It's a Shotgun-Green Card Wedding!
The Newlyweds.
After a solid five hours of traveling, I ended up at the Belovo train station. Here is what you would have seen, had you been there: an equally as tall and slightly skinnier version of me from what you remember, wearing camouflage pants, a dirty baseball shirt, 7 days worth of beard and 7 days past my last shower. I was carrying my trusty green military issued backpack and had a pair of boots and a Nalgene bottle dangling off the side. We will be kind and use ‘unkept’ to describe me at the time.
I hoofed it to my host families house and was greeted my Mariya – the host mom. Here is our conversation:
Her: Oh,
Me: Hello.
Her: How are…what happened?
Me: [go on to explain sleeping outside for a week, mention vultures, dead horses, etc]
Her: [laughing] That is Mark Jackson. You are getting cleaned up.
Me: Ok.
She then made me shave, get a haircut, and shower.
Once I had readjusted to civilization, I was allowed to join in the festivities. That night, was spent getting food for the three day long event ready. Chopping, cooking, cleaning dishes pretty much sums it up.
The next day we killed a pig. No kidding – Upton Sinclair could not have scripted it better. I really don’t have much to say about the whole thing – it is one of those pictures are a thousand words things. First, you stand on it and jab a knife in its neck.
This little piggy didn't make it home...
This is where the little guy squeals a noise that I thought was reserved solely for really cheesy horror flicks. By far, the worst part.
Then, you use a blow torch to burn off the hair and the first layer of skin.
After that, you grab a giant hook thing and put it though his little leg.
Here, anatomy class begins. The innards are yanked out – the good stuff saved for stuffing and the bad stuff is a treat for the dogs.
Lastly, you put a piece of plastic over it – this makes people like you and me feel better. As if, perhaps, the pig just grows up all clean and wrapped in plastic like that.
It was not that bad. [That is a lie. If you replace ‘not that’ with ‘scarringly’ you will have a better picture.]
The rest of the day was spent greeting the arriving guests. My job was to sit at the kitchen table and eat with everyone who came in – rough life. As the house got more and more crowded and the sun went down, the chaos intensified. Dinner was a fairly casual affair; mostly everyone catching up and drinking enough Rakiya to provide another horse for the vultures.
The Usual Suspects.
We went to bed, scattered among the house. Beds, couches, floors – no one stayed in hotels.
It is early and I was woken up by my host brother. We had work to do. There were balloons to be blown, lots and lots of balloons. Anyone who has tasted this lovely fire water they call rakiya will know that blowing up balloons the next day is not first on your list of ‘things I want to do.’ But, like any wedding there is stuff that has to get done wither you want to or not.
After blowing up balloons for a couple hours, we headed back and had about an hour to get ready – no rush.
All around us, the house is full of people in various stages of ready.
One of my favorite pictures.
The sound of bagpipes was pouring in the house from the musicians outside.
From the house, we went to the bride’s house. [If you remember, this is where we have to pay for the bride and then knock down the door to get in.]
He puts on her shoe for her.
The ceremony is about a half hour and everyone just kind of mills around, waiting for it to be done.
After that, it is all party. Food, drinks, dancing, etc…
On Monday, I left for
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