A camel gave birth to twins and started WWII??
Sunday, January 25, 2004
Sovhoz 22, Uzbekistan
Gender wars
Sometime in November, my host father, Sadir Aka, returned from
Russia, where he had been working as a crate-builder for about
nine months. In the past several years in Uzbekistan, it has become
the tradition for men, and recently women as well, to go to Russia,
South Korea, or anywhere else they can, to work menial jobs-driving
taxis, building things, selling products in the markets, etc.-to
earn money for their families, their daughters' weddings, their
children's schoolbooks, etc. For village men, there are few work
opportunities in Uzbekistan. Every year, more and more of them
take off to find work elsewhere. The men who go to Russia usually
return to Uzbekistan during the winter months, avoiding the peak
cold season in Russia. They come home to rest, to see their families
and to buy things with the money they've earned.
In my Sadir Aka's absence, our household consisted of four females-my
host mother, two host sisters, 17 and 20, and myself-and two males-my
host grandfather, 66, and host brother, 12. It was a women's house.
It was wonderful. We, the women, were in control of the house.
We cooked together, cleaned together, did laundry together. Household
chores felt more like social activities than work. It was a way
to pass the time, and the women always found a way to have fun
at the same time. The women sat in the house together, talking,
laughing, singing, dancing. The men, Sobir Bobo and Jahongir,
stayed in the periphery. Jahongir played outside with his buddies,
and Sobir Bobo spent his time either in the fields or playing
dominoes outside with other jobless men in the village. The women
ruled; it was a matriarchy. When asked to do a certain task like
pump water or feed the cows, Jahongir would do it with minimal
resistance. Sobir Bobo also did his fair share of repair and maintenance
work around the house.
After Sadir Aka returned in November, the women still outnumbered
the men, but the mood in the house immediately shifted to one
of male dominance. Suddenly, Sadir Aka and His Men were in control.
The women still had the same housework to do, but now they were
constantly being told to do it, and quite impolitely, I might
add. The men-Sadir Aka, Sobir Bobo and even Jahongir-donned their
best gruff voices and took to barking out commands, not requests,
at the women, in particular the girls. "Milk the cow!"
"Pump water!" "Get me some salt!" "Answer
the phone!" These are all things the girls would have done
anyway, but the men seemed to feel the need to assert their superiority.
And to complain about everything. Nothing was good enough anymore.
Tea wasn't hot enough. Dinner wasn't salty enough. Bread wasn't
fresh enough. And then came the suggestions, disguised as brilliant
ideas: Maybe if the girls woke up earlier in the morning, they
would have more time to prepare a better breakfast before they
went to school. Then, the table would be set and ready by the
time the men woke up.
The feminine cheer in the house began to fade and disappear.
Before, doing the housework was the women's way of being in control.
They did what was necessary to run the household. The differences
in gender roles were not so evident. Now, they are being told
what to do. They are being ordered around and not in the least
appreciated. They are slaves to the men. At least that's the way
I am perceiving it. The household solidarity I enjoyed so much
before is gone. It's the women against the men now. Or rather,
the women and the men are trying difficultly to exist in the same
home. Gender roles are clear and distinct now. The men sit on
their asses while the women do what the men tell them, not ask
them, to do. The girls are noticeably more upset, sadder, more
oppressed, angrier. Sobir Bobo has even brought my host sister
Hajar to tears.
Another big change has been in the allocation of household space.
In our house, there is a main room, in which we eat meals (when
it's too cold to eat outside), welcome guests, and do anything
else besides sleeping. Before, I used to spend much of my time
in this room if I wasn't hanging out outside with neighbors. If
I wanted to read or study or plan lessons, I would do it in the
main room instead of in my bedroom, not wanting to seclude myself
from the rest of the family. Often, my host sister Nasiba and
I would sit together in the main room and study English and Russian,
respectively, using the same flashcards to learn vocabulary; she
would learn the English side while I learned the Russian side.
