I was alone in the hospital the day after delivery, and I wondered if my
family knew I had delivered at all. The midwives asked me the same
and it was more than a little embarrassing. The hospital asked for 500
soms (around $10), and this surprised me. I did not pay a single som
for the delivery of my first son in Bishkek, so I came to the hospital
with no money. The nurses explained to me that government subsidies
were too small, so they needed to charge this small amount. But what
is small for some, is too much for others, and the nurses told me that
some women now chose to deliver at home.
On the second day after delivery my husband came with his mother.
They brought me flowers and a bottle of champagne – this is what we
usually give to doctors and nurses in the hospitals after delivery. Bakyt
looked good. I was relieved that they finally came to see the baby and
me, and that they paid the hospital fee. Bakyt tried to be funny and
said that he was going to stay for only a half an hour. Our daughter
came to this world to stay for many years, he said, and his work could
not wait a single minute.
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Most women rested in their beds, and some of them walked with
difficulty. They carried their own shampoos and soaps brought from
home.
“Don’t forget to pick up your shampoos and soaps,” the nurses warned
us like little children. “We will not be responsible if somebody takes
your belongings from you in this hospital.”
But, there was not much to be taken, either from us or from the
hospital, and most women arrived like I did - with soap, slippers and a
prayer that everything was going to be fine for our babies.
Three days later, my mother-in-law accompanied me home. My
mother was already there to welcome us, and she had prepared a
beyshik
beyshik for the baby. She blessed it with the smoke of archa (native
tree), wishing my baby good health and long life, and said “Menin
kolum emes, Umai-ene, Batma, Zooranyn kolu.”
They prepared tumar for my daughter, which are talismans for good
luck. We keep them all our lives. My sons glimpsed at their little sister,
then continued watching television with the other children; they did
not understand the meaning of a newborn in the house.
Guests came to greet us with compliments and good wishes for the
baby. Our relatives brought korunduk, little presents for the right to
see the baby for the first time. My mother fried boursak (fried dough)
and prepared much food. After the relatives arrived, the neighbors,
their children, and all those curious came too see the new baby. The
birth of a child is the biggest joy and it holds a special place in Kyrgyz
tradition. I was glad that my daughter and I were among so many
relatives in our own home, and that we had all their attention. This was
so much more pleasant than my lonely time in the rented apartment in
Bishkek after the birth of my first son.
***
The day after my return from the hospital, my husband told me that
he was going for a seven-day trip to Latvia with his friends. His plan
was to buy a cheap, used car - much less expensive than the ones from
car dealers in Kyrgyzstan. Baltic car import businesses were popular
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at that time, and most cars were brought to Kyrgyzstan from European
countries. Bakyt said that the first car in one’s lifetime was a serious
matter, so he had better choose right.
Our baby girl was two-weeks-old when he returned with a bright red
Mazda and parked it in front of our apartment building. He did not
even look at his daughter, but instead he wanted me to look at the car
as he spoke about the borders he crossed to get it. He described his
long, three-day drive to Latvia, and the adventures of driving through
Ukraine and Russia on the way back. But, he proudly noted, what are
six days of hassle for such a good car? I noticed that the Mazda did not
have backdoors, only two in the front, so I asked him how he thought
that our three children might get into the car. He got angry and told me
that I was stupid to be critical of such an ideal car, which had taken
him so much time and effort to get. I reminded him that he needed to
wait only six days to get a car, while I waited nine months to deliver
our daughter!
“Oh, you stupid woman, you don’t understand anything,” he snapped.
The following months, while I stayed at home cooking, washing and
breastfeeding my newborn, my husband drove around in his car. He
never helped me with the children, but he never failed to wash the
car or to double-check that he had locked its doors. I tried to excuse
his behavior by understanding that he had had his children early, or
because we had married young, and that he probably had not burned
out his energy of youth. Wise women say that men have to do this, or
they cannot settle down after they marry. It was especially hard for me
to admit to myself that my husband was not a good family man.
I suffered much because of the way Bakyt started ignoring me more
and more each day. As a child, I was the only girl in my family,
and used to having all my father’s and brothers’ attention. Oh, how
different Bakyt was from my own father, who always had time to
talk and to put me on his lap. I could not talk about this problem with
anyone in my family. My mother would tell me to respect my husband
and my new family. But, who was my new family now? All I had were
my small children. My husband was away all the time, and his mother
was a career woman, more interested in her work than in us. I loved
my husband, and I thought that it was best to keep my feelings inside,
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and to wait for him to mature and change. After all, he was the father
of three children and hopefully he would realize the importance of that
responsibility.
