My walking guide, Oybek Ruzmetov, strode up to the first person we saw at this Milestone. It was a woman. She was walking toward us across a bridge in Kattakurgan. We weren’t having much luck interviewing women in rural Uzbekistan. Women reacted to my earnest requests to talk about their lives with masks of stone—or smiles of panic. Rural Uzbekistan was fairly gender segregated. Good luck with that, I thought, watching Ruzmetov launch into his pitch.
The woman walked over to me. Smiling a golden smile, she agreed to be questioned. She was eager to talk. No: She was positively effusive. I blinked with astonishment.
“How did you do it?” I asked Ruzmetov.
“Easy,” he said. “I told her we were with Uzbek television.”
I told the woman we weren’t with Uzbek television. I told Ruzmetov we couldn’t do things that way anymore. I consoled myself that one day, somewhere, perhaps in a nunnery without electricity in Ireland, we would get a volunteer cleanly, through the allure of text.