Kara Kul – Get Me Outta Here!!!

It;s beautiful. It’s surreal. But I wanna leave!

I really regretted to refuse yesterday’s offer to take the truck lift to Kyrgyzstan. My Tajik visa is going to expire tomorrow (November 4) and I just found on Fridays (like today), transport is extremely difficult. The day is very cold and windy. I have to stand next to the main road, waiting for any vehicles. The first truck passes at 12 and it was full of passengers. The next two hours there was no vehicle at all passing the highway. Khurshid takes me to local stalovaya (canteen) and asks the girl to give me the best food. Khurshid promises to treat me, ‘a poor spion (spy) without money who has to travel on trucks’.

I asked how much. The girl said, “Beker! Beker!”
I jumped as I was surprised. This happened to be a fatal language misunderstanding. In Tajik Persian, the language which I understand, it means ‘no penis’. I explained to the girl that I had, but she only speaks Kyrgyz, and doesn’t understand my Tajik. Later I understood that it means ‘free of charge’ or ‘no cost’ in Kyrgyz.

Khurshid laughed and ridiculed me, “I paid already with my ‘ker’. Later you have to pay with your own ‘ker’!”

As the wind is too strong and too cold, the only place to wait for the trucks is inside the canteen.

It was very boring to wait for transport. The later the day turns, the more I get worrying. Khurshid seems don’t care too much about my visa problem.
“No problem. If tomorrow you still can’t get transport, then your visa will be expired. Then we will bring you to Khorog and you can have free food, free hotel, in our beautiful jail!”
Ha?
He laughed again.

He promised me to negotiate with all drivers to take me to Kyrgyzstan, as all vehicles have to pass custom check at the military post. But there were no drivers to negotiate with, there was no vehicle at all today.

Afternoon comes. School children leaves their classroom happily. Today is distribution day of Aga Khan’s milk. The milk, Kazakhstan-produced box milk, is distributed routinely to children of GBAO as implementation of Aga Khan’s aid to this war affected area. Khurshid stopped some boys and asked them to collect some boxes of milk. The boys brought 8 boxes and he gave 5 Somoni to the boys. He gave me 2 boxes.

I don’t know what Aga Khan will think if he sees that his milk doesn’t reach the students but arrives in mouth of a fat police commander and a poor ‘spion’.

The quiet lakeside town of Karakul

Night comes. Now I am sure I can’t leave Tajikistan today, and tomorrow would be my last day attempt. Everybody in the house blamed me of not taking the truck yesterday, due to my stubbornness. I told them, “Yesterday is yesterday. What will happen tomorrow, only Allah knows.”

I was worrying anyway, despite of my confident-look. At night I saw falling stars. It was time to say wishes.
I screamed, “Get me outta Tajikistan!!!!”