Douchanbé.

The rest of the museum is a series of rooms containing some rare dusty evidences of a Greco-Bactrian distant past. There are few visitors. The light in the showrooms is switched on and switched off as the visitor move along. Going back disrupts the staff and leads a certain wrath. Except for Kamila, who works at the cashier and incidentally serves as guide. She is from Rushan, a Pamir city where she is going to go in a few days for holidays. It takes more than 10 hours to go there. Kamila is a young woman acceptably modern. The tradition, all right, but not too much. If she listened to the Tajik tradition, she would be already married, would have two children and would live at her parent-in-law home. But she is Ismaelian, has studied for Bachelor's Degree in History, works temporarily in this Museum of National Antiquities and would like to continue her studies abroad. She hesitates to answer when I suggest that I would like to travel with her to the Pamir region. She does not know the word "tapshan" but when I describe the thing, she says that the good word in Tajik is "kat".
- The word was used in the distant past to denote the stone base on which the king was sitting, assures the graduated in History.
A stone base ? Like the one of Tamerlan in Samarcande ?
- In Pamiri, we say "manja".
But which Pamiri ? There are five different dialects in Pamir. The dominant dialect is the Shugnani.

During French course at Bactria, where I participate in a discussion with the students, I meet Munira and Morhu. They live in Dushanbe or nearby and suggest me seeing their house. Munira teaches French at the School of Diplomacy and Morhu at the Foreign Languages Institute and they continue besides Linguistic typology studies. They are both votaries of the tapshan. Associated with the shade, it is practical, fresh and propitious to daydreaming and rest, they claim. Once the course is finished, Mohru calls her mother to warn her of my visit. We walk to her district. It is where are the best chachliks restaurants in Dushanbe, she tells me. But the district, which adopted the name of Tekstil after the installation of a Soviet industrial complex, is especially affected by the presence of a noisy and polluting expressway. The cars are racing on this way just a couple of doors from houses. The air has a hot metal taste. By contrast, Morhu's house is pleasant. A well maintained garden with flowers, a kitchen garden and a great tapshan at the honor place. When we arrive, Morhu's dad is in discussion with one's friend. They do not hesitate to cut off and invite me to take place. Zohir is veterinary. He is no longer treating himself animals, or rarely, and he teaches now his art to his less experimented colleagues. He is a thin man about 45, wearing the traditional skullcap, gloomy and severe expression. Shortly after my coming, he apologizes because he has to go to the mosque for the evening prayer. Morhu brings pillows and invites me to seat comfortably while her mother is serving the tea, the plov, the salad, the melon and the candies. Zohir comes back shortly after and we have dinner both. The women have dinner aside.
- When the guest is not a relative, the women are not authorized to share the meal, will answer me Morhu after I will have mentioned it to her.
After the meal, they join us, Morhu, her mother and her young sister busy with her computer. At the end of the meal, we leave after Zohir told me I was always welcome.

Chez Mounira, à Buvak, à proximité de Douchanbé.

Mounira

The following Sunday, I find Mohru again in the Vadanosos Bazaar and we go together to Munira's home in Buvak about 15 kilometers from downtown. It is a hamlet short of the road which follows the river Varzob. All her relatives lives in this village for a long time and almost everyone has the same surname. The property is classic, simple, a L-shaped house, a garden. A canalized stream crosses through it in passing under the house and under the tapshan. This one is slightly raised because the slope and the stream. Munira invites us to take place. She is a joyful girl, often accompanying her sentences with one of her beautiful infectious smiles. Her parents are both Math teachers, the father in a military enterprise, the mother at the University. He comes to greet me and discusses a little bit with me.
- The Tajik society, he tells me, is lagging behind. Not because of the communism but because of the religion.
But himself is a devout Muslim. Things, according to him, are going in the right direction and the country is on the path of democracy. Europe is a model. He apologizes for not sharing the meal with us because he has to work on the extension of the house. So I have lunch, this time, with the girls. Munira's mother has prepared for us salad, braised pepper and manty.

What memories do they have of the war ? For Tajikistan, the first years of independence were a tragic time during which a particularly virulent civil war claimed the lives of more than 50,000 people between 1992 and 1997. This war has deeply damageg the political and economic organisation of the country and the identity of the nation.
- I remember the tanks on the road, says Munira. There were no fights here. It was in Gharm region.
- My parents went to Darvoze, says in turn Morhu. It is a city near the Pamir mountains. I remember people in the street, a lot of people, the rationings for food. We needed tickets. A bread per day for a family of four people.
- Are you interested in politics ?
- I hate ! Munira exclaims. The first of the problems for a Tajik, it is to get money to live normally. I want to live my life to the fullest. But my job, it is the SMIG !
- And what about the music ?
- Hip-hop and R’n’B. But I also like the Pamirian music of Daler Nazar and the Tajik singer Jurabek Murod.
Munira is a fan of Édith Piaf. She can sing by heart Je ne regrette rien and loves the movie made by Olivier Dahan. Morhu prefers Rihana and Eminem. After the meal, we walk around. A cow herd grazes quietly next to the stream which go down the hill. Each inhabitant possesses two or three cows left in the care of a guardian who brings them to graze. Before, tells Munira, we had a small garden. But the water destroyed it. I gladly would stay all the afternoon in a so delightful company but Morhu has to return home to help her sister for dinner preparation. Her husband organizes an evening for his friends.
- I do not want to live like my sister, tells me Morhu. She is an obedient housewife who prepares the meals, does not work out and keeps silent.

More photos Duchanbe