Oshurmo’s soup

Another catch up post: you will remember Oshurmo, the lady in Khorog who was trying to make ends meet for her household of 12 when her children in Russia were no longer able to send money home.

After I left Oshurmo’s place following that first interview I felt more and more confused by what I had heard. Oshurmo’s whole attitude was to minimize their hardship, and that created a fog around the precise nature of the changes they had had to make when the household’s already scant income dropped by more than half.

While returning to my hotel the previous day I had seen a landcruiser belonging to the World Food Program parked outside. I asked at the building reception whether the WFP was in the building, thinking there was perhaps a conference on. Yes, I was told, their office was on the second floor – the same floor as my Delhi Darbar hotel room. Bed, breakfast and food scarcity expertise along my corridor, all for $30 a night. What a steal.

So when I returned to my hotel from Oshurmo’s place I called upon the World Food Program’s office and had a great meeting with Malohat Shabanova and Gulazor Mamadrizobekova. We brainstormed the kinds of things I should be asking in order to cut through the fog and get a clearer understanding of how her household’s life had changed since the crisis hit.

I returned with my translator Farid to see Oshurmo and learnt the following:

The size of the household has changed over the last two years. Two years ago she had eight mouths to feed, now she has 12 mouths to feed: two of her daughters-in-law and nine of the grandchildren.

Proteins: the family used to eat meat three times a week before the crisis, but now buy just 1kg (2.2 lb) of meat each month. They mix beans into their rice a couple of times a week. That has not changed.

Even though the size of the household has increased they still buy the same quantities of sugar (1kg), carrots (2kg) and potatoes (5kg) that they were consuming two years ago.

They have six apricot trees on their land which together provide a sack of dried fruit to last them that lasts all year. They use them in a local dish called Noshkhukhpa (about which I would like to learn more).

Since the crisis began they have acquired US$1,200 of debt that cannot be repaid from the combined household income of 280 somoni (US$60) (Oshurmo and her daughter-in-law’s wages, and Oshurmo’s pension). The debt is split between a rising backlog of electricity bills and the cost of a ticket to send her fifth son to Moscow to find work.

It seemed to me that one of the principal ways the household has adapted to the loss of remittance income from Russia following the crisis is to not pay the electricity bill. But apart from the cutback in protein I still didn’t feel I had a complete handle on their food situation.

I decide to get still more specific. I ask what dish they eat for the main evening meal. Twice a week they eat soup. OK, so how do they make the soup now, and how did they make it before?

Before the crisis (for 8 people)	Since the crisis (for 12 people)
200g (7 oz) rice 2 potatoes 2 onions 3 carrots 150g oil	250g (8.8 oz) rice 2 potatoes 2 onions 3 carrots 150g oil

Oshurma also explained that they add more water to the soup to make it go further.

So that’s it, their other coping strategy: they thin the soup.

As with the previous interview, Oshurma had responded to all my questions but with a certain brusqueness. I got the impression that she was being purposely dismissive of the significance of the questions, as if we were not touching on something as important as basic survival. As before, when we started, the family members were all gathered around. But this time, now we had started to drill down into the detail of their hardship and the decisions she was having to take to ensure they got by, I realised they had all disappeared from view. Oshurma was sitting here alone.

I turned off my sound recorder and sat on a low stool just in front of her. I commented on the way she seems to acknowledge the family’s deteriorating situation only grudgingly. I asked how she felt when the remittances stopped flowing.

She smiled and swayed back and brought her hands down with a light slap onto her knees as she sat. Yes, she said, sometimes she does get frustrated and angry about the situation, but what else can she do? Yes, it is hard, but she hopes and really believes that it will get better.

But then this tough, weathered woman’s eyes began to redden, and she hurriedly brushed a few escaped tears from her cheeks. She is not one to let her emotions show, and I hurriedly gathered my things, thanked her and left.