This might seem like an odd topic to choose for a postcard, but as Benjamin Franklin observed: “There are only things certain in life, Death and Taxes.”  There is no denying the fact that death, (and having to come to terms with loss of a loved one), is a fact of life, (no pun intended), which we all have to face.

I have, unfortunately, been to a number of funerals, both back in the UK and here, and especially in the recent past.

I have described one case in particular in a postcard where I talked about the traditions associated with the “Kyrgyz way of death”.   I have also written a postcard about the Ala Archa Cemetery, in downtown Bishkek, where many Kyrgyz celebrities are buried.

As it happens, over the weekend I came across a “photoessay” entitled: “Kyrgyzstan: Cemeteries Give a Snapshot of History“, which I thought was quite intreresting and worth sharing.

It reminded me of the several tourists that we’ve, (including professional photographers), who have enthused, if not raved, over the images that they have been able to snap amongst the graves of traditional cemeteries here in Kyrgyzstan.

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There are many examples of ancient burial sites – for example barrows (burial mounds) – to be found throughout the country and also a number of grand mausoleums, (Gumbez).

As nomads living in yurts, of course, the ancient Kyrgyz constructed few permanent buildings and one traveller, in 1856, noted that if the Kyrgyz could be said to have any form of architecture it was to be found in the structures they erected for the dead.

The earliest grave markers are perhaps the balbals. There are several collections gathered together – for example at the Burana Tower not for from Tokmak and outside the Historical Museum in Bishkek. These statuettes, often holding a cup as a sign of either welcome or servitude.

Many of the later mausoleums take the form of a small citadel – complete with four corner towers, crenulated walls, and often topped with a dome, cone or marquee – made from clay bricks, and adorned with the crescent moon – a symbol of Islam.  They are often decorated with fancy patterns of brickwork – and the mausoleums at Uzgen in the Osh oblast and the Manas Gumbez in Talas are well preserved examples of this. Unfortunately, a large number of structures built in the past of adobe bricks (made from clay mixed with straw) have deteriorated and are being eroded away.

In Sary Jaz, in the Issyk Kul oblast, there are the remains of a wooden structure erected over a grave.  More recently, ironwork in the shape of a yurt is erected over the gravesite.   Today, many Kyrgyz today are buried under simple headstones or miniature, ironwork yurts covered with wildflowers in spring.

Also, rather poignant are the roadside memorials devoted to victims of road accidents that scatter the mountain roads. These are often plain, soviet style headstones – with an inscription and sometimes a photograph.

Ak Taala –  in the Naryn province has the mausoleum at Taylik Baatyr. As well as being striking for its architecture, it is interesting because it has two entrances which is very unusual. This is because it is actually two mausoleums joined together. There are two different accounts given to explain this … the first recounts that the mausoleums belong to the local khan (Taylik Baatyr) and his brother – however, Taylik’s  brother was apparently never a khan and did not merit such a grand mausoleum. The other account proclaims that the second was actually built for Taylik’s wife. In Kyrgyz tradition, women never attend the graveyard – and would not have merited a mausoleum in their own right – but, so the story goes, on one occasion when Taylik was away, the local community was set upon by raisers and his wife successfully organized their defence and hence merited the special distinction of being granted a grand gumbez.

Bishkek – just to the south of the city, a little distance from the road to Ala Archa is the mausoleum of Baitik Kanaev, who was one of the Kyrgyz leaders who invited the Russian to help them overcome the Kokand Khanate at the end of the 19^thcentury. Actually, it is not his last resting place – but just a memorial.

Burana Tower – near the tower is the site of three ancient mausoleums – only the base of the walls have been reconstructed so that visitors can get an idea of the shape.

Kochkor: cemetery – Usually, cemeteries are found on raised land, overlooking the community – although in some places (such as at Kochkor in the Naryn oblast) this wasn’t possible and the graveyard is found just outside the town. It is close to the road easily accessible, and well worth a visit.

Koshoi Korgon, just outside At Bashi in the Naryn oblast, is said to be the site of a mausoleum built by Manas for his fallen friend and cousin, Koshoy, following a battle.

Safed Bulan – In the Moslem graveyard, on outskirts of the village is the brick mausoleum of Shah-Fazil, reputedly built by his son around 1050 AD. He is reputed to have brought Islam to Central Asia. It is still an operating Sufi mosque and pilgrimage site. The central cupola is almost 16 m tall, and the interior is decorated with decorative panels, rosettes and relief inscriptions with Quranic texts and inscriptions in Farsi. Ibn-Nasir’s tomb stands in the middle surrounded by Islamic grave stones or kayrak.

People know the site as Safed Bulan, after a black maiden who is said to have lived in the area. Legend has it that a grandson of the Prophet Muhammed led an army to bring Islam to Central Asia. The local population at first acceded to the call to convert – but when the Arab army was at prayer, they attacked and after a short battle took about 2700 prisoners whom they then proceeded to despatch. A black woman who had been traveling with the army appeared on the battlescene searching for the body of her lover amongst the slain. When she saw the mass of bodies she instantly turned grey – and although she didn’t find her love, she stayed on to bury the heads of the fallen warriors. In recognition of her deeds, Allah turned her white as a sign of her godliness – hence the name (which is said to mean “White Woman”).  After her gruesome task was completed she stayed on and lived out her life in the village looking after the graves of the fallen warriors. After her own death, she was buried nearby and a special mausoleum was erected in her honour. Eventually Shah Fasil returned to punish the pagans for their treachery and he, too, stayed on and was eventually buried in the mausoleum.

Although historians regard this as just a legend – and there is no account of such incidents in other sources, archaeologists have discovered evidence of as large battle dating from this period nearby.

A complex consists of the mausoleum itself, along with several others, several vaults, a necropolis – including a collection of 2700 heads – and a mosque – as well as the holy mountain Archa Mazar.

The site underwent major restorations in 1978 and 1996. Apparently the restorations made things worse in that they used concrete instead of traditional materials – resulting in damage to the microclimate inside.  The US government has given a grant for new work to be undertaken to correct the damage.

Please note, the mausoleum is an example of living Central Asian Sufism, i.e. a site of religious significance – not a sterilized ‘monument’ or ersatz culture, and so visitors should dress modestly when visiting.

Sary Jaz – there are the remains of a wooden structure – a quadrilateral roof based on four pillars.  It is thought that this may be an ancient design because there is a description of a similar structure in the Manas epic.

Talas – there are a number of ancient mausoleums in the Talas valley – but the most famous of all is the Manas Gumbez, located some 12 miles Southeast of the modern town. There are two different traditions – one says that his son Semetei carried the body here (to the village of Ahhyrtash, near the mouth of the Kenkol river, and built the mausoleum here for him. The other say that it was built by his wife, Kanykei, and his friend and counselor, Bakai – and that to prevent despoliation by his enemies they placed an inscription over the door that it was the mausoleum of a young girl. The grounds of the mausoleum now house a grand museum (built as part of the Manas 100 celebrations in 1995) and behind this is the Mount Kamyr – which is said to have provided a grand panorama of the valley where Manas’s warriors kept guard watching for potential invaders. Recent studies by French archaeologists suggest that this mound may have been man-made, which, if so, would have been a considerable undertaking and achievement. There are other signs of ancient fortifications at the site. The gumbez itself is a typical, Central Asian, single chamber mausoleum – built on a square base with an octagonal pyramid roof. It features on the reverse of the 20 som note.  The brickwork shows signs of complex decoration.

Also in the Talas valley are a number of burial sites which have attracted interst: kurgans, with the deceased being buried in catacombs. Catacomb burial sites are found throughout Kyrgyzstan, and also further afield in Central Asia.

The first catacomb burial site was discovered in Kyrgyzstan in 1898, in the Talas area, by a Finnish archaeological expedition which aimed to study ancient Turkic writing that looked similar to the runes of Scandinavia.  As part of their exactions they discovered, in the village of Kenaral and its surroundings, four catacomb burial sites (Karbus, Koen-Tokoi, Joon-Tobe, Chik-Tuee). A report on the expedition was published in Helsinki 20 years later but for some reason did not try to define either the dates of these monuments or their ethnic origin.

