Kazakh celebration

Today was filled with anticipation. The wedding would start at 6pm, so it was just a matter of occupying ourselves until then. Max and I decided to spend the day at the market but had lunch with her mom first. We tried a new restaurant, where we had mutton hamburgers and potato salad. I was horrified at the thought of a mutton quarter pounder, but the patties were very thin, so they weren't bad. At the market I purchased a Scythian double lock. Even the King of Thieves purportedly found them difficult to pick. The key alone was worth the purchase. From there I noticed a man following us. Eventually, we went into a shop. He came in as well. I stared at him several times, so he knew I was aware of him, although Max was oblivious. He stepped out for a moment, then returned with another man. He shut the door behind him, which didn't need shutting, and that's when I told Max to get out. She hesitated, not understanding what I was asking. "Max, get out of the shop now," I said firmly. We stepped into the market area, and I pulled her into plain view. The man who had been following us, then left the store, and we didn't see him again. The rest of our shopping experience was colored with a veil of paranoia, but it didn't stop me from buying a del, a traditional Mongolian coat, or an embroidered shirt for tonight.

Apparently a 6pm wedding reception actually means 7:30'ish. Lucky for us we arrived fashionably late at 6:15. It was explained that the wedding had already occurred at the mosque, and the couple was expected to have several receptions here and in the countryside. This reception was held at a community building. When we arrived the long tables were set. On the tables sat a bottle of water, a box of juice, and two bottles of vodka; hence, the shot glasses at every setting. Also spread along the tables were: plates of fried bread the size of donut holes; two plates of candies; a dish of dried fruits; a plate of orange slices; a platter with shredded carrots, shredded beets, cabbage, thinly sliced fried potatoes, finely cut pickles, and strips of dried meat, with a big blob of mayonnaise in the middle; and a plate of sliced cucumbers, tomatoes, and horse sausage. We were permitted to pick at the food while we waited for the other guests. "Down the hatch!" I smiled at Max and sampled the horse sausage. It wasn't bad, but the thought of eating Mr. Ed prevented me from trying more than one piece. We sat with the women from Alex's project. Most are married, so they wear the traditional headscarves.

The bride and groom didn't arrive until 8pm. A man in traditional Muslim dress, carrying a two-stringed lute, was escorted to a microphone twenty feet away but facing the couple. We stood and then the little Mongolian women next to me pushed me into Max. We were to form a circle around the couple and lute player. He sang a song to the couple. I watched his intensity and emotion, imagining a beautiful love song about how love endures through hardships and tribulations, only to grow stronger. His voice was exquisite, and the lute accompaniment was magical. Alex leaned over to my ear, "He's listing all the duties to be performed by the wife." So much for romance. Such is the lot of an Islamic woman. In this area, the man sits on the ground all day, while his herd grazes. The woman gets up at the crack of dawn to start the fire for tea. Her day is filled with hauling water from the source, collecting dung for the fire, caring for the children, milking the animals, making dairy products, washing laundry, cooking for the family, washing dishes, etc.

We ate the food at our table, once everyone was seated. The plate of mayo was mixed up to make a surprisingly tasty salad, although I avoided the meat in it. As soon as a plate was empty, another appeared. They also served milk tea, suutei tsai, all night. This is a warm cup of milk with tea and salt in it. Sometimes they add a dollop of butter but not tonight. I'm coming to like it with my meals. There was an emcee with a side kick to navigate us through the traditions. The emcee reminded me of part-game show host and part-cheesy Las Vegas performer all wrapped up in a miniature John Belushi body.

Throughout the night, relatives and friends spoke at the microphone then sang something karaoke. The overhead disco lights came on and John Belushi invited us to dance. Again, the little Mongolian woman pushed me out. Four to five circles formed and one or two couples would take turns dancing in the middle. I danced to a Sonny and Cher song with a Kazakh man and probably did more for international relations than Bush has in eight years!

After the dancing there were more speeches and karaoke. Vodka was poured in everyone's shot glass, even for the small children. The few who didn't want it covered the glasses as the host came by. There was no formal toast, so people drank at their leisure, some much more than others. When it seemed like things were winding down, Max told me to be on the lookout for a sheep's head. "You're kidding, right? It's almost midnight." Nope. Out came the huge platters of sheep, topped with a buck knife for cutting the larger pieces. No heads, thankfully. This is very traditional Mongolian fare: everybody uses their hands to pick meat off the platter. No need for plates or silverware. I was sitting quietly, taking it all in, when I got an elbow in the ribs from my Mongolian mother. She motioned to the platter. I smiled and ate sheep, but I refused to suck the marrow out of the bones like the old Kazakh women.Read more