Things formed in such a way that in the course of two centuries except native inhabitants people of other nations live on the Tajik earth making their certain contribution into the development of the state and society. The first Russians appeared in our region at the beginning of the XIX-th century yet when diplomatic relations were established between Bukhara emirate and the Russian state. Many Russians removed to Tajikistan. For a part of them the country of "high mountains" became the second motherland. However, at the end of the century passed the events had taken such a turn that many of them were compelled to resettle back to Russia. And still there were people who having tasted our bread and salt decided to unite their fates with the new motherland forever. Raissa Yakovlevna Kozhina refers to this category of people. Her gather, Yakov Stepanovich Kozhin, had worked in Tashkent as a healer, after the formation of the Tajik Soviet Socialist Republic he was referred to Dushanbe in 1931. His wife Yefrosinia Vassilyevna came with him. They were sent urgently to Asht district; plague, malaria, tuberculosis, eczema, measles were raging there. Only in two years when the indices of diseases ebbed the family managed to go on leave to Leningrad, to see their relatives, dearest and nearest. Here Raissa was born, she was the seventeenth (!) child. But hospitable and responsive people who conquered the hearts of medical workers, picturesque landscapes of the Kuramin mountains called back. Next to us.
I Adopted Islam in Order to Have a Place for Being Buried and People who Will Bury me.
And they returned to Asht with Raissa who was one month old, they lived in one of the wards of the qishloq hospital; its door being always opened for patients. Yakov Kozhin circuited yards examining patients, diagnosing and treating them. His wife though having no special medical education acted as a midwife, she saved a lot of future mothers when they gave birth to a child. As Raissa Kozhina memorizes, the residents of Asht and its vicinities applied to her with their grievances and problems bringing some food by all means. Mother was loved ardently, they called her "Farosat" in Tajik, it means "clever woman". Little Rayechka, fair-haired, sun burnt, in a kerchief, was hardly distinguishable among Tajik girls who loved her, too, they spoke Tajik. Raissa was brought up in this environment. Communication with local people enabled her to finish Tajik school in Shaidan; in 1947 she entered the faculty of history of the Tajik State University in Dushanbe. But after the second school year she transferred to Leninabad Teachers' Traning Institute proceeding with her studies in Tajik.
The young teacher having a good command in three languages, responsive and communicable, was appreciated at once. In different years she worked as deputy headmaster in her native school #2 in Shaidan and secondary school #5 in Adrasman, as secretary of the district Comsomol committee. The fate brought her to the mining settlement of Kansay where she had been working as a teacher in the course of 30 years until she retired on pension in 1993. Here, in school #3 where over 1200 children studied, tuition was conducted in three languages: Tajik, Uzbek and Russian. During all her pedagogical activity Raissa Kozhina taught history in all the three languages.
It's hardly imaginable how much force and nerves her work with children took. But she is never sorry for the way gone, on the contrary, she is proud of her life full of sense. Infinite love and affections on the part of villagers towards their muallima evidence to it. She is not forgotten by her former pupils who write letters to her in three languages. She doesn't get used to complaining. She doesn't complain even of her son, Vadim Kasyanov, who lives in Saint-Petersburg in his father's house, works as an underground builder and doesn't recall his mother rendering neither material nor moral support in her old age.
I feel a great amount of optimism in her, I admire overtly her vigour, radiant glance, I ask her without being afraid of offending what she is busy with every day, whether she suffers from loneliness.
- Now it is no time for complaints and rebukes, - she confesses sincerely. - The time is cruel, the troubles of everyday life made people heatless, merciless, everyone is absorbed in his own problems. But in spite of all I wish my son be happy. Though I get only 18 somoni of pension making hardly both ends meet. But thanks to neighbours and pupils I manage to survive. Many pupils of mine returning from Russia bring me foodstuffs or small presents. I read books, play chess with neighbours. It's a pity there is neither radio nor TV. My ill legs don't afford to have walks. I even can't reach the post-office to get my pension.
And forestalling my question she smiles ironizingly: "But how can I cure my legs having no money for treatment? I always pray asking Allah not to reduce me to being placed in hospital. I prefer to give away my life to our Lord that to lie in hospital. Everyone knows the cost of treatment".
- You asked me about loneliness. I am not lonely. Of course, I have no close relatives here. I was the youngest in the family, but I am 72 already. Four brothers who had grown together with me in Tajikistan perished in the Great Patriotic war yet. Parents were buried in Tajikistan. And other brothers and sisters lived in different cities of Russia, but they are dead, their children are engaged in their own problems. My dearest and nearest are my neighbour, colleagues and pupils. Jamoat chairman Okhun Abdurahmonov is my pupils, he cares about me as if he were my own son. Thanks to Allah, neighbours don't leave me alone, they invite me to different gatherings and ceremonies. No, I don't feel lonely …
- Raissa Yakovlevna, I haven't been surprised at Your mentioning the name of Allah, our Lord. And colleagues who I told that I was going to write about the Russian teacher who had adopted Islam took it easy: they told it's better for her if she decided so.
Yes, love and respect of my country people induced me to adopt Islam persuasion. And now, every morning and evening I repeat the words of devotion: "La Illaha, Illallah, Muhammadan Rasulullah! My father dreamt of adopting Islam in his old age. But it was impossible at those times when atheistic ideology reigned and it was hazardous to follow this path. Now I live in peace - when I die I would be buried, people will find a place for me. I love this land with all my heart and soul, I feel anguish when I memorize the exotic landscapes of Asht and Oshoba. I would like to roam along the paths, to drink water from a spring-well, to have rest under secular plane-trees. For me these two qishloqs are small Switzerland though I have never been to this country. My parents also were of the same opinion, they knew every street, every path there. I dream of attending my native land where I spent my childhood and adolescence where I left my heart for ever.