In 1938-1939, similar kurgans in the Talas area were studied by an archaeological expedition of the Academy of Sciences of Kyrgyz Republic and the Hermitage.  On the left bank of the Kenkol River – a tributary of the River Talas – they found more than 60 such sites, which were documented two years later in a book: “The Kenkol burial ground”. This report addressed, for the first time, the questions of dating and origin of catacomb burials of Central Asia, however, the question remains unsettled to this day – the method of construction is different from other mauolseums in the surrounding region, and the presence of “foreign”, or “imported”, objects raises questions about if they were built by invading foreign peoples or local tribes.

It is thought that the Kenkol site houses a group of kurgans which date from the 2nd to the 4th centuries and is located near to the Gumbez of Manas (Manas Mausoleum).  Many of the kurgans consist of underground, arched, rooms and rectangular hollows.  Sometimes the body of the deceased was placed in a wooden coffin, or on a wooden bed.

The human remains excavated suggest a population with a racial mix and exhibit Mongoloid features.

In the kurgans were also found many artifacts with both daily and ceremonial functions, such as: clay and wooden plates; arrows with both iron and bone heads; bows with in-lays made from bone; bronze mirrors; wooden tables; clothes made from silk; and clay censers.

Uzgen – not far from the main road there is a small museum complex based around a tower – an old minaret –and three grand mausoleums dating from the 11^th and 12^th centuries. They are highly decorated and feature on the back of the 50 som note.

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I am aware that there has been a somewhat depressing turn to the postcards recently, in that there have been quite few references to deaths and funerals.

I have mentioned several times that last year was the year of the “black tie”.  It wasn’t just a case of the number of people that died in the turmoil that we experienced during the year, but a number of friends and acquaintances also passed away and, as a result, I visited the cemetery on a few too many occasions for my liking.

Yesterday involved yet another trip, but this time it was not because someone had just died but rather to mark the one year anniversary of his death.  There is a tradition here, that as well as holding a wake, (called a “pamenka”), on the occasion of the funeral, the friends and relatives also gather on the ninth, the fortieth day and after a year, to mark the occasion and remember the deceased.  Although this marks the end of the mourning process, there are other occasions when one visits the grave, on birthdays and anniversaries and on Roditelskiy Dehn, (the second Tuesday after Easter – Orthodox Easter, that is).

Roma was a close friend of mine who died suddenly a year ago, hence, yesterday’s visit to the cemetery.

At times like this, as well as remembering the deceased, one also thinks about the metaphysical questions of life and death.  I suppose it’s natural but I won’t dwell on those here and now.  However, as I was preparing for the visit, my mind wandered to the question of cemeteries.  The graves are marked out in serried rows, marked by memorials, a surprising number of them in the form of cross.

How different it was in ancient times.  We have, for example, an interesting and graphic account of the funeral of a Chieftain of the Volga Vikings.  Yes, that’s right, The Volga Vikings.  The Vikings not only launched seaborne raids to the West, from Scandinavia to the islands of Britain and Ireland, to Iceland, Greenland and even America, they also travelled overland, carrying their longboats over mountain passes and floated them down the Volga river.  There was even a company of Vikings who formed the body guard for the Byzantine Emperor.  One group encountered a diplomat from Samarkand who witnessed the funeral in question and wrote the account, which involved a lot of feasting and drinking, the gang rape of a girl selected to be a human sacrifice as well as the feature that we would probably recognize from our history lessons and the movies: the burning of a longboat.

Not all ancient people had such brutal ceremonies associated with the internment of a recently deceased leader.  Most cultures seem to have buried their dead, rather than launching them on the waters in a fiery tomb, often under a huge mound of earth which rises above the surrounding terrain – a kurgan.

The word “kurgan” is derived from the ancient Turkic word for “castle” and is often used as part of a place name.  However, it does not refers to a fortress or fortification, but rather to a large tumulus, (burial mound  or barrow), where earth has been heaped over the burial chamber of a tomb.  Within the burial chamber, at the heart of the kurgan, elite individuals would be buried with a variety of “grave goods” and sacrificial offerings, sometimes including horses and chariots.

Kurgans are found throughout the Eurasian continent, often extending in great chains for many kilometers along ridges and watersheds.  They are characteristic of various Bronze Age peoples, and it is thought that their use spread from the Steppes of Asia to Europe in the third millennium BC.

It is thought that kurgans may have been located near the territorial boundaries of a clan or a family lands. Until recent times, the Kazaks and Kyrgyz buried their deceased only near the winter pastures – that is at lower altitudes rather than high in the mountains.

Kurgans have provided us with much information about civilizations that prospered in this area in ancient times.  Often, nearby are also found the remains of ancient settlements, balbals and petroglyphs.  Archaeologists have discovered many artifacts in excavations of kurgans.  Perhaps the best known example in this part of Central Asia, was the Issyk Kurtgan.  Although it was just over the Kungey Ala Too, to the South of Almaty in Kazakhstan, it gives a good indication of the peoples who occupied the region at that time.

It was discovered in 1969, it measured 60m in circumference and was 6m high.  It has been dated to the 4th or 3rd century BC. Amongst the notable items discovered were:

• a skeleton of uncertain sex, in all probability an 18-year-old Sak (Scythian) prince or princess, (variously called the “golden man” or “golden princess”), which had been interred complete with warrior’s equipment, and and with rich funerary goods, including 4,000 gold ornaments. The “golden man” was adopted as one of the symbols of modern Kazakhstan – for example, a likeness of the “golden man” crowns the Independence Monument on the central square of Almaty.
• a silver cup bearing an inscription which offers us one of the few remaining examples of the ancient Scythian language.

These finds are on now display in Astana, the capital of Kazakhstan.

The Kurgans of Kyrgyzstan

Kyrgyzstan has a large number of tumuli, mainly in the Northern part of the country, along the Northern Branch of the Great Silk Road: around Lake Issyk Kul and along the valley of the Chui River – in the foothills of the Kyrgyz Range.

The greatest concentration is at Kok Bulak in the Issyk Kul oblast, to the north of the main Bishkek-Balykchi road, where there are over 250 barrows dating from between the 6th century BC to the 10th century AD. (There are also petroglyphs nearby, some of which date back to 2000 BC.)

There is a collection of some 70 kurgans, (which date from between the 6th century BC to the 9th century AD, some reaching 3 meters in height), a kilometer to the south of Kok Moinok, (in the Issyk Kul oblast, where the road to Naryn and Kochkor leaves the main Bishkek-Issyk Kul road), on the banks of the river Chu.

Near Kara Oi, to the West of Cholpon Ata – the main resort on the Northern shore of Lake Issyk Kul, is another collection of about 40 kurgans notable for the different sizes which, it is thought, denotes the variety of “occupants” ranging from clan elites to simple nomads.

The largest kurgan in Kyrgyzstan is at Darhan, a small village to the west of Kyzyl Suu in the Issyk Kul oblast.  Known locally as Kara Dube, it is thought to be a royal burial site and dates from somewhere between the 6th and 4th centuries BC.  It  measures 100m in diameter and is 12m high.

Other sites where kurgans can be found in Kyrgyzstan are:

Ak Chii : Issyk Kul : About 2-3 kilometers outside the village are some balbals dating from between the 7th and 9th centuries.

Ak Sai : Issyk Kul : the village of Ak Sai lies on the Southern shore of Lake Issyk Kul. To the North East, on the left bank of the river is a burial mound, 40 meters long and 5 meters high, dating from 6th and 4th centuries BC.

Ala Bel : Issyk Kul :about three kilometers from the road from Ottuk to Kochkor, is a collection of about 20 barrows.

Ala Tash : Issyk Kul : To the South East of this village, on the southern shore of Lake Issyk Kul, archaeologists have unearthed the remains of a Silk Road settlement dating from between the 10th and 12th centuries – including some fortifications about 3m tall. The first excavations took place as long ago as 1884.  There are also a number of Balbals in the neighbourhood dating from the 6th to the 9th centuries, and some petroglyphs from about 2000BC. There are also some burial mounds from the 3rd century BC to the 6th century AD.

Alchaluu : Chui : In this village at the foot of the mountains, South West of Kemin, are some ancient burial mounds.

Alexandrovka : Chui : To the West of Bishkek, are a number of burial mounds scattered about the farmland.  These are the last resting places for some of the nobility of the ancient Sak and Usun tribes that settled in the Chui valley between the 7th century BC and the 3rd century AD.

