Another Paris
Kamila Rustambekova is a documentary photographer and filmmaker from Uzbekistan. With the ongoing project, Another Paris, Kamila embarks on researching and documenting the lives of migrant workers in Farish village located in the Jizzakh region of Uzbekistan. Migrant workers or seasonal farmers create temporary communities during the eight months of agricultural work they perform in the fields. Kamila spends a week in the area each time, observing and learning about the people, their lives, and their struggles.
Through her project, she highlights the themes of resilience of people, driving attention to the dreams they have and contrasting those with their day-to-day struggles. She also raises important questions about the concept of home and its meaning, as well as the role of women in traditional, patriarchal societies. Paris and the Eiffel Tower represent the dreams and point to society’s hurdles through the symbolism of replicas found in different parts of the country. Kamila describes her approach to the narrative and the wider meaning it offers, “This story is just one of the many untold stories that, for me, constitute the real Uzbekistan. There is no place for the gloss and empty promises of the Yangi Uzbekiston from TV, but there is life in its great variety, warmth, and connections.”
‘It's a portrait of the spirit of seasonal farmers who, in the face of challenging labor conditions, build lives marked by resilience and an unyielding sense of community.’
An oddly placed Eiffel Tower in an unassuming village in Uzbekistan hints at a unique intersection of dreams and labor. Through both text and documentary photography, I track this confluence as seasonal farmers craft homes and communities during their eight months working amidst the agricultural fields. Farish in the Jizzakh region of Uzbekistan is a somewhat magical place, where the Eiffel Tower greets you at the entrance and where people build their own world that is not seen from outside.
My ongoing series explores the lives of a large community of seasonal agricultural workers in Farish, located in Uzbekistan's Jizzakh region. This narrative unfolds in a place where an Eiffel Tower replica welcomes visitors, symbolically linking Farish to Paris due to their phonetic similarity in Uzbek and Russian. These workers, along with their families, occupy lands owned by others for eight months each year. They build temporary homes, cultivate tomatoes, melons, and watermelons, raise their children, and unwind in the evenings with Turkish TV series, crafting a unique, communal lifestyle.
It's a portrait of the spirit of seasonal farmers who, in the face of challenging labor conditions, build lives marked by resilience and an unyielding sense of community. This project is a tribute to these families who embody the heart and soul of Uzbekistan's seasonal agriculture, their stories offering a poignant reflection of the country's socio-cultural landscape and resisting the image of Uzbekistan portrayed on national television and Western orientalist misconceptions.
My far uncle's (from grandma's side) fields served as a stage for this project. In addition to my grandmother’s relatives, my grandfather was born there and lived there until he was 6 years old until the war began. As a child, he often told us about this beautiful, blooming place, and I thought that my grandfather was so cool that he so often went to Paris. The Uzbek dream is Paris. There are many replicas of the Eiffel Towers in various parts of Uzbekistan. It’s an obsession with Paris in some way.
In September/October the season is over, and farmers go home. These transitional moments make me think a lot about what home means. How does it feel like when you're not home all the time, or when your house fits in a truck, when you always live in a big community, and they are your home? This story is just one of the many untold stories that, for me, constitute the real Uzbekistan. There is no place for the gloss and empty promises of the Yangi Uzbekiston from TV, but there is life in its great variety, warmth, and connections.
‘I have to ask my heroes to do this or that, ask permission to shoot, and put them in needed settings, all this communication brings something to an image.’
I opted for formalism using medium format film, which, despite its challenges — like difficulty in night shooting, slow pace of work, and the costs associated with film, development, and scanning — allows for a more profound interaction with the subjects for me. This slower method of engagement requires individuals to remain still before the camera for some time while I measure the light and focus, fostering deeper connections. I have to ask my heroes to do this or that, ask permission to shoot, and put them in needed settings, all this communication brings something to an image. When I used to shoot this series on a small digital Fuji camera, I had been escaping from these interactions, I was able to take pictures super fast and keep going forward. This choice in aesthetics effectively captures the tranquil, dusty, and slow pace of the farmers' lives. I would like to create a portrait of them, their lifestyle, and their community rather than a reportage.
‘This is indicative of the broader challenges faced by female documentarians working in a patriarchal society where women's rights are often severely limited.’
The initial visit each season is the greatest challenge, as it involves meeting and connecting with all new individuals in the fields. As an introvert, this is particularly stressful for me. Additionally, being away from home for a week each month poses its own set of challenges. Despite being a relatively safe environment for me as a woman — since a relative whom I refer to as 'uncle' lives there — navigating occasional mistreatment from men remains a significant issue. This is indicative of the broader challenges faced by female documentarians working in a patriarchal society where women's rights are often severely limited.
In the environment in which I shoot, women have a clear role — they are the keepers of the hearth, responsible mothers, and obedient daughters-in-law. Entering this system, I am like a chameleon, trying to find a balance to be closer to them and at the same time remain a little myself. All the same, I am different — in my clothes, in the fact that I don’t speak Uzbek well, in the fact that I’m there at all. Everyone is usually surprised because, in a traditional family, the husband does not let his wife go anywhere, even to her own relatives.
