One of my earliest cultural experiences in Kyrgyzstan is one I can't resist telling, but its difficult to summarize how many differences there were to take in. While It's not nearly everything, here's my best shot:
We are Backwards Invited
On my second day in the country, my hosts and I were invited to a Uyger (pronounced Weeger, an ethnic group) circumcision party. This would be a big, formal event held at a restaurant banquet hall. The men were invited for the morning and women for the afternoon. A long skirt and sleeves to the elbow would be a Muslim-sensitive must. I asked my hosts why I hadn't been told we'd be attending. Well, they explained, they didn't know we'd be going, since, the invitation had been given the day before. What!? In Central Asian culture, you honor the last invitation you receive, not the first. Where we as Americans might say 'sorry, I already have plans,' a Central Asian would cancel any previous plan with a simple 'Sorry, something else has come up.' Because a circumcision party is so important--like a christening or a Chinese 1st birthday--they sent the invitations at the last moment, so everyone could come.
The Pony Poops
When the men of my host's family returned from bunch and prayer by the local imam, we women set off. Our party was much better. About 300 ladies enjoyed four course feast, games for the kids, and dancing. As we sat down to our first course, two little boys in gold embroidered hats and jackets, about 5 and 7 years old, the circumcise-ees (who seemed fine), were paraded in on a pony. Grandmas cried tears of pride and joy, everyone Ooed and Awwed and congratulated. This was all very cute until the pony pooped right next to a table of old ladies. The banquet hall, tables piled with food and all, filled with the stench of pony poo. The ladies in their glittering dresses lost no time in covering their noses with their headscarves. This is not a culture where politeness dictates one must pretend something unpleasant isn't happening.
Tigger Appears
Soon games for the kids began and the mix of American and local entertainment got surreal. Vaguely Russian tunes switched to such classics as Bad to the Bone and YMCA. A very puffy Spiderman and some sort of blue-haired fairy danced with the kids while shrill Russian-speaking Tigger directed games. An emo teenage magician with a Harry Potter cape emerged to pull scarves out of various openings. Meanwhile I had Fanta with my traditional pasta salad dish.
I have to Dance for Everyone
When the kids sat down, the MC came over to our table where the four white, western people were sitting. Since we were the guests from farthest away, we were to be honored most by being asked to give our congratulations first. We were called onto the dance floor and each given the mic in turn. I said "Congratulations" in English, which the MC (I am told) translated as "I am so happy to be here!" Then the music began and my neighbor hissed 'Dance!' I did so. The four of us moved in a circle in our best imitation of traditional Uyger dance-- which is a bit like hula without the hips. My imitation was poor. My hosts had mentioned we'd be dancing and I had asked their ten year old for a lesson. She said 'it's like this' and twirled her wrists. I did not understand that there was no time where everyone gets out on the floor to dance. You dance as a gift to all the guests, so that everyone can enjoy the sight. And if you enjoy the dance, you give the dancer a scarf. I got six scarves. Friendly, welcoming, pity scarves. Sheer pink flowers, silky leopard print, cotton stars on blue. I was grateful and confused.
I Consider Regifting
Other women came up, gave their congratulations and danced. When the congratulations were finished women who were beautiful dancers graced us with their movements. At one point early on I was enjoying watching an old lady (it was mostly older ladies) dance quite near our table. She looked right at me and I smiled appreciatively. We had a moment. I thought, 'Oh, I should give her a scarf,' but the only scarves I had were those I had just been given. 'Would it be offensive to give away my gifts?' I wondered. 'Would she be disappointed I didn't give her a scarf?' Later, through careful observation I discovered that regifting was happening all over the place. Ah, well.
As the Belgian lady shouted to me over the music: it was all very Arabian Nights.
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