Boz Barmak : Issyk Kul : At the extreme western end of the lake, south of Balykchi, lies the hill of Boz Barmak. On the slopes were found some stone-age implements dating back more than 100,000 years.  There are also 8 burial mounds dating from the period of the Saks.

Chon Aryk : Chui : A small village, South of Bishkek, the barrows can be seem along the side of the road from Bishkek.

Chon Koi Suu : Issyk Kul : The valley lies between the villages of Baetova and Sary Oi, in the valley of the Chon Suu river, and petroglyphs have been found across an area of three square kilometres, dating from between 1000 BC and 1000 AD.  They depict many animals that used to be native to the area and also pictures of daily life.  The valley is also home to a series of burial mounds dating from the period of the Saks.

Chon Tash : Issyk Kul : to the South West of the village lie some burial mounds dating from between the 3rd century BC and the 3rd century AD.

Ichke Suu : Issyk Kul : To the East of this village in the Tyup region are some barrows, (burial mounds), dating from 1000 BC, and some more dating from between the 3rd century BC to the 3rd century AD.

Jele Debe : Issyk Kul : A small village near to Djety Oguz – unremarkable, except for the fact that it is the home of Tenti, who has been hunting with eagles since he was 12 years old.  There are, however, some barrows, (burial mounds) here, dating from between the 7th to the 3rd centuries BC, laid out on a North-South axis. They measure between 40 to 60m in diameter and are 2-3m tall.

Kaindy : Chui : One of the valleys in the Kyrgyz Krebet. The town of Kaindy sits across the main road from Bishkek to Tashkent, and was important for a Sugar factory.  High in the mountains above the town was an early gold mine. The road climbs gently into the mountains and though the valley housed a pioneer camp, the valley is rarely visited by foreigners.  South of Kaindy lies the site of Ashpara – an ancient settlement dating from the 6th to 12th centuries.   To the south lie some Royal Barrows – burial mounds dating from the 6th century BC to the 3rd century BC.

Kara Shaar : Issyk Kul : on the southern shore of Lake Issyk Kul, the site of some barrows, (burial mounds) dating from the 1st to 5th centuries.

Kara Talaa : Issyk Kul : the site of some burial mounds dating from the 5th to the 1st centuries BC.

Karakara : Issyk Kul : (= “Black Crane”)  A high mountain valley at the extreme Eastern end of the Issyk Kul plain, on the border with Kazakhstan.  The valley has a number of burial mounds dating from the Sak period.

Kashat : Issyk Kul : between the villages of Kashat and Temir there are some petroglyphs which date from the 2nd millennium BC to the 1st A.D., some barrows (burial mounds) about 4 m high and a stone building dating from about the 10th-12th centuries. (the Tash Koroo Temir) – .

Ken Suu : Issyk Kul :To the North and the West of the village lie burial mounds which date from between the 3rd century BC to the 3rd century AD.

Kermentu : Issyk Kul : At the Eastern end of lake Issyk Kul – near the modern village have been found the remains of a tenth century settlement. Also, nearby have been found a number of balbals and, to the south of the main road, a number of burial mounds which date from between the 7th and 3rd centuries BC, known as Ishen Ata, in the gorge of the same name.

Kichi Oruktu : Issyk Kul : To the South of the village lie a number of graves and barrows dating from between the 5th century BC and the 9th century AD.

Korumdu : Issyk Kul : A village to the East of Tyup – where the remains of a walled settlement dating from the 10th Century have been discovered.  Nearby a number of burial mounds have been discovered which date from between the 3rd century BC and the 3rd century AD.

Kuturgy : Issyk Kul : To the South of the village lie a number of barrows, (burial mounds), dating from between the 7th and 4th centuries BC.

Maman : Issyk Kul : To the north of the villages of Uch Kainar and Maman are a number of burial mounds dating from the 6th to the 3rd centuries BC.

Ottuk : Issyk Kul : a small village at the south west corner of the lake – the site of some barrows, (burial mounds) dating from the 1st to 5th centuries.

Sak-Usan Kurgans : Chui : Located in the village of Alexandrovka, West of Bishkek, there are a number of burial mounds scattered about the farmland.  These are the last resting places for some of the nobility of the ancient Sak and Usun tribes that settled in the Chui valley between the 7th century BC and the 3rd century AD.

Sari Kamish : Issyk Kul : in the centre of the village in the territory of the cemetery is the site of a Silk Road township dating from 10th to 12th centuries. Petroglyphs have also been found her dating from between the 2000 BC and 1000 AD, and a number of Sak burial mounds dating from the 7th century BC to the 2nd century AD.

Sari Tologoy : Issyk Kuk :about a kilometre West of the village, between the road and the river are a number of Sak burial mounds.

Saru : Issyk Kul : A village to the west of Kyzyl Suu where there are some ancient barrows (burial mounds) from 7th-6th centuries BC – measuring between 20-70 m in diameter and 2.5-8 m high. There are about 20 more, dating from between 7th-5th centuries BC, stretching along a North-South line about 8 km long, about 4-10km away on the Eastern bank of the river Djuuku.  It is thought that they were constructed for the tribal elites of the Saks period.

Semiz Bel : Issyk Kul : to the west of the village of Tuura Suu at the western end of the Kongur Olon valley, which lies to the south of Lake Issyk Kul. A site of burial mounds and petroglyphs dating from the 6th to 8th centuries. There are also the remains of some building structures dating from the 10th to 12th centuries.

Shabdan : Chui : A village in the Chon Kemin valley.  Nearby are some ancient barrows (burial mounds) dating from the 4th and 3rd century BC.

Tegirmenty : Chui : A village at the head of the Chon Kemin valley – there are some ancient barrows (burial mounds) nearby.

Temirovka : Issyk Kul : A village to the East of Cholpon Ata, with a number of ancient barrows (burial mounds).

Tuura Suu : Issyk Kul : There are two villages of this name in the Kongur Ulan valley on the southern shore of Lake Issyk Kul – one at the Western end of the valley and the other at the Eastern.    A little to the south of Bokonbaeva – lies the larger of the two – at the Eastern end of the valley, where there are barrows (burial mounds) dating from the 6th to the 5th centuries BC.

Uch Kainar : Issyk Kul : To the north of the villages of Uch Kainar and Maman are a number of burial mounds dating from the 6th to the 3rd centuries BC.

It appears that this tradition stems from the times of nomadic culture and lifestyle of the past where people were constantly on the move from one pasture (jailoo) to another. (It is also found in Kazakh traditions – but not in Uzbek or Uighur – both sedentary cultures – and in other parts of the world).

Ala Kachuu is technically illegal, punishable by two years imprisonment. It is said that in olden times the Dzhigits that carried off a bride would be subject to severe punishments – even including facing the death penalty – and history recounts examples of stoning and young men being thrown from the top of minarets for the audacity of stealing another man’s daughter. The practice remained illegal for the whole of the Soviet period, but this does not seem to have wiped out the practice. Very few families bring charges and the practice still seems to be accepted in the more remote rural districts and is even said to be on the increase.

A young Kyrgyz man simply has to carry off their chosen bride, cross the threshold of their home where the mother would place a scarf (a “djulook”) over the head of the “unsuspecting” girl who was then considered married.

Even amongst the Kyrgyz themselves there seems to be a wide variety of attitudes towards the practice – and there is some confusion about what is actually meant by the term Ala Kachuu. The research, referred to below, found that some of the participants not only consent to the event but even participate in the arrangements. Such consensual pairings can hardly be called “kidnapping”. In other cases, the act is accompanied by violence – even rape – and, indeed, it is traditional for the girl to resist. Some people seem to be of the opinion that it is a traditional practice that shouldn’t be questioned. There is even the point of view that it is a tool of “liberation” – allowing the participants to assume control over whom they chose to marry – and thus freeing themselves from other forms of tradition that grants the power of arranging marriages to the parents.

Several reasons are given for someone deciding to “kidnap” their bride – from “it is a tradition”; to prevent someone else from marrying her; because the parents might not agree to the union; (or even that the bride might not agree); because the groom could afford the dowry, (kalym, or “bride price”); and even because the groom’s first choice had been kidnapped by another.