I believed that I could rescue myself from these worries if I finally
started working. It was important for me to have a good reason to
leave the house and see people outside of my apartment. The same
week, I went to talk with a Russian man who had promised me a job.
He knew my father well because they had worked together in the
government guesthouse, and remembered me as soon as I called him
and told him my name.
I was happy to be on the same land where my father had worked and
where his work and memory were still respected. Remembering my
father, the Russian man told me how well he had maintained the land,
and how the wild animals he brought in had reproduced very well.
Their numbers had increased to the delight of foreign hunters. The
man also showed me the plants and trees planted by my father, where
important guests enjoyed open nature and easy hunting.
The two-storey guesthouse looked nice from the outside, but it was
rather basic inside. In any case, the inside of the house was not
important because the guests were brought from Bishkek to stay
only a few hours, to kill animals and to have a meal. Then, they were
brought back to Bishkek to return home. The paperwork required
by government regulations was much more complicated than all the
work needed to serve those few rare guests. I was told this by the tired
Russian man, who looked much worse than when I had last seen him
with my father. He explained to me that he did not have anyone in
Russia to go to, like the other Russian workers who had left. Besides,
he said, Kyrgyzstan was the country where he was born and where he
would die.
He smelled of vodka and complained how, although old, he did not
have any choice but to continue working. If he retired now, his pension
would be only $15 a month while his current salary was double that.
Half blind and half deaf, it was obvious to me that he held a vodka
glass more often than his pen. He urgently needed to have someone to
do his job for him, and this was supposed to be me.
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3.
Forty days after my daughter was born, my mother came to cut
her dark hair. She took forty spoons of water and put some salt in it.
Then she slowly spilled it on my daughter’s head. “I hope you will be
strong and healthy my dear grand-daughter!” she said to her.
My mother already saved a foal for her, which she would ride as
soon as she was a little older. It took me more than a few days to find
an opportunity to see my husband and to tell him that I had started
working. He took the news indifferently. Especially when I told him
how much I was going to be paid. He said that he thought it was better
for me to stay home to take care of the children, but if I wanted to
waste my time for such little money, it was up to me.
So, we started seeing each other even less than before. He came home
only to change and to eat quickly. He did not bother explaining where
and why he needed to go. The way he ate the food I prepared for him,
the rushed way he emptied his plate with hasty swallows and sucking
noises with an absent expression, was his way to reproach me. This
was my husband’s character - a rough energy, concentrated on his own
ambitions outside our family. He was not interested in me at all.
When my daughter turned one, we made tushoo kesyy again. My
daughter was a healthy little girl, who had the same gestures and
energy as her father. Unlike my first son at that age, she walked and
looked around with interest. Although she had all my attention, and
nearly none of Bakyt’s, she always followed him faithfully.
Tabak tartuu is, first of all, a feast for guests, for all of those invited
to enjoy hospitality of a family with reason to celebrate. But, I could
not stop wondering if I had any reason to celebrate. Bakyt was away,
and I could not know if he would come home for this toi. I feared
that he may not, but I hoped that he would, because toi is the time
when the whole family gathers. This is the time when even our poorer
family must borrow money to buy a sheep or a cow to slaughter, and
to prepare dishes like besh parmak, jurgum or boursak.
Three days before the to i, my mother and my jenges came to help me
to prepare everything. We chopped the vegetables for salads, we cut
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the meat, and we mixed flour with water to prepare dough for lagman
and manti. The day before the toi, Bakyt arrived. He brought another
sheep, fat and black, to make sure that there would be enough pieces
of meat for everyone. He was happy to see all the relatives, his and
mine, but he was not happy to see me. I watched him as he hugged
and greeted all who came. He asked the elders about their health, and
gave the smallest children change. He only addressed me, however, if
there was something for me to do.
I served besh parmak and the meat was shared appropriately. The
lamb’s head, it’s eyes, and all the other choice pieces of meat were
shared all according to family position so no one could be offended for
not getting their deserved piece of meat. After all the hard work and
excitement of my daughter’s toi, I returned to my ordinary life with
my three children and my work. This return was bitter.
