Three weddings and a circumsion party

Wedding 1 (Saturday): It wasn't the actual wedding; rather, it was the "Kelin Salam." That's when the new daughter-in-law greets her mother-in-law's friends by dressing in 20 different outfits and bowing, slowly and solemnly. While the daughter-in-law bows, the mother-in-law's friends eat, chat, listen to music, and dance. I stuffed myself with cookies and juice (am I 5?), then only had room for one bite of plov. It was fun to see all the women dancing together, especially my host-mom. She can really shake her thang and I pleased her mightily by shaking mine. The new daughter-in-law greets her mother-in-law's guests in a variety of outfits, given to her by her new husband. The wealthier the family, the more outfits the daughter-in-law gets and, thus, has to change into.

My host-mom in her party dress, serving food (she wasn't the host she's just cool). She also made sure that my friend, Caitlyn, and I got all the freshest food. She's pretty much awesome.

Weddings 2 and 3 (Sunday): I didn't go to two weddings - I went to one and it ended up being two. My first real-life double wedding! I thought such things only happened in movies, but I was wrong. The brides and grooms entered the restaurant with much banging of drums and blowing of horns. Seriously. None of that staid 'wedding march' for Uzbeks! They made their way to the head table - a dais with flashing lights behind it - and sat with serious faces. The brides had to look especially grim to show their sadness at leaving their families. This is meant to be a show, of course, but one of the brides really did look grim. My Uzbek friend even said, "She's either a very good actor, or she's VERY unhappy."

After the wedding party was seated, the band played and people danced. At this wedding, the band played and only the men danced. With each other. They were awesome dancers, with wild waving arms and one-legged hops across the dance floor. The way I've described it makes it sound like a monkey moon-walking, but it's really impressive. The best dancers also make dramatic facial expressions, like in a Bollywood movie. I love seeing men dance, but I especially love seeing men dance well! I'm convinced that this is a lost art in the US, especially on the West Coast. The men I know (except for my Dad and brothers) can only be coaxed to dance after consuming lots of booze. Dancing is for everyone, people!

Circumsion Party (Sunday): Okay, okay . . . the circumsion party was also the double wedding party. When you're short on cash, it's wise to roll them all into one. The little boy's parents carried him in on their shoulders, while the guests cheered. He was dressed like a prince, with a red velvet robe embroidered with gold thread and a four-cornered red velvet hat. They sat him at his own table in the middle of the room, until he started to cry (I think he was about 3 or 4) and carried him around.

In Uzbek culture, they usually do the actual circumsion at a hospital after the party. In Kyrgyzstan, they did the party AFTER the circumsion. They also circumsize boys as old as 5 or 7. When I went to a circumsion party with my Kyryz teacher there, his 5 year old nephew had just been circumsized. I asked if he would be able to enjoy the party and he said, "He's walking, isn't he?" That' good enough!

Me in a half Uzbek, half Russian dress with my host-mom and her friends. I didn't take any pictures at the other party, so this is all you get! Notice how tall and blond I am compared to the other ladies. I fit right in here . . .

The tale of the fly-swatter

I was just finishing my morning coffee when the scream came from the table:

"GRANDMAAAAAAAAAAA!!! Aziz hit me with the fly-swatter!" Medina could barely say the words because she was crying so hard. I doubt that the hit with the swatter was that painful, but she's three and she likes to cry. Aziz is four (almost five), the tsar of our house, and he also likes to cry. He also likes to hit people.

My host-mom hoisted herself up from her chair and ran to the table (I've never seen an old woman move so quickly!). She grabbed the fly-swatter from where Aziz had discarded it on the ground. Aziz, guessing her intentions, ran to the other side of the table. From there a complex game of 'chase the kid around the table' began. My host-mom, in traditional Uzbek dress with hair covered, chased Aziz around and around the table as he fled and proceeded to cry harder and harder.

The commotion upset the baby, who started screaming. Nigina, who is seven and above it all, sat on the swing and laughed. My host-sister didn't bother to interrupt her breakfast and mechanically kept eating. The only thing that could have added to the commotion would be a barking dog. Luckily, we don't have one, but I'm tired of children and retreated to my room. After I shut the door, I heard my most-mom yell,

"You see, Aziz! Ailey is so tired of you, she had to go to her room! Ailey will not like you if you act like this!"

This is pretty much the truth.

Welcome to my house!

According to the text that I have to translate:

"Uzbeks of modest means are also extremely generous toward their guests. When a stranger arrives at an Uzbek household, he is first invited inside and offered tea and other refreshments. Only then does the host ask who the guest is and why he has come."

This statement isn't necessarily true. At my house, the big brown gate (see above) is almost always bolted and, before my family opens the door, they yell, "KIIIIIIIIIIIIIMM?!!" I think a direct translation might be, "Who the hell is it?!" After that, though, they're extremely friendly.

Above you see our courtyard. We have a lot of fruit trees, including peach, apple, a fruit I'm unfamiliar with, and grapevines. The white table is on a raised platform where we eat every meal unless the flies are too bad. When they swarm, we eat inside which is far less pleasant. In the background, you see a stone wall. Behind this wall, our cow and goat stand all day. They're tied in place, so I guess they'll be tender when they're finally eaten.

This is my living room. As you can see, I'm kind of a messy person. I have more furniture in my rooms than my host-family has in theirs. From what I've experienced, Central Asian culture doesn't value clutter as much as American culture does. For example, my host-family has a large living room with only a TV in the corner and a couch against the far wall.

Here's another view of my living room. I have my own TV! Unfortunately, I only get three channels - Tajik, Tajik, and Russian. The Tajik channels are often overtaken by the president, who gives long addresses to his Viziers that I don't understand. The Russian television has been playing the EuroCup and, for that, I'm thankful. That said, I haven't been watching much TV. You're probably surprised that I can tear myself away from Tajik speeches and the Russian news, but I've been cultivating a willpower that's second to none.

My bedroom! I have a full-sized bed that is actually two singles pushed together. It's a nice room, which my host-family painted pink before I arrived. I love my pink room. The best part of my pink room, though, is the killer fan. I love the killer fan. Just this morning, my host-father said, "Did you know that if you sleep with the fan on . . ." But before he could finish, my host-mother yelled from the kitchen:

"I already told her, you old man! She sleeps with it on anyway!"

And there you have my house.