Because, sometimes, the couple have made a prior agreement, when they first hear about the custom Westerners think it is similar to an elopement – like “running off to Gretna Green” – but it is possible that the couple never to have even spoken to each other. Sometimes the couple have never even met – as in an “arranged marriage”, the parents of the couple have come to an agreement.

For the girl to then run away home was considered a great disgrace and girls who do so are often shunned by even their own parents and as a result, many “stolen brides” accept their fate.

Stealing his bride, however, does not excuse the groom from paying  “kalim” (“bride price”) – a dowry to the girl’s family – usually in the form of livestock, (sheep, horses, cattle … ), but other articles are also given.  According to one source – the price of a bride can be as much as five horses – but a lot may depend upon the status of the relative families. He also has to pay for the wedding ceremony. (In sedentary societies – Uzbek and Uighur – it is usually the bride’s family that pay the dowry to the husband).

The couple still have to register the marriage or the bride has limited rights as a “common law wife” – but not all do so.

In recent years the practice has come under renewed attention.

In 2004, a local newspaper reported that an American Sociologist has undertaken the first serious scientific research into the practice. Having read about the practice on the internet, Russel Kleinbach (who teaches at the American University of Central Asia, found out that nobody in the country had made any significant study in the subject. The results of his research showed that the number of forced marriages has increased in recent years. At the end of the 1940’s they amounted to thirteen per cent of total marriages, now the number has doubled. In one village alone, the researchers counted 385 cases of bride kidnapping! In all of these cases, the marriages were without the consent of the girls – and none of them even tried to protect her rights. The article describing their research is available on the internet at: http://faculty.philau.edu/kleinbachr/new_page_1.htm.

A number of non-government organizations (NGOs) have been conducting research and operate programmes aimed at bringing it to an end. They point out that it occurs mainly in the Northern and Central parts of the country; that “city girls” are less likely to accept their fate than their “country cousins”; that about 62% of the “stolen brides” were taken by force against their wishes, and on many occasions the groom and his party were “drunk”; many of the brides are subject to humiliation and domestic violence (about 35% according to one source); and that many of the marriages end up in divorce.

Zamira, who runs the tour department, got married on Saturday.

After the official registration ceremony, the “molodyosh” – “young people” – went on the traditional walkabout to several different spots around the city, parks, war memorial, etc., to promenade and be seen.

In the meantime the parents and other guests rushed to the restaurant where the reception was to be held to make sure all was prepared.

Some of us gathered in the office before setting off for the reception.  As the appointed time approached some people wanted to head off – but others pointed out that the event wouldn’t start on time – it never does here – however, it would be rude for the guests to arrive late so we turned up on time …  and, sure enough, waited, … and waited and waited.

We walked up and down the pavement outside the restaurant to take in the cool evening air – our own promenade.  Eventually, we were ushered into the restaurant to take our places and continued our waiting comfortably sitting down.  My seat was right by the window overlooking the street, so was able to see, an hour after the appointed time, when the a beribboned car drew up and from it emerged the happy couple together with the Best Man (Droog) and Maid of Honour (Podrooga).

The late start is customary here, par for the course, it’s expected – so much so that it’s almost de rigueur.  Apart from the general trend for things to start late there are other, more practical, ways of explaining why they were delayed, (for example, there is a lot of traveling involved between each of the stops on the itinerary and they are at the mercy of the traffic …, or the parents need the time to make sure all the minute details of the preparations are in place), but, basically, this is the happy couple’s day and they will want to savour every moment of it.

So, the couple finally arrived and are paraded around the restaurant for all to see before being allowed to take their seats on the top table, mounted on a podium at one end of the hall – flanked by the droog and podrooga.

The tables were laden with salads, fruit, pieces of deep fried chicken, a whole fish, confectionery, bread and the Kyrgyz mainstay for ceremonies such as this – boorsok, (deep fried packets of dough – my favourite).  There was also a selection of soft drinks, wine and, of course, the inevitable vodka and cognac.  And this was just for starters!

As the evening progresses, the starters are supplemented by soup and Samsa – a central Asian form of Meat Pasty – and later by Manti – steamed dumplings.  Then, of course, there is the cake …

We start to serve ourselves whilst the master of ceremonies, (the Tomada), congratulates the couple over the PA system.  As usual, it is turned up too loud for my liking and makes any attempt to hold a conversation difficult.  This encourages the younger element, (and, of course, there are a lot of them), to boisterous banter and chatter.

The Tomada announced that there will be several competitions during the evening and appeals for active participation.  He needn’t have worried – the guests were exuberant and intent on making it a memorable evening.  As he asked for words beginning with Z (for Zamira – the bride) and M (for Marat – the groom) to describe the happy couple, it seemed as if the list would be endless.  In English there aren’t that many suitable beginning with Z but in Russian and Kyrgyz there are a lot more and the suggestions came in a veritable flood: zamichatelniy – excellent and zvesda – a star to name just two.

Throughout the evening people are called to the microphone to make a speech, a toast to the happy couple, their reminiscences and wishes for future happiness, after which they go up to the top table and add a few more personal words in private to the ones that they have publicly expressed.  During the first, the groom’s grandmother placed a scarf over the bride’s head – a a traditional wedding symbol.   Most of the speeches were in Kyrgyz, although some were in Russian.  Although I normally try to speak in Russian on the occasions, this time I chose to do so in English – both Zamira and Marat, and quite a few of the guests, know English, and I knew that there was at least one other guest who would have to speak in English.

These speeches were interspersed with songs.  Some were performed by well known local singers – but others by “amateurs”.  Once again the guests showed their appreciation – in the traditional manner of whoops and cries during the traditional Kyrgyz numbers.

A couple of intervals in the formal proceedings gave guests the opportunity to take to the dance floor and “bop” away and/or sneak outside for a crafty cigarette or off to the toilet.  The bride and groom also took to the dance floor.

Unlike most weddings that I have been to here in Kyrgyzstan, that weren’t really any formal toasts.  Instead the parents of the happy couple and other well wishers went round from table to table drinking their health in individual toasts.

They weren’t the only doing the rounds … the photographers were also touring the dozen or sa tables, snapping the guests for the wedding album.

Another feature which is common at weddings here, there were no cries of “Gorka, gorka” – “bitter, bitter”, a signal for the bride and groom to embrace.  In some of the more raucous weddings, the embrace is timed … “one, two, three, … forty five, forty six …” – the longer the embrace being symbolic of the happy times ahead which will be spent together.

All in all, a pleasant evening – to end off an important day in the lives of two young people – a day to remember.

There is an English saying that “Rules are made to be broken, but traditions are to be kept”. This could easily be a Kyrgyz motto – especially when it comes to traditions associated with age.

Toi : There are several occasions when it is traditional to hold a party to mark some milestone in the child’s life – like a birthday party – called a “Toi”. The dictionary translates this word as “feast” – or as “ satisfy one’s hunger”.

The Dje-entek Toi – is a celebration of the birth of the newborn child, where people are given melted butter (“sary mal”) which has been kept especially for the occasion in the stomach of a slaughtered lamb (or calf). Guests usually bring clothes for the baby – or maybe a shyrdak.

Kyrkan Chygatuu – is a celebration held on the fourth day after the birth.

Another birthday party is called a Beshik Toi (“beshik” = cradle).  A Beshik is a traditional wooden cradle found throughout Central Asia, the Caucasus and India – with an arc at each end and a rod joining them which is used to rock the baby to sleep. Traditionally, it is made from archa, (juniper).  The Beshik toi is organized for the occasion when the child is placed in the cradle for the first time – usually in the first seven days after the birth.  An old woman places the child into the cradle, a sign that the child would live as long as this old woman. (Interestingly – the shroud in which the dead are laid in the grave is also called a Beshik … it is the first and last bed).

The “appearance” – Koroonduk - (The word comes from the Kyrgyz word “to see”).  The newborn infant is kept in seclusion for forty days.  It was believed that a child stepped from the animal kingdom into the human world only after forty days.  The baby is “anointed” with forty drops of salted water by specially chosen people and presented with a piece of patchwork – Kudak – which is made from forty pieces of material stitched together.  (Forty – One for each day they have lived.)  The baby’s hair would be shorn by an aksakal, who would receive a chapan for his services, and then buried in a sacred spot so that it could not be used in magical rites to harm the child.   When neighbours, friends and relatives see the new born baby for the first time then they traditionally give a monetary gift to the parents.

