Tajik Wedding

Cucco! I had awakened to the sound of a rooster. The natural call of this farm animal put me in a good mood despite obtaining only a few hours of rest. It was 7am but the sun’s rays poured in the country house like ink on canvas. I washed my hands and face and said my Salams and Sobh Bakhayrs to the host and rest of the family. Today was the day they were bringing the arus, or bride to this qishlaq, or village, for the wedding. We sat around the dastsarkhan, a tablecloth used to serve food on, as breakfast was quickly brought to us. In front of me the host’s daughter, Firoza, placed a bowl of hot milk. “Freshly milked” she said in Tajiki with a sheepish smile. I added a spoonful of her homemade butter and watched as it quickly melted, leaving a swirl of yellow in a sea of white. Today a bond between two large families would be made with the union of a young couple. I drank my bowl of this memorable milk with eagerness for the event that would soon take place.

It was time to get ready and start making our way to the shahkhel’s, or groom’s family, house where the wedding would be taking place at. While the rest of the family went in a car, the younger ones decided that we walk so I could get a chance to see their village. It was about 105 degrees today. We passed by donkeys, cows, and chickens. There were children swimming naked in a tiny pond. We saw boys riding on donkeys with their groceries. After about 10 minutes we arrived at the groom’s family’s house where my dusty black leggings attracted no attention and my sweat soaked dress blended in with the aroma of fatty cooking. We were all welcomed in and not once did I feel like an outsider. We sat down around a large dastsarkhan where other guests were already eating shorba. Palow was brought out. Then shirbrinj. Followed fried meat. Then mantu. The entrees were never ending and there was an abundance of fresh fruit and desserts.

Eventually somebody yelled that the bride and groom were here! We all got up and ran to the gate where there was already a crowd of people, half of whivh weren’t even guests of the party, waiting to catch a glimpse of the young couple. The car that the couple had arrived in was beautifully decorated in flowers. “Khoshroy ah?” Everyone was wondering if the bride was beautiful. When somebody played some music finally the couple came out of the car to make their way towards the house. In front of them women threw candy and danced as children ran to sweep up the sweets.

The bride was wearing a gorgeous white wedding gown with a sheer veil; however I could not see her face as she had a handkerchief and was crying into it. I heard one guest say, “Fake! You can tell she’s happy!” It’s just part of tradition for the newly wedded bride to weep because she is leaving her family to start her own. Once the couple arrived at the center of the yard, which was decorated with a Persian poem and suzani needlework, more people began to dance. My host sister convinced me to join in on the celebration so I swerved my arms and twirled my wrists and even tried some of the Pamiri moves I learned from a Badakhshani friend. The sun was blazing down on everyone but nobody took notice.

The festivities, food, and song continued until hours later when the bride changed into a traditional Tajik wedding dress. It was time for her to “bake” the sweet cookie that would be given to all guests of the party. A mixing bowl with flour was brought out in front of her. Oil was poured over her hands and she kneaded the dough until it was a thick texture. Music was played and two young shahbachas in embroidered coats began dancing for everyone. The night would continue with more dancing, food, and enjoyment, but I missed the remainder; I had to endure the four hour drive back to Dushanbe which consisted of winding roads scattered with cows and other farm animals.

Janet is studying Dari in Dushanbe, Tajikistan.