Money Matters

Money makes the world go round, the world go round, the world go round, so the song from “Cabaret” goes. The song draws the link between economics and love. You never realize the importance of money and the reaches of its power, until you don’t have it, or are always around people who don’t have it.

To start, the Uzbek economy was terrible. The transition to a free market economy from communist planned economy was slow. There were still restrictions on currency conversion capacity, a highly restrictive trade regime, closed borders with neighboring countries, an unfavorable investment climate, and extensive state control of agriculture – which was the mainstay of the economy. Schoolchildren and students were expected to pick cotton for free, during the autumn term of their studies. Salaries were extremely low: an standard salary which was 100$/month by official exchange rates, had an actual value of $30, based on the black market exchange rate, which reflected real currency values. That meant that people were expected to live on $1 a day.

And whereas I had the comfort of never having to worry about money ever, at all, I was tweaked with guilt about my relatively extravagant consumption. The ladies who swept the dirt on the streets in the mornings earned in one month about as much money as I spent on my lunch in a day in one of the high-end restaurants that primarily expatriates patronized. This was for a lunch, which I thought was a bargain, at $5-10.

It was no wonder that local people saw foreigners as rich. We carried around bulky bags with the money for our purchases or to go out for dinner, go out drinking, buy groceries. The money was packed into bricks of 10,000 soms, as the denominations of the bills did not carry much value. At some point, the highest denomination was the very rare 1000 som note, which was worth, at best, one dollar. The more common denominations were the 500 som note, the 200 som note, the 100s, 50s, even 10s. Paying for a lunch which was roughly 5000 som, with some of the smaller notes, was like paying in dimes and quarters. One learned how to count this money very quickly with time. I remember once at a strip bar with some friends, one American friend, who was regularly getting lap dances, would slip the 500 notes into the girls’ thongs. “Best thirty cents I’ve ever spent,” he laughed.

I truly had no idea how people got by. I know they had all kinds of ways to supplement their meager incomes, working on the side, begging, stealing, borrowing from friends and family. Everywhere you could people selling things, selling bananas on the street at night, or during the day, big flea markets called “baraholkas” where people, many of whom were leaving the country, sold whatever was left in their homes, their family crystal, old Lenin statues, soviet flags, salt and pepper shaker in the shape of monkeys, tea services, chess sets, busts of Pushkin, books, ancient Soviet electronics, scraps of metal, scraps of fabric. Or folks from the country selling produce from their farms or gardens. Everywhere a car could be hailed by a driver, who was maybe a dentist or a lawyer or a professor, who was just trying to pick up some fares. Once I was picked up by an ambulance that was supposedly off duty.

Everyone sold whatever they could, and at night, the prostitutes had the streets. A friend from Tashkent who had traveled a bit around the world used to say that when he was out of Tashkent, he was amazed how in most cities, there’s a specific area for prostitutes, a red light district. But in Tashkent, they were everywhere. Sure there was the Katartal district, which was like the prostitution supermarket of the city with the quantity and selection and range to cater to all tastes, perversities, and budgets, etc. But they were everywhere else in the city: in the parks, near hotels, in and around restaurants, cafes, nightclubs, saunas, beauty salons, train stations, bus stations, bus stops…and so forth. Out at night, often you couldn’t tell which girls were prostitutes, which were “honest givers” which is the Russian term for a girl who has sex for love, or freelancers. Regardless, it was inexpensive. Or so, I was told. There’s an interesting posting on the internet with a price list: http://www.forum.uz/showthread.php?t=1019

Money and love were always mixed up and there was a very different cultural perception of them from what I was used to. There’s a Russian joke here that goes, “what is love? It’s something that the Americans invented so that they don’t have to pay for sex.”

And this made me wonder if ever finding someone in Uzbekistan would come with a price tag – I would likely be expected to be what they called a “sponsor.” It was sort of an unwritten but understood rule among gay men in Uzbekistan – that older men, often wealthier, sponsor younger gay men. And it was likely an inevitable fact that I would always be expected to play the role of sponsor, and this was not something I should take too personally – as though I was being taken advantage of. Sometimes I wondered if people only liked me because they perceived me as rich, since everyone seemed to be selling something to make ends meet, so why not friendship, love, sex. I really had never dreamed of becoming a sugar daddy, at least at age 30. It was just the law and reality of the economy. Nevertheless, it was also a depressing thought, to imagine that there was no real love out there.  ¶ 1:11 AM