Cutting the Binds: Tyshoo Kesuu – after the child’s first steps the legs are bound – then a party is held with races – usually five different races: for men, women, teenage boys, teenage girls, and children under 10.  Presents are given to the winners – one of whom then cuts the binds around the child’s legs. Sometimes referred to as Tushoo kyrkuu which is a celebration held to mark the child’s first birthday.

Circumcision - chochok kestiryy, suinnet: according to Muslim tradition male children are circumcised, not at birth, but sometime between three and seven years old – and, again, a toi is organized.

When a child was between three and four years old, they would be placed on a horse with a special child’s saddle - ayrmach. A boy was provided with a kurdjun full of boiled meat, and one his adult relatives would ride with him around the local community, (ail), leading his horse from yurt to yurt.  Each person coming out of a yurt to greet them was treated to meat from the Kurdjun and would, in turn, present the child with some harness or other livery, so upon arriving back home, the child would have gathered all the necessary things for his own horse.

Amongst the Kyrgyz this is a an important rite of passage for a child growing up, and I felt very honoured and privileged to have been invited to this traditional family celebration.

The toi, or party,  was due to start at three o’clock and so, just before three, I left my desk and headed out of the office to find a taxi, (as it was the weekend, I didn’t have a driver at the office).  Typically, there was a dearth of taxis just because I needed one … on most days they are lined up at the corner eager for business, but this obviously doesn’t apply to Saturday afternoons.  Fortunately,  managed to flag one down, and climbing into the passenger seat, said where I wanted to go only to be greeted with a “Where?”.  Now, the street that I had named is quite small, in one of the suburbs, so I wasn’t that surprised and replied: “Just past Alamedin”.  The driver nodded and pulled away from the kerb.

Now I know that my accent is not that good … but on this occasion this wasn’t the cause of the problem.  Apparently, I learned in the conversation as we drove along, the driver was not local, that is, not from Bishkek but from Talas, a town about 370 kilometers away, and at one point he got out his street atlas of Bishkek to check the route.  This was after I pointed out that when I said, “Just past Alamedin”, I had meant Alamedin Bazaar, not suburb Alamedin Odeen.

He was a pleasant enough young man, learning English and eager to grab a little practice as the opportunity had presented itself, but I felt a little frustrated as I saw the seconds ticking away, and I realized that I was going to be late.

I needn’t have worried, however.  Even though I rolled up about ten minutes late after our little detour, I was by no means the last to arrive.  “We are, after all, in Kyrgyzstan,” I reminded myself as we sat chatting outside the cafe where the party was to be held.  Good timekeeping is not exactly a national trait.  Although Dad was taking the delay calmly in his stride, Mum and Grandma were getting more and het up as time passed, especially as the dilettantes were members of the immediate family and all the other guests, like me, had already arrived.

Some of the children used the time wisely getting in some practicing running – which was going to play an important roll in the event.

Finally, however, when nearly everyone had turned up, we filed into the cafe and took our seats at the table.  There were two tables set.  One for the adults and another for the children.  It was quite a big gathering, and lots of children.

The table was heavily laden with salads and as well as plates of bread, the tablecloth was covered with Boorsok, a traditional, deep fried packet of dough, which is very tasty and filling.  Having been to these tois before, I knew what was to come and so was careful not to pile up too much salad onto my plate … this was only the first of four courses … there were still soup, cutlets and Beshbarmak to follow.

There were also toasts … which, inevitably, meant drinking vodka.  There was some wine and also some beer available … but vodka was really de rigueur.  I was called upon to deliver my toast fairly early on in the proceedings – a sign of respect, as an honoured guest.  I appreciated that, for several reasons … one, of course, was for the honour that was being paid to me, but another, more practical reason, was that if you are called upon later, then it is difficult to find something to say which is new … you end up simply repeating the same “Health, wealth and happiness” formula which several people before you have already said.  I thanked my hosts for the invitation and made sure to refer in my speech to the earlier toasts that had gone before, then said how glad I was that, as a family, they were maintaining the ages old traditions of the Kyrgyz, and I hoped that their son would grow up strong and healthy and also respect the traditions of his people.  Everyone seemed to appreciate my contribution, but it failed in one respect, however … the length of the speech is a rough guide to the importance of the person giving it … the more important the person, the longer the toast.  My speech was quite short, for one of the honoured guests, but as I am a foreigner, they were forgiving and understanding on this point.

For most of the toasts I was able to down the vodka in what I term “Kyrgyz style”.  I have often had to explain to locals that back home a measure of vodka is quite small – about 25ml, and we tend not to drink it straight but to mix something with it … and then sip it.  I call that the “English style” of drinking vodka.  The “Russian style”, in contrast, is quite simple … a measure is at least 50 grams – twice as much – and quite often, more – which is then “downed in one”.  “Kyrgyz style” on the other hand, involves drinking about half the measure, or possibly less, which means that a refill involves merely “topping up” the glass.  It also saves you from insulting the honour of the host – by having an empty glass.

One of the advantages of dinking “Kyrgyz style” is that you consume less alcohol during the course of the evening … as toast follows toast, follows toast.  Unfortunately, however, it wasn’t always possible as there were a few guests who took the view that not downing the whole measure was an affront to their dignity and show a lack of respect to their toast … I didn’t feel that I could lecture them on the dilemma that I was faced with: affront their dignity, or that of our host.  I drank the additional vodka.

After the soup came the main event of the celebration.  In the nomadic past the child would have been kept in swaddling clothes and, having reached their first birthday would be released from them … their “binds” would be cut and they would be free to take their first steps.  In practice, most children have already started to walk, but that is the basis of the tradition.  To mark the occasion, a race is organized and the winner is give the honour of “cutting the binds”.   We actually had three races – one for the children, one for the women, and one for the men.  It was only over a short course – about 40m – but the competitors all took part with gusto, especially the children.  When it came to the Ladies race, it was a “close run thing”, literally.  I was very glad that I wasn’t the judge that had to decide and declare who was the winner.  It looked to me like this was the sort of thing that, in the past, might have started a family feud … but, as it happened, everyone took it in good humour.  When it came to my turn to run in the Men’s race, everyone was very concerned because on the last two occasions I have participated in one of the events, I have managed to fall over … and come in last.  I used to joke that it was deliberate … a tactic to cover my poor performance and the fact that I wasn’t going to win.  At first it had been announced that there wasn’t going to be a Men’s race … and I had a suspicion that it might have been because the favourite to win, a young athletic member of the family, had hurt his foot playing football and was hobbling around so couldn’t take part.  He himself protested, however, and so the race was staged.  I was given a head start in deference to my advanced years … although there were others just as old as me taking part as well.  There were obviously fitter than me, however, and streaked past me.  This time, however, I did manage to complete the course without falling over … which was just as well because the road was strewn with stones and I could have done myself an injury.

The races run … winner declared and prizes distributed … along with presents for everyone, not just the winners … we broke for an interval before the next course.  Although everyone gave presents for the boy whose birthday it was, it’s also traditional here for the hosts to make sure that everyone is given a present and no-one goes away empty handed.

Some sat and chatted, whilst others started to dance to music blaring out of the hi-fi system and others walked into the Billiard room and took up cues.

The billiard room was a cavernous room with four tables set out.  They were all in good condition and well lit.  There seem to be several different versions of Billiards played here.  My father, who enjoyed both Billiards and Snooker, wouldn’t have recognized any of them.  They don’t resemble Pool either.  These tables had sixteen balls – fifteen white balls in a triangle and one red ball – which serves as a cue ball.  On one the tables, however, I saw they were playing any ball … red or white, it didn’t seem to matter.  Billiards is a popular game here and most people can play it after a fashion.  However, the game I was watching seemed to go on and on – more like a game of chess, and I became convinced that our host, the younger player, was holding back so as not to beat his elder, who in turn was also holding himself back, trying not to embarrass the father of the boy whose birthday we were celebrating.

Whilst this was going on, I contrived to miss the cutlet course … a sort of burger served with mashed potato.  As I said, I have been to these festivals before, and I know that in order to make sure that no-one goes away hungry, there is usually a surfeit of food … and no risk at all that anyone would actually do so.

The seemingly endless sequence of toasts continued.

