Central Asia? Kyrgyzstan? Uzbekistan? Not the most talked about countries in the world. "What is in Uzbekistan?" people have asked me. "Three of the most important cities in Asia were located in what is now Uzbekistan," has been my response.
Alexander the Great, Jenghis Khan and Tamerlane: they have all claimed areas of Central Asia into their kingdoms at one time or another. The great power struggle between England and Russia in the 19th century known as "The Great Game" revolved primarily around the countries in this region of greater Asia.
In my further travels west, I have now traveled through two of the five countries creating Central Asia. Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan, with the third, Turkmenistan, being the next on my agenda. Kyrgyzstan is a country where nature can take claim for being the main attraction. Four large mountain ranges crisscross through Kyrgyzstan, so much of my time was spent in the countryside riding horses or trekking in the mountains.
Uzbekistan is quite different. Primarily desert, the highlights of this former Soviet Republic are the three ancient cities of Samarkand, Bukhara and Khiva. All three contain some of the most prized architecture constructed during the ancient times of Islam, with Samarkand once acting as the cultural mecca and Bukhara being Central Asia's religious mecca for centuries prior to being absorbed into the Soviet Union by the Bolsheviks.
And so, in these two cities, my journey to find stroke continues.
During the days of the Great Silk Road, Samarkand possessed a mythical reputation. A place where Islamic art, literature and especially architecture could not have been of more importance. Scattered throughout the city sit some of the most inspiring mosques and madressas (Islamic teaching schools) I have ever seen.
And next to the grandest complex of the all, the Registan, I met Mansurova Orom. Two days prior to this meeting, while walking past a street vendor in old town, I heard a voice ask, "What time is it?" The question startled me for a second, especially because it came from a local Uzbek. Unlike Southeast Asia and China, I've found an almost impenetrable language barrier here in Central Asia. Very few people speak conversational English, including government officials and professionals in the medical establishment. So when I heard this question, I immediately supplied him with the time, and requested his assistance. The boy referred me to his older brother who ran an Uzbek arts-and-crafts shop in one of the dormitory cells in the Sher Dor Medressa of the Registan.
After listening to my story, the brother spoke to me in perfect English of an old woman his family knew who had suffered several 'insults'(pronounced in-soolts) and that he would arrange a meeting for the following day. As the sun set the following day on the turquoise domes, and the green, blue and yellow tile work of the Registan, I was introduced to a frail and weary Mansurova Orom. Since the age of 75, Orom has had a total of three "insults," and now at the age of 81, her speech is very weak and thin. Although, after sitting with her for our time together, I found the weakness in her voice, in no way, to be a reflection of her strength as a woman, living here in the side streets of Samarkand. Orom has six sons: Jurakul, Audullo, Shab, Misha, Surat, Shukhrat ... and no daughters. Orom's eldest son, Jurakul, sat next to her, and it was through him that I learned of Orom's life.
In 1994, Jurakul watched his mother fall down while walking through the very courtyard we sat in. Immediately he called their family doctor. The doctor arrived at their home, realized that Orom had had a stroke, but suggested to Jurakul that he not take her to the hospital. "Why?" I asked. "Because, most people who go to the hospital after having an insult die there," my translator said for Jurakul. "So the doctor recommended that your mother stay and be treated at home?" "Yes."
Orom's first of three strokes affected her right side. For months, her right hand and arm were completely frozen, but after one month of "special" treatment (I could not get any further information on what they meant by "special") by her doctor, she regained most of the control and motion in them. Two more strokes were to follow in the years of 1996 and 1998, and out of Jurakul's mouth: "The doctors say it is a miracle she is still alive." For years Orom lived without taking any regular form of medication, but just recently her doctor recommended she start taking Huatuo Pills, a Chinese herbal medicine that they were only able to purchase after seeing it advertised on the Moscow TV channel.