When Sadir Aka returned with his earnings, the first thing he
bought was a new color television, which of course took its place
in the main room. With no work to do, Sadir Aka and Sobir Bobo
now spend their days lying in the main room watching television
from morning to night. Jahongir joins them when he comes home
from school. When I wake up in the morning, the television is
on. When I come home for lunch in the afternoon, the television
is on. When I go to bed at night, the television is on. The men
have taken over the main room, while the women have dispersed
to other places and no longer have a common space to hang out
together. I spend a lot more time in my bedroom with the door
closed because the television is right outside, and they tend
to watch it very loud. It's too cold to hang out in the kitchen
these days, so whoever is cooking is usually the only one in the
kitchen, and the other women do work in other rooms. The family
convenes in the main room for meals, but even then conversation
is minimal so as not to disturb the television watching. I hate
the television! So does my host mother. But she doesn't feel she
has the right to say anything to her husband and father-in-law.
It's not completely as one sided as I make it sound. I understand
that Sadir Aka spent nine months in Russia working hard to provide
for his family. Sobir Bobo has spent years working in the fields.
He built the house we live in. He is elderly and deserves to be
catered to. I agree that the housework should in this situation
belong to the women. But the men could be more polite about it.
Naturally, the girls do not enjoy being barked at and ordered
to do things they would have done anyway. A simple shift in voice
tone-from barking to speaking-accompanied by a 'please' or 'thank
you' would do a lot for the mood in the house. The men wouldn't
seem as grumpy and the women wouldn't feel as sad or unappreciated.
I tried to keep myself removed from the household dynamics, but
I live here too, and it started to become unbearable to watch
and listen to the orders and complaints from the men. I like this
family and I don't want to be rude, so I have to be careful not
to voice my opinions without offending anyone. This is not impossible.
I have more or less stopped speaking to the men. And I have made
it a habit to vocalize politeness toward and appreciation for
the girls and the work they do. If one of the men at dinnertime
barks, "Get me some salt!" I always follow up nice and
loud with, "Thank you for bringing the salt!" and a
smile. If the one of the men complains, "Soup again!"
I always follow up with "This soup is really good. Thank
you for cooking today." I don't think these tactics will
make much of an impression on Sadir Aka or Sobir Bobo. But my
bigger focus is Jahongir. He is still young, can still be taught,
and he has no perceivable right to order his older sisters around.
I have begun to ask him politely to do little tasks. "Jahongir,
can you please clear the table?" "Jahongir, can you
please bring us some water?" "Jahongir, it's our turn
to wash the dishes tonight." And when I ask, he always performs.
He even thanks his sisters from time to time now. I only hope
some of this stuff becomes habit for him.
The other day a fellow volunteer and I visited an Uzbek girlfriend
of ours in the city. Our friend and her sister had spent the morning
preparing an elaborate lunch for us. When we arrived the two of
us sat with our friend in the guest room and began chatting. Then
our friend's nephew and father brought all the food and drinks
to our table before serving themselves in another room. And everyone
was very polite to each other. I wondered, was this an exceptional
family? With the women in my own host family, I am very open,
always telling them how I feel about things. They are well aware
at my recent frustrations with the men in our house. When I came
home and told them about my guesting experience in the city, their
response was that city people are more cultured than village people.
"City people are better, more educated," my host sister
Nasiba said. "The parents are nicer to their children."
It seems the stereotypes that cosmopolitan Uzbeks hold of village
culture in Uzbekistan might actually be true. And even the village
people recognize it, and accept it as the way their lives should
be.
Yesterday, my host father received word from Russia that good
work is again available. He will leave on Feb. 7. The girls want
him to take his father with him, but Sobir Bobo can't stand the
cold weather in Russia. But maybe he will retreat back to the
periphery once the women begin to dominate again. I can't wait
for the television to be turned off, and for the women to regain
control of the house.
