A Black tie affair
My black tie has been getting an awful lot of use this year.
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“.
Bishkek