Chaharshanbe Suri, Grace Dunbar

The digital-sounding-Nokia-standard-ring tone went off from my right pocket.

“Salom!” I answered, “… Yeah, I’m on my way… Umm, Okay, I’ll do that… I see one right now.” I bent down to pick up a stick off the ground and continued walking, “ See you in a minute.” I replied as I rounded the corner and hung up the phone.

Soon enough I saw Susannah, a student living a street over from myself, and we continued gathering sticks as we walked. In case one was unsure, walking around at night and picking up sticks is as odd in Tajikistan as in America. We definitely received a few odd looks. Why were we picking up lonely tree branches? “Chaharshanbe suri”, of course. Why else? Yeah, that’s about the same amount of confusion I felt when Mehri, born and raised in Iran, had invited me over to her house on a Tuesday night.

Navruz. Literally, “New Day” is celebrated all throughout Central Asia. The 21st of March, what we consider the first day of spring, goes and comes virtually without notice (or that could just be me). However, here in the middle of Asia it is quite a big deal. Interestingly enough, due to having been apart of the former Soviet Union, Navruz is a relatively newer holiday in Tajikistan and, from what I hear, pales in comparison to the festivities that take place in surrounding countries. But who cares about that? From what I could tell it mostly entailed eating and cooking and cleaning and chatting. Things we do every day here, the only exception is my host sisters, normally clad in Russian fashion, donned colorful national dresses. Actually, everyone was wearing traditional dress.

As we approached the front of Choikhona Rohat, the appointed meeting place, we saw that a few other students had already congregated in front of a fountain on the right side of the restaurant. When we arrived, preparations began immediately. Dirt was spread on the stone courtyard, kindling arranged and then Mehri’s husband attempted to set it all on fire. And so the fun began. It turns out in Iran, as you jump over the bonfire you are supposed to say, “zardi-ye man az to, sorkhi-ye to az man” or “ the yellow from me to you, the red from you to me.” Basically, shedding the sickly yellow from oneself and taking on the rosy-healthy color from the flames giving oneself a new fresh beginning in the New Year. While we enjoyed ourselves running and jumping over our single inferno, which wavered between a smoldering pile of sticks to bursting flames that scared poor Greta the Chihuahua, Mehri told us about Chaharshanbe Suri in Iran. People flood the streets and a series of bonfires are built in a row for people to jump over in leapfrog type fashion. Festivities continue on late, at least until midnight, in order properly usher in “chaharshanbe” or Wednesday. We followed suit and continued leaping over our bonfire until it turned into a lump of embers.

Grace Dunbar is currently studying Tajiki in Dushanbe, Tajikistan.