For 50 years, Orom worked in a government factory as a seamstress making one of Uzbekistan's more recognizable crafts - a silk-on-cotton dowry needle work tapestry called a 'suzana'. Looming suzanas became a life time hobby for Orom, especially when, at the outbreak of World War II, the factory, for the next two-and-a-half decades, turned to making clothing for the Soviet Armed Forces. And now, after those 50 years of work, she receives a $9 a month pension. "Who takes care of her?" I asked my translator. "The eldest son. That is it, and even he can't take care of her the way she needs to be taken care of. Because she never had a daughter, so many things can't be done properly."
I asked about the other five brothers, and his response was, "They never come to see her, and don't help out at all. She made sure all six of them got an education and now three of them are rich, one even lives in America. But the oldest one, he is the only one who supports and takes care of her. It's really sad."
And so ends my fist meeting while in Uzbekistan.
A few days after meeting with Orom, I traveled to Bukhara. It is said that Bukhara was considered to be such a holy place that, "while elsewhere on earth the daylight shown downwards from the skies, from Bokara it radiated upwards to illuminate the heavens." And simply strolling through the streets of Bukhara confirms that this is one of the most special places in all of Asia. The light warming the city during sunrise and sunset erases the existence of any passage of time, and the people seem to glide on the very beams of light that light the cobblestones beneath them.
Located in the center of Bukhara is Labi-hauz Plaza, a complex of elegant madressas surrounding a large pool of water. Under the shade of the mulberries along the pool, scattered groups of men sit on bed-like tables, called karavats, playing dominoes and letting the hours of the day slowly crawl along. And it was here that I met a local Bukharan in his mid-20s named Amin. For years, Amin has helped arrange transportation for independent travelers leaving Bukhara, and after describing my search for an 'insult' survivor in Bukhara, he told me about Bakoyev Kurbon and asked that we meet the next day.
That next afternoon Amin and I went to visit Kurbon and his family at his home. In 1968, at the age of 19, Kurbon married a local girl named Gulchehra. Together they would have ten children, six boys and four girls. And these children would give another thirteen grandchildren to the family. In 1990, while walking to the home of one of his daughters, Kurbon suffered a massive stroke that disabled his right side and also robbed him of his ability to speak.
Unlike Orom's family in Samarkand, Kurbon's family immediately took him to the hospital where he stayed for close to a month-and-a-half. During that time, doctors suggested brain surgery, but the family declined. In addition, little rehabilitation was done and limited medication was given to him during his hospital stay. At the conclusion of his stay, Kurbon had made little progress - his mobility was practically nonexistent, as was his ability to speak and communicate normally.
Then, Kurbon started to undergo regular messages on his right side, as well as a treatment his wife called 'parafin'. Because Amin was unable to clearly translate the description of it, and because I was unable to contact anyone in the Uzbek medical community regarding the therapy, I am only able to provide a rough and unconfirmed description of it. According to Gulchehra and Amin, a heated wrap is applied to the affected areas (Kurbon's right arm and leg). These wraps are a combination of fabric and hot candle wax and, once applied, they are allowed to harden, after which another wrap is then applied. The treatment worked wonders for Kurbon's mobility. If not competing in heated battles over a chess set, Kurbon now is able to walk well enough to herd two of the families sheep, along with the family dog, down the street to a local field, so the sheep can graze. And while his wife, Gulchehra, was informing me of this weekly event, Kurbon took the greatest pride in her description. I sat and ate lunch with the Bakoyevs, and during my time with them, I couldn't help but feel the huge difference in "family" between them and Mansurovs.
Much is to be said about the influence of family in the life of a stroke (insult) survivor, not only here, in Central Asia, but everywhere. I will sum up this installment with a comment I heard from an NGO worker here in Uzbekistan's capital of Tashkent concerning stroke survivors and the disabled living in Central Asia:
"Your pension is your family when you live in Central Asia."
After visiting Orom and Kurbon, I realized the truth in his comment.
©Greg Constantine, available at www.strokesafe.org with the author's permission. For inquiries or reprint permission, contact gregc@strokesafe.org.