Almira Tabaeva Stories are the threads that weave the fabric of our lives, linking our past experiences with the rhythm of our present and the hopes for our future. My narrative traces the journeys of the women in my family, spanning four generations – from my great-grandmother in early 20th-century Russia to myself, the fourth generation, navigating my hybrid identity throughout Kazakhstan, Karakalpakstan and Uzbekistan.

These stories travel across different spatial and temporal landscapes, creating a rich tapestry of struggles and triumphs that brighten our shared history and resilience across the Soviet era and beyond. For this sound project, the third generation, my beloved opa Fatima, reads from her diary, written in Russian. I conclude this narrative with a poem dedicated to my female lineage, honouring their enduring legacy. This exploration is a part of my research into decolonizing gender discourse in Uzbekistan, offering a personal lens through family stories to challenge prevailing narratives.

The area from where my great grandmother is located is in the Navoi region of Uzbekistan. This region is known for its windy and dusty conditions, with extreme temperature levels - extremely cold nights & hot days during the summer, and very cold winters.
It is an oasis in the middle of the Kyzyl-Kum desert, getting lost to the growing monstrous resource extraction industrial sites.
During the Soviet period the area nearby became very industrialized for mining gold and uranium. Little has changed since then. It is full of people trying to profit from the resources the land has there. Because of this, the place is becoming more and more unhealthy.
However, along with mixed feelings of sadness, resistance, and despair, I find this place very tranquil and kind. I do not know if anybody would have similar feelings. Is this because I am somehow connected to this place or just simply because it really is like this?
There is a canal that I've known since my childhood trips to this place. I love its sound mixed with the sounds of the birds.
Clover, corn, apples, goats, and me. They/we have their sound too, but the wind again surpasses all the sounds.
I rarely see people outside there. Almost no cars nearby.
Yet the wind is there. It turned out to be too strong. Many other sounds get lost.
I want to save this feeling of rawness in the recordings, the ruthlessness of the wind mixed with sometimes pleasant sounds of the water, birds, and seconds of ‘almost silence’.
I want the audio to be disturbing mostly but not completely. There should be some sense of a refuge too.

We visited Namangan, where our relatives live and went to our grandmother‘s house. We were welcomed warmly and were soon seated around the familiar low table - xontaxta. As we sipped our tea, we felt the comfort of home.

We told our grandmother that we intended to have an interview with her, to which she agreed. In turn with Gulnoza, we asked questions about her childhood, parents and other stories from her past. Her memories were vivid, and we could feel the love and strength of her family through her words.

We talked about Islam during Soviet period, specifically how could her parents and grandparents could keep practising it, despite

anti-religious regulations.

This recording also contains methods of passing knowledge to younger generations using oral history.