Love and poetry in Uzbekistan

The enchanting welcome

The bride was in a sparkling, silver beaded costume. Her head was covered in a long, flowing, lacy veil, the ends of which she gently held with both extended hands. In time with the chanting of another costumed lady with a hand-held frame drum called doira, the bride bowed slowly from the waist, as each guest’s name was mentioned.

We were in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, in the Oxus University, one of the newer universities in the city, with young students learning English and many other higher courses like Economics and Marketing. But the university founders must have realized the importance of communicating in a language spoken by most people in the world, hence the focus on English.

We were in that Uzbekistan upon the invitation of good friend A’zam Abidov, whom I met in the Internacional Festival de Poesía in Medellín, Colombia, in 2009 and again in another poetry fest in Hanoi, Vietnam, in 2011. Upon the personal initiative of A’zam, the Uzbekistan Writing Residency program was born. Writers from around the world gathered in Uzbekistan and interacted with local poets and writers, visited schools and universities, communicated with teachers and school children and older students to exchange ideas and share experiences. For us the invited writers, we enjoyed the warm hospitality of the Uzbeks first-hand, as we were hosted by families. We were welcomed into their homes like brothers and sisters, like sons and daughters, and this made the experience more immersive and total.

In all of the places that we visited, whether in schools in Tashkent, the capital, in the Namangan Region, where A’zam was born, in the Baliqchi District in Andijan and in the Turakurgan or Toshbuloq Districts, or in the Ghallaorol in the Jizzakh Region en route to Samarkand, we were warmly welcomed not only by the school children’s lively traditional dances but also always by a princess-like bride in her delicate costume, bowing reverently to all, accompanied by the rhythmic percussion, and singing. There was a palpable joie de vivre in everyone, as we were invited to dance the traditional dance with them. Dancing has never been my strongest suit, but during those moments I got caught up by the rhythmic music and spontaneous movements of everyone, and found myself following the movements of new Uzbek friends on the floor, waving my hands in the air, feeling the cadence of the upbeat music.

The Uzbek students

One of the main reasons A’zam fostered this project was also to make the world be aware that there is good literature in Uzbekistan, and to expose local poets, writers, school children and students to other writers of the world. In the many discussions that we had in the various schools and universities, it was often mentioned that being published abroad was always an advantage. Translation then was very important. In this way there would be an international audience, with more readers in the world stage. In one of our sessions with a Poetry Club, we realized that poets around the world have the same concerns: how to write well, how to overcome writer’s block, how to publish and if it was necessary for a poet to travel to write well. 

Literature is alive and well in Uzbekistan; it is a matter of bringing it to a wider scale, especially to the international stage. One touching session was a discussion in one of the classrooms one Sunday in the Ghallaorol school where we met Narquiza, a young lady with physical signs of cerebral palsy but who spoke clearly and very intelligently about writing and poetry in spite of her physical limitations. She lived 85 kilometers away from the school, and in her village, she put up an open library where books could be borrowed free, so the village children and adults were encouraged to read. During our sessions she spoke clearly about the books of Nobel prize winners that she had read, feeling happy that she could share fresh and delightful insights.

And what about discovering an Open Library in a bazaar (or our local market, or palengke!) where, amidst the vendors of sweet watermelons, other fruits and vegetables, we read our poetry aloud? This library was a project of blogger Dima Qayum ―a testament to the faith of its founder in the power of the written word. It was a room with wide crystal walls and several bookstands full of books not only in Uzbek but also in several languages: English, French, Russian, and many others. The lady librarian was beaming as she met us, and encouraged us to browse around before our reading started. Some of us read our poetry, and it was a bit surreal, but also exciting, that we were inside the market! And as if to remind us of this, we were treated, right outside the library, to the sweetest sliced watermelon that we ever tasted!

One of the schools in Namangan, the LSL (Language Studies Laboratory) stood apart as a large, modern and forward-looking institution in the area. The courtyard had a well-tended garden with large posters about their language courses: English, Japanese, French, and Korean. Inside were stylish furniture that looked very inviting yet professional. The classrooms were airy and well-lit, and during the open forum the students were keen to listen and speak. Because of its location, we usually met there during the evenings in Namangan, and we felt very at home.

