I was tricked.
I came home from grocery shopping for dinner and my host father called
me over. “Do you want to go to a
wedding [in Azerbaijani, a wedding is called a toy]?” he asked. Weddings are a big deal here. Food, dancing, drinking, loud live
music. One of the main cultural
interactions PCVs have is wedding attendance. Other PCVs have been invited to dozens of weddings. I’ve gone to two. One I was invited to, and the other I
tagged along with my host mother.
So when my host father asked, I was a little excited. I wanted to compare to my other wedding
experiences. So I said yes,
definitely. “Will you bring this
money with you when you go?” my host father asked. Drat, I knew then I’d be going alone. And then he handed me the
invitation. It wasn’t actually a
wedding, it was what is called a Kichik toy (kee-cheek), or “little wedding,”
and is actually a large celebration commemorating the circumcision of a young
boy.
Circumcisions here are not performed at birth, but as in a
number of Muslim countries, occurs when the boy is slightly older, usually, it
seems around 6-8 years old. I’ve
heard of some host families that will wait to have one party for two brothers
to save money, which can sometimes result in one boy being a young teenager at
the time. Yikes.
The party was a little awkward at first. It wasn’t too strange that I would go
alone, as I know the lucky youth’s father, a friend of my host family and a
regular taxi driver. He drove my
family to Sheki during their visit last summer. But besides him, I knew no one, and arrived at the party
while he was running a quick errand.
So I stood awkwardly for a few moments until someone came over and
ushered me to a chair. There were
about a dozen tables set up on the porch and yard with food and drinks set out
to eat until the main course was prepared. A man with a large camera floated around the party, filming
everything from people talking to eating and sipping their soda to dancing and
singing. I sat with a group mostly
made up of older men. After
learning about my work, they welcomed me and thanked me for working in
Ismayilli, and as is tradition at parties and celebrations here, libations
ensued. And then some more.
Like most weddings, this “little wedding” featured a live
guitarist and singer. Guitar music
is interesting here, as they play largely just the two higher strings and
ignore the other three. During the
main course, the singers performed and in between songs handed over the
microphone to various guests to give toasts. Most toasts say the same thing, thanking the host,
congratulating him, and wishing them a good life or fortune. At the past wedding, I was one of many
in the hall. This was at a home,
and had a much smaller attendance.
I stood out a bit more, and as a result, I was urged repeatedly to give
a toast. When I gave in, they made
sure the camera got in nice and close.
Thank you Mr. Seville. I
did the best I could and there was applause and I was ushered with the rest of
the table onto the dance floor, which as people finished eating, had been
cleared of some of the nearby tables.
Eventually, the others at my table got up to leave, and I
took the opportunity to slip out as well.
Before leaving, I said a final goodbye to the host and his son. The boy was nervous, but I have a suspicion
that was more due to the large number of strange people (especially the weird
white guy with blonde hair) that were hanging around his house than any
expectations for what was about to happen to him in a few hours. I’ve heard some stories about reusing
kitchen scissors for the deed, and my heart goes out to them. From others, though, I have heard that
it doesn’t hurt that much, and that they just enjoyed the attention and
pampering. Either way, I’m glad that I don’t have
to deal with the issue. This is
one tradition that I don’t intend to bring back with me from Azerbaijan. Novruz, samovar tea, fresh fruits and
vegetables from home gardens, I’ll keep all of those. But “little weddings” can stay here.
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