Money now came to our house as seldom as my husband, and I started
relying more on my small salary from the guesthouse. It would,
however, close for three summer months until early autumn, when
the first guests would come again. These guests were from China,
Russia, Korea and Western countries, but somehow they all looked
and acted the same to me. Relaxed after hunting, and well fed by the
Uighur family working in the kitchen, they smiled willingly; always
ready to be surprised for no good reason. I developed an opinion that
all foreigners were like little children. The old Russian man I worked
with said to me once, “Those who smile without good reason are either
crazy, or foreigners.” He was right.
***
In September, my two boys were ready for school, and I needed to
prepare their school bags. I knew that school gave them a good
opportunity to learn Russian. We spoke only Kyrgyz at home, but the
television they watched was Russian. Thanks to that, they already
knew all brands of hair shampoos, laundry detergents, toothpastes,
chewing gum, breakfast cereals, teas for losing weight and tablets to
quit smoking. Most of these products were already in Tokmok shops;
the boys recognized them from these commercials and wanted to have
them too. But, we could not afford them since my husband was not
giving us enough money anymore.
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We had only enough for basics, and we gradually started living a very
different life from the one we had only a short time before.
Soon the situation became even more serious. Bakyt disappeared for a
month at a time, and even his mother did not know where he was. She
started calling me on the phone shouting angrily, “Why don’t you go
find him?” But, what could I do, and where could I go to look for him?
I did think about calling some people he knew from the Tokmok City
Council, but I did not. How embarrassing it would be to call someone
I did not know just to ask where my husband was.
There is just a tiny step between a poor life and a miserable one, and
when you take it, you notice it. Suddenly, I had only my $30 monthly
salary to support us, and it simply was not enough. To survive, I
started going to my mother’s village nearby to pick some vegetables
from her garden. Then, I brought those vegetables to the town bazaar
to give them to a woman to sell. The woman bought vegetables and
fruits from others, and made a little profit by selling them. This cash
covered a few days of our needs.
I did not say anything to my mother about what was going on. I only
told her that my husband was away for work longer than before.
But, I had the feeling that she knew everything. Mothers always
know everything. So, she silently filled up my bags with vegetables
and watched me carry them to the bus station. At the same time, my
children were locked in the apartment alone. Two six-year-olds were
taking care of a two-year-old. My mother knew that you do not do this
if your marriage is fine.
When I locked my children in the apartment alone for the first time, I
felt very bad. They cried and screamed, but soon they got used to it.
The television was always on, and I would leave enough food on the
table for them to eat. What could I do? Once, I came home later than
usual, and when I opened the front door of my apartment, I almost
fainted from the putrid smell inside. I found my whole kitchen and
bathroom covered with feces. My daughter had needed to go to the
toilet, and the boys did not help her, so she went all over the kitchen
floor. The boys tried to clean, and they used kitchen towels, and
whatever else they could find, but they managed only to spread it all
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over the floors, carpets and walls. I did not know what to do. I was
sad, angry and desperate.
One night, after the kids were asleep, I cried in my kitchen for a long
time. Was this how bad my marriage had to be? Nothing similar to this
existed in my own family, and I did not know how to find a way out. I
only hoped that if I made a comfortable home, and if I tried hard to be
a good wife, my husband would return to us, and be a good father to
our children. This is what I thought and prayed for in the evenings.
In the mornings, I was going to the guesthouse to watch the foreigners
chase pheasants and leave the excellent food, which the Uigur family
cooked for them. This family, which cooked and cleaned, received
almost no money for their work. Still, hardworking and modest as they
were, they lived well from the cattle grazing on the property. After
one year of working there, I realized that my monthly work could be
finished in five days. I could come to work or not, and it did not make
any difference.
***
Amid the longer days of early spring, which brought plentiful sunshine
and greens, Bakyt returned. He left money for us on the kitchen table.
His energy filled the house as fast as smoke fills up a room without a
chimney. He hugged the children with the long reckless smile I always
loved. It was Noru z (Muslim holiday), and Noruz brings kindness,
sympathy and peace. This is the time of year when God listens to our
prayers better than ever. We have to forgive and stop arguing, we have
to visit our friends, neighbors and relatives, and pass them all our kind
wishes.
Bakyt parked his red car in front of the apartment building, and he
took our children for a walk in the city park. There, he bought them
pink cotton candy, ice cream, and whatever else they wanted. If
you can say that life has any smell at all, it has the smell of an early
Tokmok spring, with its wet soil and timid violets. And, for me, it was
also the smell of my husband’s return, reminding me of how much I
loved him and how much bitterness I was ready to swallow. He was
finally beside me and my children.