One of the instructors in the LSL school was Rasuljon, a young Uzbek who had his post-graduate studies in Information Technology in Seoul, Korea. We got to know him better because he brought us to and from our host’s house every day. By his own initiative he suggested we go early in the mornings so he could show us (Lana and Sonja from Croatia with Alex and me) the mosques nearby, which we did, and even in the evenings, with the mosques’ towers showing the lighted half-moon, an Islamic symbol. We strolled through one of the parks too, one evening, and enjoyed the quiet walks, glad to be surrounded by laughter of children and young people enjoying their roller-coaster rides above us. Rasuljon also gave us a surprise when he suggested we visit a local bazaar where we mingled with the locals and saw fresh produce, including fish, spices, preserved fruits, nuts, and even textile and ethnic hats. Before long, we became friends with the lady who sold sweet meats, and when she saw us taking pictures of her, she squealed with delight as she rearranged her hijab quickly. Many locals came over to speak with us, and Rasuljon was there to translate. We noticed that one name was often mentioned when we told them we were from the Philippines: Manny Pacquiao!

During the welcoming ceremonies, too, we were all gracefully offered patir (local bread), which we gently tore into smaller pieces then dipped in honey, to symbolize the breaking of bread among good friends. All these amidst smiles, and the warmth was really palpable. There too, were many gifts from the schools and local Uzbek friends. These were the long, intricately printed robes and scarves for women, at times with colorful doppis or hats; for the men, there were black and finely-embroidered doppis as well, including dazzling gold and silver-lined cloth to be tied around the waist. Indeed, we went home laden with these beautiful gifts, the warmth and hospitality so evident in each piece. From the Uzbek writers we also received books, an exchange full of camaraderie among good friends.

After several days, we learned to say “As-salamu alaykum,” (“Peace be with you” with the right hand on our right chest/heart) warmly and without hesitation, and were also ready to answer “Wa ʿalaykumu s-salam” (“And upon you, peace.”) Another often used word was “Rahmat!” (“Thank you!”) and “Inshallah! (“If Allah wills it,”.)

Parks, museums and art

Because Uzbekistan was one of the countries traversed by the Old Silk Route, not only commerce flourished, but also art. During our stay, A’zam very kindly led us around Tashkent. One sunny morning we started by meeting in the Do’stlik (Friendship) station, and we were surprised that the stations were works of art by themselves. Each subterranean train station had a theme: in the Kosmonavtlar we lingered to look at the large, round medal-like renditions of spaceman Yuri Gagarin; of Salizhan Sharipov, the first Uzbek cosmonaut, and the first female Russian in space, Valentina Tereshkova, among others. In this station, the pillars of the cavernous station were made of shiny black and blue stones to mimic the ambience of outer space, and the metro itself felt like a space shuttle! In the station of Alisher Navoiye, the father of Uzbek literature, the metro looked like a mosque with its vaulted ceilings and fragile blue flowers on the immense and high ceilings. Navoiye’s poems, depicted in turquoise ceramics on the walls with beautiful paintings, made us linger. His stone statue could be seen at one end of the mezzanine floor, where more calligraphic renditions of his poems were seen. Another metro gave tribute to the cotton industry of the country, where the walls were painted in blue and white, supposedly the colors of the sky and the cotton, rendered in stylized form. What amazed me most were the chandeliers hanging from arched ceilings so high they looked like cathedral lights! Most of these metro stations were done during the Russian regime, but most of them were about Uzbek culture.

A'zam also introduced us to the Navoiye Park in Tashkent, where large monuments of renowned Uzbek poets were seen around lush hedges, trees, and well-manicured lawns. Each poet’s life was an interesting story by itself, whether before, during or after the Russian regime. There was, on top of the hill, a special monument to Navoiye in the park. Steep steps led to this bronze sculpture, depicting him standing and gazing far away. Here the poets read their poems in open air, the stillness in the air listening intently to the poems in different tongues.

Among the huge statues was that of Abdullah Qadiri, a renowned Uzbek poet who was executed in 1938 for being a nationalist. We felt honored to have visited his previous home, now a historical and literary museum, in Tashkent. Qadiri was one of the fathers of Uzbek literature in the country and the museum helped preserve his writing legacy, as we visited the rooms where he wrote, slept and ate. Many walls had his poetry written on them. We also met his grandson who personally guided us around the serene place, where the central courtyard had a statue of him, sitting, looking pensive.  An evening of music and delicious food followed, and we tasted for the first time the traditional “norin,” which was a dish made of fresh hand-rolled pasta and horsemeat.

To be continued next Monday