The highlight was probably the contribution by one of the uncles of the birthday boy, Asylbek Nasirdinov.  A talented musician, Asylbek is also the manager of a folklore ensemble, “Saamal”, and performs both here and abroad.  He has given us invaluable and multifaceted assistance in preparation of website www.sounds.kg about traditional Kyrgyz music.  For example, he provided the collection of MP3 files in the archive section of the site.  Although a talented performer on the Komuz, his specialty is wind instruments … and, as well as a performance of Lennon and McCartney’s Yesterday, he also performed a classic piece on my favourite Kyrgyz instrument the Chopo Choor … which he had made himself when a student and which he then donated to me.

The final course was the great traditional dish, Beshbarmak.  Now, Beshbarmak is not exactly one of my favourite dishes … I prefer roast Lamb to boiled mutton … and to my horror I saw the waitress bring forth a tray with the sheep’s head on it.  By tradition, this is carved by the head of the table and parts distributed to honoured guests according to a strict hierarchy.  So far, I have always managed to avoid having the most honoured part – the eye – given to me and fortunately my luck held out once again.  I was able to nibble away at an indeterminate piece of real meat and didn’t ask what part of the animal it had originally constituted.

That brought the festivities to a close and after we said the traditional “Omen” which rounds off every meal as a “grace” or Benediction, we were presented with plastic bags in which to place bread, boorsok, meat, fruit … anything that was left on the table to take home with us.

The one thing that was missing … a round of “Happy Birthday”.

I suppose that my particular annus horribilis, (the Brits, and anyone with a Classical education, will get the reference and understand), started in January when a close friend, Roma, died suddenly.  I was sitting at my computer in my office when I got the news and for the next three days life was turned upside down as we set about the business of arranging the funeral.  That afternoon, for example, I had been supposed to be chairing a meeting … not just any meeting, an AGM.  I phoned and said I couldn’t make it and asked for someone to take my place.  Fortunately, funerals are an important part of life here, (no pun intended), and everyone understood.

According to local tradition, the burial takes place within days of the death – according to Muslim tradition the body should be buried within four days and in some Central Asian communities the body has to be interred before the sun sets, (or rises if the death occurs at night). Traditionally, the Kyrgyz funeral takes place on the third day.  When I first heard this I thought to myself: “Why the rush?” – but, then, contrast that with the situation when my father died.  It was just before Christmas and, what with the holidays, and the “backlog” of work that built up over the holiday period, it took almost a month before he could be buried … When I tell people here about that, they are shocked and nobody can understand … a month? … a whole month!

Almost as a gut reaction I went and got my black tie as soon as I got the news. It had been some time since Askar’s funeral, the last occasion when I had had to wear a black tie … but there it was, hanging in its place in the wardrobe, and I found found it quickly and easily.  Would that it hadn’t been necessary to find it.

To be fair, I needn’t have bothered looking for it … The dress code here is fairly relaxed, even for funerals, and although most people wore dark clothes, it always seems a little strange to me with my British background that people attend funerals in all sorts of casual dress – even track suits, but then, there is no real tradition here of “Sunday Best” – and I understand that even in the UK, this concept is dying out.  I see on the internet that even a “black tie” is not necessarily customary for a funeral.  As far as I could see, I was the only one wearing a black tie at both funerals.

Then, there is a memorial “wake” nine days after the death … and another after forty days, which marks the official end of the initial period of mourning … and yet another after a year, (the “godishina“), which marks the start of a new life without the deceased.  So, for the next forty days I wore my black tie.

One Sunday evening in February I went with a friend from the UK for Dinner and he upbraided me … “Why are you wearing a tie?  It’s Sunday, you can relax you know!”  I quietly reminded him of the forty day period for mourning and he fell silent.  I felt guilty about that … he wasn’t to know.

As it happened, the fortieth day fell on the same day as Askar’s “godishina“, the first anniversary of his death, so I had a busy day as I made my way from one “wake” to another.

Once those two events were behind me, I put my black tie away once again, back in the wardrobe, with the hope that it would be some time before it saw further service.  Sadly, it wasn’t to be.

Shortly afterwards we experienced the second revolution that led to the fall of Kyrgyz President … but unlike the first, this revolution was marked by blood on the streets … over eighty people died … and as a sign of respect I went back to the wardrobe and searched for my black tie once more.

The symbolism passed most people by.  As I said, the dress code here is more relaxed than it used to be in Britain when I was growing up.  Although I would probably have recognized the significance of this little piece of material instantly, no-one here seems to have done so.  Unfortunately, my British friends also failed to spot it once more … one of them commented on the fact that I was wearing a tie after working hours and he was told by the other “Oh, Ian is always overdressed,” (which is far from the truth, by the way), who followed up this comment with “but why are you wearing a tie, Ian?”  I think that even before he had finished the sentence he had realized what the answer was going to be, and there was another awkward silence.

Then, ten days after Easter, my black tie saw service again on Roditelskoye dehn – Parents’ Day, a sort of All Saints’ Day when people go to the cemetery to tidy up the graves, lay flowers and remember the departed.

The next time I fished it out, however, was not for a sad occasion.  One of the kids borrowed it for a formal function … the end of school and the traditional parties.  She had seen me wearing it and had taken a liking to it … for some reason she thought it was “class”.

I was pleased to see it being used for something other than commemorating a sad occasion.

In fact, I almost lost it … she was so taken with it that when the parties were over, she kept forgetting to bring it back to me.  I had to ask specifically for it, explaining that it was probably one of the most important pieces in my wardrobe.

Then, of course, there were the awful events in Osh.  It’s not clear, even now, how many people died in the clashes … the official figures are only just over three hundred, although when they stood at just two hundred and organizations like the UN and the Red Cross were talking in terms of “about seven hundred” , Roza Otunbaeva, the head of the Interim Government, said the number could well be ten times the official figures … and that is why many people refer to “about two thousand casualties.”

The official figures are so low because they basically record only the reported deaths … reported to the authorities, that is.  Not every death was reported … and many bodies were buried, according to strict tradition, before the sun set … or rose.   Some press reports quoted how the reporters had been taken by a survivor to see where they buried their relatives … without ceremony … there was no time for that … without report or recording the death.

I went back to the wardrobe and got out my black tie again.

In fact, I would have had to search it out once more this week, anyway.  It was … it would have been, that is … Roma’s birthday on Monday … and another trip to the cemetery.  Birthday’s are very big occasions here, and Roma loved birthdays.

In two weeks time we mark the “forty days” for those who died in the troubles in the South.  The end of the period of mourning.  After that, I can retire my black tie back to its place the wardrobe … and hope that it stays there, not needed again for some time …

… that is, not until next January … Roma’s “godishina“.

The Ala Archa National Park contains several places of interest.

Perhaps the most poignant is to be found on the path which leads to the right of the gate of the base camp.  After climbing up a fairly steep slope the path leads though a wooded area where there is a cemetery with nine graves and memorials to another 32 “fallen” mountaineers which is maintained by members of the Federation of Alpinism and Rock Climbing of the Kyrgyz Republic.

The federation has a website (http://www.memorial.in.kg/) where you can more information – in Russian only. however – including:

• information about the history of mountaineering and climbing in Kyrgyzstan;
• biographical notes/obituaries about some of the personalities of Kyrgyz mountaineering, including:
  • a helicopter pilot whose craft crashed in the Arpa Valley, south of At Bashi.  Over the course of many years he had ferried climbers, hunters, skiers and others to remote mountain sites - and often flew “rescue missions”.  A helicopter rotor blade stands as a memorial to him in the cemetery;
  • a 17 year old who died of a heart attack during a volleyball game in Moscow;
  • a prize winning film producer who specialized in stories set in the mountains;
• photo galleries

The cemetery was begun in September 1964, with the grave of the mountaineer Vladimir Kurgashev – one of the nine who are actually buried on the site.  Every year, on September 14th, hundreds of people arrive at the site in the Adygene Gorge for a solemn meeting to commemorate and honour the “departed” alpinists.  Even on an ordinary weekend, this shady spot may see up to 100 visitors.

One of the graves is located just outside surrounding the main collection of monuments, and some people say that this is because he committed suicide, (cutting himself free to save his comrades who were tied to him, rather than pull them down with him).