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Foolish me. After a few days, I forgot the heavy bags I needed to carry
from the village to feed my children, and I forgot about my sleepless
nights, worries and tears. I forgot that he did not call me, and that
he did not worry if we were starving or not. The only thing I did not
forget was his birthday, which was the week after he came home.
Even though he was back, Bakyt did not stay much in the apartment.
His mobile phone rang all the time and he said that he was rushing
around for important meetings. After a few days, he said that he had
an important business trip to Issyk Kul and he promised to come back
soon. I felt that he did not want me to ask anymore, so I did not. I held
in my heart his promise, and started planning which dishes to cook for
his birthday and whom to invite to celebrate with us. I thought about
delicious salads which I had not made in a long time, and his favorite
lagman which he always loved. I wanted to do my best to make him
stay with us forever.
Live with sweetheart or live with an odious spouse,
We serve one who we married once.
Good or bad he is, it doesn’t matter
Listen to him, not to listen is bad.
A host is your husband, you be obedient…
From the book: Kyrgyzstan My Motherland
So, I carried my two heavy bags of vegetables again, this time not to
sell, but to make delicate salads and ginger sauces for my husband’s
birthday party. I cooked beetroot, and chopped them into same-sized
cubes, and did the same with potatoes. The lady from the bazaar gave
me a few long and expensive cucumbers from her greenhouse, which I
planned to mix with onion, dill and my mother’s sour cream. I spent a
whole evening kneading dough for manti, and I filled them with finely
chopped meat and pumpkin until the late night hours.
There was enough food for more than twenty people and I wanted
to invite our relatives to come to celebrate with us, at our apartment.
Maybe I wanted to show them that everything was all right in my
family, and how things were going well for us. But Bakyt refused to
let me invite anyone and told me to wait until he came back because
he still had to decide what he wanted to do for his birthday.
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The evening before his birthday, he came home with two young
women and one man, and he introduced the man as a colleague, and
the two women as their secretaries. They helped themselves to the
food I had prepared, and to beer and vodka that they had brought for
themselves. It was obvious that they were all familiar with each other.
They chatted and giggled like old friends, and continued eating and
drinking until the late hours. Meanwhile, I needed to put my children
to sleep and prepare their bags for school the next day, which was
also a working day. Neither my husband, nor anyone else asked me to
join, and I realized that they seemed comfortable enough without my
company. I went to sleep hurt and offended.
The morning of Bakyt’s birthday I awoke to find bottles and sleeping
bodies everywhere on the floor. They looked unmovable and still like
slaughtered sheep. My husband did not like to be woken up in the
morning, so in order to get ready for school, the boys and I needed
to step over everyone very quietly. After bringing the kids to school,
I came home to find only my husband still there. Upon seeing me he
stood up and locked himself in the bathroom. When he came out, he
was so nicely dressed and neat that you could not have guessed that he
spent the previous night drinking and sleeping on the floor.
I did not know what to say to him, so I said, “Happy birthday.” He
did not reply. I waited a little and then I asked if he wanted me to
invite guests for the afternoon. He refused and told me he wanted to
celebrate with his friends. Bakyt left the apartment, slamming the door
behind him. I sat alone in the apartment, surrounded by empty bottles
and dirty dishes.
***
When you have three small children to care for, you do not have
much time for thinking. My life was like that of a busy bird needing
to find worms to put into the beaks of its small and constantly hungry
chicks. Nothing else was important to me. Everyone has sad and
happy moments, and the only important thing is our children, who will
remain after we are gone.
We were in my mother’s village that Saturday morning when the
clouds appeared out of the clear blue sky and a cold storm started with
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a sudden wild wind. This is not unusual for Tokmok in May. One day,
we may be wearing short sleeves, and the next, it may snow. When
my children said they were cold, I realized that we had not brought
enough clothing for the weekend, and that I needed to get them back
in Tokmok. The town streets were empty; there was no traffic at all.
It seemed as if all Tokmok had gone out somewhere for a picnic, or
maybe they sat at home watching television.
Bakyt had said that he needed to spend the weekend at the pool
with the workers, who were bringing cement to start the renovation.
The whole project was moving very slowly, and only when the
construction actually began was it obvious to me that the whole idea
was so ambitious, and that finishing the project would be impossible.
Bakyt, however, still talked about this pool with optimistic enthusiasm.
I never commented, and he never asked my opinion.