Central Asian Paranoia II

I heard two wonderful stories about Uzbekistan today from Jürgen, who used to live there and now works for the Russian-Orthodox church here, and which go perfectly with some of my latest posts, so let me recount them here. They probably should be taken with a grain of salt, because Jürgen is a excellent storyteller when it comes to his own life and probably likes to embellish it a bit.

He attended an Uzbek wedding once in the 90s, and of course there were copious amounts of vodka flowing. He didn’t feel like drinking, so he consistenly refused to let them fill his glass. The next day, all the guests of the wedding except Jürgen got a visit from the Uzbek Secret Service, inquiring about the suspicious man (with beard, mind you!) who had refused to drink alcohol. If he maybe was a wahhabi (generic Central Asian term for any Islamist or maybe even just devout muslim, usually implying Islamic terrorist)? They must’ve been rather disappointed to hear that he was a German regularly visiting the Russian-orthodox church.

On another occasion, he suspected the Secret Service of intercepting the e-mails sent to his Uzbek e-mail account. So he asked a friend, apparently a well-known hacker (Jürgen does have some interesting contacts, let me tell you that), to send him a virus by e-mail. He didn’t open the e-mail, of course. But when he went to pay his fees the next day in the office of his e-mail provider, everyone there was running around – all their computers had been infected by a virus…

Jürgen, who was at that time importing computers and providing accompanying services, helped to clean their system. Shortly thereafter, the Secret Service paid him a visit: Apparently their computer system had caught a virus, and they didn’t really know what to do, but they had heard that he had helped this e-mail provider, so if he maybe…

That’s all, folks – Se non è vero, è ben trovato…

The “Central Asian Experience”

The „Central Asian Experience“, Part II

Some more CA Experiences:

• Choosing from a menu with 30 types of salads carrying fancy names like “Fantasia”, “Cesar’s” (contains neither chicken nor lettuce nor cheese), “Arabian nights” or “Drunk Indian” (wtf ???). But all contain mayonnaise. And of course, not everything that is on the menu is actually available…
• Driving home in an unmarked taxi and hitting a giant hole in the road. Rubbing my head, I expect the car’s axle to have broken in half. But of course, you can’t kill a good ol’ Lada.
• Getting invited to drink Vodka.

The reminder of the day is unfortunately not a uniquely Central Asian Experience: I visit a shelter for victims of human trafficking in Tashkent. There are girls from China, Russia, the UAE… Most of them come from orphanages – their parents have died or a stepfather or stepmother refused to take care of them. In one case it was even the legal guardian who sent the girl abroad…

Some of them are too scared to even raise their heads and do not want to say anything. Others have regained their confidence, ask questions and talk about their experiences. One of them, barely an adult, is taking care of a one-year-old daughter from a Korean, who has long since disappeared.

The shelter’s caretaker tells me about some of her current and former “guests”: Some make it, find a job, even a husband. Others drift from one job to the other or never find one, run away from the shelter with their baby and are afraid to return because they have drunk too much…

The „Central Asian Experience“

The „Central Asian Experience“, Part I

Flying with Turkish Airlines spared me the initial quintessential „Central Asian experience“: Spending ten hours at Sheremetyevo Airport in Moscow, a.k.a. “the Chicken Airport”.
(Surprisingly, it didn’t get this nickname because it makes you feel cooped up like a chicken in the laying battery, but because the loudspeaker keeps on reminding the passengers of flight so-and-so “to please proceed to chicken number” so-and-so)
Instead I spent four hours at Istanbul’s Atatürk Aiport, which is much nicer. Boarding the flight to Tashkent, the Central Asian experience finally began: Every second passenger not only carried a clearly oversized hand luggage, but also two plastic bags with sundry items. After twenty minutes, everyone had managed to cram said items into the last available nook or cranny and we were ready for take-off – of course not without first witnessing a fine display of Soviet politeness between two passengers arguing over the last available space in the overhead compartments.

On arrival at Tashkent airport, continuation of the CA experience: Of course all planes arrive between four and five in the morning, and of course the passengers then all have to wait in front of the passport control. Occasionally, names are called out and people move to the front according to some Byzantine rule. An hour later, my luggage passes through the X-Ray – on the way out of the airport. (And I was sooo looking forward to smuggling a Kalashnikov to Uzbekistan…)

The rest works amazingly well: Nodira, the head of our local partner organization, meets me at the airport and drives me to the hotel personally. I manage to get some sleep before having lunch at the hotel, attending a seminar for hotline operators and then being whisked to the unofficial IOM office in Tashkent.

Only point of worry so far: Nodira still hasn’t gotten her visa, because the UAE officials keep mixing her up with a blacklisted namesake. And we’re supposed to leave the day after tomorrow…