The cemetery has a Visitors Book in which people can write impressions of their visit.  Between November 2004 and September 2005 there were over 1500 entries made in it.

During the course of 2006, a special memorial, (designed by the local architect, George Kuz’menko), is being constructed .  It will comprise of a series of steps leading up to a marble platform from which rises three “pyramid” shapes.  It was inspired by the nearby Peak Korona  and is meant to resemble a crown - “korona” means “crown” in Russian.  (Coronet Peak is visible from the observation area set just below the final rise to the cemetery on the other side of the hill.)

After the cemetery, the path continues for 7km up to the Adygene glacier.

I suppose that I must have been feeling a little mischievous, because I responded with a question: “Really, when did one of the guests die?  I must have missed that.”  The look on his face said it all.  Of course, no one had died in the hotel, and he hadn’t even considered the possibility.  (He must have missed that part of the briefing in the training that we had carried out before we opened.)

As I “twisted the knife”, (I said that I was being mischievous), I pointed out that in some parts of the world people even booked into hotels to commit suicide, because they knew that the hotel would want to avoid scandal and handle the whole affair with discretion.  Of course, I conceded, that was unlikely to happen in our hotel – for all sorts of reasons, not least because we were so expensive compared to local salary levels … but I was certain that at one time in the future we might well have a guest who would pass away, and we needed to bear this possibility in mind.

It gave everyone food for thought.

Fortunately, I am pleased to report,  it hasn’t actually happened … at least, not so far!

It doesn’t happen very often, but every now and again there are incidents when a tourist dies here in Kyrgyzstan.  Despite our reputation for being a country in “perpetual revolution”, however, as far as I am aware no tourist has been a victim of civil unrest … at least, not so far.  (The worst case I know about was a group of tourists who were caught up in a protest where locals had blocked the road, and so they were unable to continue their journey.)

Most incidents seem to involve mountaineers or other “adventure tourists” in the mountains.  Often, they are “independent” tourists without the support of a tour company guide and support team of porters, etc.

I like to think, however, that the member of staff was correct in one respect: that we are prepared to meet with most eventualities, with appropriate systems in place so that we can react to emergencies in a responsive and sensitive manner.

We have had a fair number of difficult or unfortunate situations to deal with over the years.  People who have been victims of theft, assault or road traffic accidents.  Although we have not had a death on site, we have had guests who have received news from home that one of their loved ones had died.

This last situation is one of the hardest to deal with.  In the other cases there is always something to be done … some arrangements to make …  but although we may sometimes be asked to help make changes to travel arrangements but, generally, when bad news arrives there is little that we can actually do apart from express our condolences and to try to console them as best we can.

As a teacher, I once attended a training course with the euphemistic title, “Coping with Loss”.  It was about working with children who had suffered a bereavement … and it was one of the courses that had a great effect on me, although, to be honest, over the years I have I forgotten many of the details of the topics that we covered.

I went to it because we had recently had a case in the school where I was teaching, of a child who had died suddenly.  We all had difficulty coping with the situation, even the most hard-bitten teachers amongst us.

I often wonder how those involved in the various school massacres that seem to happen with growing regularity these days, from Columbine to Beslan, or the latest “shooting rampage” in West Cumbria, manage to cope … and I thank my lucky stars that I have never been in such a situation, myself.

This year, however, we have twice had the unenviable task of having to break the news to someone that one of their relatives has died.  To make matters worse, because of the circumstances, it had to be done over the telephone or by email.

Both cases were particularly distressing.  In the first, the deceased was a local person, a personal friend of mine, a  relatively young man and I had to tell his father that his son had died suddenly.   The second case involved was a tourist whose mother had died, back home.  This seemed particularly distressing because it happened when she was in the middle of a holiday – when a traveler would normally be expecting to be relaxing and enjoying themselves.

There is no easy way to break news like this … but I hope that we were able to do it with sensitivity … and without being “mischievous”.

There is, after all, a time and place for everything.

Askar was a really lovely man.  He was a fairly short, stocky man with a quiet temperament and a friendly character.  A family man, he raised five children – one of them was Tony’s Kyrgyz wife, Damira.  That’s how I came to meet him.

He loved his children and they loved in return.  He also doted on his grandchildren … nothing was too much for them.

When Tony left Kyrgyzstan to return home to New Zealand (and later Australia) with his wife and children, Askar took me to one side and said: “Ian, don’t think that you are alone here in Kyrgyzstan … you are part of our family, we are your family.”  Every time I met him he made me feel as if I was his sixth child.

He was the life and soul of every party – not in any bad or exuberant way … but he was able to coax the best out of everyone … a natural Master of Ceremonies.  For example, after a toast had been given he would turn to me and say: “What an excellent toast … Ian, you must drink to that toast …” (Excuse me?  Drink a toast to the toast?)  “… there’s a law … after such a toast you have to drink to it!”  By then I should have known better … but yes, I would drink a toast to the toast.

When he retired a few years ago, the family organized a party for him … it was a grand affair.  The Kyrgyz are very good at organizing such parties … such family feasts are called Tois.  They booked one of the bigger restaurants in town and there must have been over two hundred people there.  As usual, there were lots of toast, each one accompanied by the presentation of a Kalpak (a traditional Kyrgyz hat made from felt) and a chapan, (a velvet coat), to Askar – duly photographed – and a song(!).   The Kyrgyz love singing … Kyrgyz songs are not exactly to my taste.  The melodies often seem discordant and it’s customary for the audience to show their appreciation by giving whoops that sound like cat-calls: “oooo-aaahhh, whee-ahhh”.  That night there were songs in Kyrgyz, in Russian, in Uzbek, in German … and in English.  When it came to my turn to give a toast, I realized, I was going to have to sing as well.  There was no way I could get out of it.  I wished they had warned me – I would have come prepared … or found a reason to leave early.

You see, I don’t really have a good singing voice.  Normally I can only ever be found singing in the bath … when it’s just for myself and there isn’t an audience … and even then, it’s not every time I have a bath … it’s a very rare occasion.  I find it hard to maintain a tune and when my voice broke, I actually got “bumped” out of the school choir for “growling”, as the choirmaster put it.  It was sooooooo embarrassing … as he walked up and down the ranks of the choir listening to each of us in turn in order to try and discern the source of “that strange growling sound” … and then he stopped in front of me and cried: “Claytor!  It’s you!!!”  Perhaps that’s the reason I hate Karaoke.

Anyway, I felt trapped … I was going to have to sing something – and I decided that it had better be something simple.  To make matters worse, however, I don’t know that many songs all the way through … and didn’t think I would be able to get away with La-la-la-ing it.  Sultan, one of Askar’s relatives, told me “Sing Yesterday – everybody knows Yesterday” … Now, although I used to know the words to Yesterday, (it was, after all, one of the pop songs of my youth – a symbol of the sixties – and yes, everybody here seems to know it), as I sat there waiting my turn, my mind went blank … I could remember the opening verse … but then … my mind went blank.  Even sitting here now, thinking about the experience, it’s gone blank … So, when my turn eventually came, I chose to sing Jerusalem.

Now, I know that was a strange choice … a very strange choice … but there are only two verses … and I did know both of them.  There wouldn’t be (shouldn’t be) a problem holding the tune because it is different for each verse – and even I did go wrong, it wouldn’t matter because no-one would be any the wiser.  With Yesterday – everyone would notice!  What’s more, our family have a strong affection for the hymn … it’s been sung at virtually every family funeral I have been to – it was sung for my mother, father, grandmothers and grandfathers – both sides of the family.  It’s a sort of family anthem … anyway, that’s what I told them and then burst into the opening … “And did those feet, in ancient time …”

OK, it was a strange choice, but it happens, I think I did quite well, even if I say so myself … and everyone seemed to appreciate it, especially the dramatic crescendo in the second verse.  Someone actually recorded it on video, and although I’ve never seen it, when Tony and Damira heard the stories about the party they said “Ian … singing … I don’t believe it”, until they saw the video and then even they said, “Malodetz!” – “Well done!”

Well, that was Askar’s sixtieth birthday party.  After that he settled down to a quiet life, taking his grandson to school and other quiet domestic chores.  He became a typical aksakal – elder – but without the beard.

Unfortunately, Askar was a diabetic, and in retirement he had to go to hospital for treatment on several occasions.  On one occasion they thought he might have got gangrene and might have to lose leg – but, fortunately, they caught it in time.

