You won’t find Uber or Lyft in Dushanbe; instead, green Chinese electric cars have taken over the city. The Dushanbe streets are chaotic, full of last-second lane changes and near misses, but inside the cars, there’s a calm intimacy. A welcoming khosh amadid is the first thing the standardized fare app announces, Shabnam Surayo plays on the radio, and the drivers dodge potholes with astonishing ease. These taxis are more than just a way to get from one place to another—they’re moving spaces of connection, vessels of mehman-nawazi (hospitality).
Brief as they are, these rides often give way to memorable moments of cultural exchange. Typically, when the drivers hear my Farsi accent, which is quite distinct from the Tajiki found on the streets, they ask if I’m from Iran. After explaining that I’m an Afghan-American here to learn Farsi and Tajiki, their faces light up. Many are surprised to learn that Americans come to Dushanbe to learn their language. They ask whether I like Dushanbe, what life is like in America, and enthusiastically offer recommendations for places to visit across Tajikistan. Some of the older Tajiks mention their love for Ahmad Zahir as soon as they learn I’m Afghan.
These encounters reveal a cultural fabric woven from kinship and curiosity. I’m often referred to as someone who is a mehmon (guest), a ham-zaban (fellow speaker), and aka (brother/sir). I’ve received multiple invites to go out for lunch with locals. A taxi driver in Khujand even refused to take our payment after learning we were Americans here to study Farsi, and tossed the somoni bill we tried to force on him back towards us through the window.
Not only is this mehman-nawazi exclusively found within cars. The first week, every meal with my host family felt like a royal feast. I was presented with osh, mantu, sambusas, piroshki, and a wide array of fruits (sometimes all in one sitting). My host mom reminded me that in her family, they have a saying: “Меҳмон ҳафт шикам дорад” (a guest has seven stomachs), as a way to justify her large display of food. Thankfully, my meals now resemble those of the rest of the family. One evening, my host brother, who is a Tajik singer, brought me to his concert in Tursonzoda and afterward to a wedding he was performing at in Dushanbe. I was awed by his incredible singing talent, but even more memorable was the way he proudly introduced me to everyone as his “mehman from America.”
Whether in the back of a green taxi in Dushanbe or around the overflowing table at my host family’s home, mehman-nawazi exists as a universal form of hospitality reflecting the sanctity of human connection. It’s an invitation to be seen not as a stranger, but as kin—a mehmon with seven stomachs, welcomed with open hearts and endless generosity. The common Persian saying “ ﺧﺪاﺳﺖ ﺣﺒﯿﺐ ﻣﮭﻤﺎن ” (a guest is a friend of God) is well alive in Tajikistan.
by Sohyb Mashkoor
Title VIII Fellowship for Overseas Language Study and Research Recipient
Eurasian Regional Language Program (ERLP)
Dushanbe, Tajikistan, Summer 2025