Feeding the Beast

I point you to this blog by a friend of mine, who spent a day at Manas Airbase in Kyrgyzstan.
The Kyrygz authorities have given the Americans 6 months to vacate. The US is now considering its options as Manas is the key logistical hub for operations in Afghanistan, and the only American base in Central Asia.
There are some who think there's still time for the US to bargain with the Kyrgyz over the lease, or at least try to work out an agreement with Russia. Most observers think the Russians are behind the decision. They don't want the Americans in their former backyard, although they back the transit of non-lethal goods through the region. It's a kind of payback for the proxy conflict America orchestrated against the Soviet Union during its own Afghan war in the 1980s.

Tashkent

Little time to say much about my first trip to Uzbekistan. But I will tell you what I saw. Chorsu Bazaar. Mutual curiosity as locals viewed a stranger and he watched them back. Warm fresh bread, spices, lemons, pomegranates and a great many policemen. One dragged a frightened young boy away. Tension as a crowd gathered, and voices were raised, market women flapping about like flustered crows powerless to stop the abduction. "It's illegal for children to work in the market," one onlooker said. That's one way to deal with the problem.

Activity monitored. It's the same at Khast Imom, the state-sanctioned religious centre. At the base of a magnificent minaret a police hut. But Tashkent is a pleasant city, wide streets and calm. A little subdued perhaps. And while it's my temptation to write about the negatives, I did meet good people, creative people. Those who are determined to make a difference.

Welcome to Uzbekistan

Uzbekistan's consular office is on a side-street near Almaty's main park. The embassy is a large yellow house set back from the road behind a high brick wall. The consulate is it's smaller annexe. Before you can enter, you must stand under a roofed terrace that juts across the pavement. Moody security men emerge from a guardroom from time to time to direct the luckiest individuals to a side-gate, through which they enter the compound down a breeze-block walled pathway.

At 2pm one Friday afternoon, around forty people were gathered outside waiting to have their visas processed, Uzbeks who needed 'exit visas' renewed, Tajiks and Afghans looking for transit visas that would enable them to cross Uzbekistan on their travels home. I wanted a tourist visa.

By 6pm the temperature had fallen to -6 and there was still a sizeable, increasingly angry crowd. A lucky few of us were upgraded to a bench inside the heated guardroom.

It was a plain room with yellowing walls. Next to the bench were two tatty chairs, their broken backs repaired with sellotape and wire. The guards sat at two mismatched desks pushed together. On one of the desks was a computer and monitor displaying high-resolution close-circuit tv.

The computer was locked inside a metal box.

Quite how we managed to be the last people admitted had something to do with my guardian's unwavering determination, and her inexhaustible supply of contacts in the right places. But after waiting for six hours, we were taken inside. Every other dejected applicant had been told to come back the following Monday.

This room was different. It was partitioned in the middle from floor to ceiling by a counter with blacked out windows. Yellow walls and a table with scissors and glue for fixing your passport photos. How thoughtful of them.

I got my visa in the end. I am grateful to the nervous young civil servant with a paunch. He'd just started his job apparently, so things were taking longer than usual to process.

And I wondered: Can you tell what kind of people run a country by the lamentable condition of their consular services? Or by their transparent disregard for citizens and foreigners alike before they have even arrived?

On a warmer note:
Did you know? Uzbek lemons are orange, and they're wonderful.

Winter in Tajikistan

In my previous post I promised to write about the miserable conditions afflicting ordinary people in Tajikistan.

I filmed a report in November that looked at the possibility of another winter in which frequent powercuts would cripple the country. The authorities promised 'no cuts' for residents in Dushanbe. But earlier this week, power rationing in the Tajik capital was sure enough imposed - just eleven hours of electricity per day. And if you think that's bad some regions of the country have no power at all. Much of the reason behind the cuts are to do with poor infrastructure and a reliance on giant hydro-electric projects which the Tajiks can't afford, and which won't solve all their problems.

A mountainous country, Tajikistan benefits from having hydro-electric power resources. But they have been forced to over-rely due to bad relations with their neighbours. Uzbekistan stopped transporting Turkmen electricity to Tajikistan in December over a pay dispute. And the end result? Tajiks shiver.

Further down the line, Uzbek farmers will suffer because they won't have any water to grow their crops this summer. Why? Becuase the Tajiks are draining their reservoirs, vital sources of regional water supplies, in their efforts to keep warm.