A few weeks ago I went to a family gathering … Tony and Damira were over from Australia with their children and the whole family gathered for the occasion … Askar and Elana, their five children and their spouses, eleven grandchildren with another still in the womb waiting to make his appearance a close relative and a couple of close family friends adopted as “relatives”, like me.  It was a jolly evening with masses of food weighing down the five meter long table, chatting and singing.  It was marred, however, by one sad thing, Askar himself was in a bad way and didn’t sit with us at the table … but the grandchildren all went in to see him, one by one.

Fortunately he improved and I saw a short while later and he looked fine.

Finally his illness got the better of him.  He was taken ill once more, very suddenly.  It was very sudden.  As I said, I had seen him only recently and he seemed fine … then one morning I hear is that he had developed gangrene in his leg, it swollen like a balloon and had been taken to hospital because he needed an operation, … then a few hours later came the news that he had died.

It was a shock.  We were all shocked.

Although the family were, naturally, in a state of shock, centuries of tradition  … and a well rehearsed routine … slipped into place.

Now, I have to been to some funerals in my time … for my grandfather, (the only one of grandparents that I knew), for my parents, for pupils who had been tragically taken from us while they were still children, for friends, and colleagues.  I have even been to some here in Kyrgyzstan.  I am not sure, however, that I was particularly well prepared for those, certainly not as well prepared as the Kyrgyz seem to be.

For centuries, they have followed a nomadic lifestyle, wandering from jailoo to jailoo with their flocks of sheep. (A jailoo is a mountain pasture, or meadow.)  It was only as a result of the Soviet policy of collectivization that many Kyrgyz were forced in to a settled lifestyle in towns and villages. Despite this, the nomadic way of life is so ingrained in the national psyche that there is a saying that it is only when a Kyrgyz dies and is laid in his grave that he ceases to be a nomad and finally “settles down”.   Perhaps it is not surprising, therefore, that funerals and the traditions surrounding them tend to be lavish and particular attention is paid to memorial structures and grave sites.

The body, as is usual, was brought home from the morgue and lay at home wrapped in a carpet – with the face exposed – and mourners start to gather straight away. Everybody turns up to pay their respects.  Everybody.  No exceptions … well, except for those that live so far away that they literally cannot make the journey in the three days before the internment takes place.  Family, friends, neighbours, colleagues, distant relatives, (it doesn’t seem to matter how many times “removed” a cousin may be … if they can make the journey then they do so … it’s an obligation), even minor acquaintances.  It’s easy to understand the common explanation for some delay … “so-and-so is not here, they are at a funeral.”

There are “official mourners” to cry with each new arrival as they mourn the departed … and there is much wailing and weeping … and at first, with my typical British “stiff upper lip” and “stop making a fuss” attitude, I found this somewhat disconcerting, and wondered what it must be doing for Askar’s family.

To me, Death is a part of Life – you can’t have one without the other … We lose things, pets and people all the time ….think, for example, how many pens we have mislaid, never to set eyes on again?  It happens.  People also leave us all the time – they move on … we move on.  How many of school friends do we lose touch with after we leave school and go to university?, how many of our fellow students do we keep in touch with when we move on and start our career? … and so on.

The way I see it, the rituals associated with a funeral are not for the deceased … they are dead, what comfort, what benefit, do they get from it all?  No, what’s important are the people who are left behind … and how the various rituals help them to cope with the experience.  Looking back on it, I think that all that wailing and weeping did help, even if at times it seemed formal and, (well, to me at least), unreal.  It was like a turning on a tap and provided a faucet to channel the grief.

The trouble with my Anglo Saxon, no nonsense, approach means that there is little outlet for grief and so things get bottled up inside.  I remember, for example, when I heard that my mother died – I was here in Kyrgyzstan and my brother tried phoning me and couldn’t get through and so he had to send me an email.  There’s no way to cushion the blow in an e-mail.  It came as a shock, a bolt from the blue, and I cried … but not for long … I left the office to go and deal grief … but I was back in half.  Better for me to be in the office doing something than sitting at home wallowing in grief.  There was no outflow of emotion … but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t feel it.  I’m not sure how well I dealt with it.

According to Kyrgyz tradition, the burial takes place within days of the death – according to Muslim tradition the body should be buried within four days and in some Central Asian communities the body has to be interred before the sun sets, (or rises if the death occurs at night). Traditionally, the Kyrgyz funeral takes place on the third day.  When I first heard this I thought: Why the rush – but contrast that with the situation when my father died.  It was just before Christmas and, what with the holidays, and the “backlog” of work that built up over the holiday period, it took almost a month before he could be buried … When I tell people here about that, they are shocked and nobody can understand … a month? … a whole month!

A yurt was setup in the garden.  Traditionally, it would have been two yurts, one for the family and the second for the body, but this time there was just the one. Even amongst urban communities a yurt will probably be set – and if you see a yurt standing near to an apartment block, it is a reasonable assumption that someone has recently died.

On the day of the funeral itself, the mourners started to gather early and stood waiting for the ceremonies to begin.  The crowd spread out of the house, the yard and across the street.

The body had been washed and covered in a shroud – called a kepin.  For the transfer to the gravesite it was covered in white felt and placed on a stretcher.  Once it was brought out of the yurt, the stretcher was placed on the ground and an imam asked: “Was the deceased a good man?”, and the assembled crowd responded: “Yes, he was.”  The imam then asked if the deceased had any debts – and who will settle them and one of the heirs stepped forward and say “I will.”  (It is traditional that debts to the deceased are also renounced.)  According to tradition, after prayers, the body is then carried to the graveside, and in rural regions, where the cemetery is nearby, everyone walks … it is quite common to see a whole village walking behind a barrow.  For Askar, we had to travel across town in a convoy of cars and minibuses.

As he was carried from his home for the last time it was a signal for another outburst, a crescendo, of yet more wailing and weeping.

Traditionally, the burial itself is an all male affair, according to Muslim tradition women do not attend at the graveside.  So, whilst the men got into their vehicles the women gathered and went off to his wake.  When we got the cemetery,  as we  walked from the vehicles to the graveside it started to rain – and one person noted that even the weather was crying for Askar.

The imam presided over the ceremonies, leading prayers and reciting from the Koran. Everyone was given a handkerchief to wipe away their tears … although to be honest no-one seemed to be crying at this point … only the weather … I think they had all cried their tears already long before.  The body was placed in the ground and the mourners walked by and taking handfuls of soil, threw them over the body.  Askar’s oldest son and grandson stood silently watching over the grave and then, finally, everyone in turn took a shovel and the grave was quickly covered over.  There were no wreaths, no flowers at all apart from the ones that I took and laid on the grave … I said it was a British tradition.

The dress code here is fairly relaxed, and although most people wore dark clothes, it seemed a little strange to me that people were there in all sorts of casual dress – even track suits, but then, there is no real tradition here of “Sunday Best” – and I understand that even in the UK, this concept is dying out.  As far as I could see, I was the only one wearing a black tie.

It was then back to the vehicles and off to the second sitting of the wake, the ladies having already participated in the first, where we fed traditional fare, horsemeat – the most expensive and prestigious meat – and lamb.  As the meal came to an end, Askar’s youngest son was called upon to say the benediction and following the final Omin, (Amen), people gathered up any food left on the table into plastic bags and went on their way.

Although the funeral itself was over, the process of grieving continues.  Seven days after the death, the family gathered again … to reminisce about Askar, and they’ll do so again after forty days.  By now, though, the shock is gone and because everyone had their role to play throughout the process, (as official mourners, handing out handkerchiefs, throwing a handful of soil into the grave, shoveling earth into the grave, and so …), and everyone participated this seemed to ease the grieving process and to have made it much easier on them than it might have been in the west.

Of course, the more lavish the arrangements – the more expensive it is for the family.   The typical cost of a horse, alone, is over a thousand dollars and a funeral can be a pauper a family even though all members of the extended family contribute towards the expenses.  In 2002 there was a law passed in an attempt to limit the financial hardship that death brings to the deceased’s relatives placing a limit on the amount spent on funerals – but it seems to be honoured more by being ignored rather than observed, and I hate to think what the funeral cost Askar’s family.

But what a splendid way to say “Goodbye”.