Toy time

It’s 10:30am on a Sunday. Things are nice and calm, nice and quiet, just as they would have been at home in Albuquerque. There, I would have spent a leisurely morning watching, “Sunday Morning,” “This Week,” and maybe “The Victory Garden” on the telly, whilst eating, oh, let’s say fried potatoes and onions, an egg over-easy, warm tortillas and salsa. Comfy couch, sunshine streaming in the French doors…just a normal, relaxed Sunday with nothing on the agenda. Kind of the same as here.

But what’s this? A text? It’s my counterpart, saying we’ve been invited to a toy (a wedding) at one o’clock and do I want to go.

Not really, I reply, but I think I should.

I know that sounds kind of flippant, but I said it based on experience combined with confirmative knowledge acquired from my fellow volunteers in Azerbaijan. Because toys are all the same. The music is the same, the atmosphere is the same, the food….we’re actually beginning to wonder if the people aren’t all the same, too. (just kidding on that last bit. I think.)

So we go to the toy, which is held in a big wedding palace on the edge of town by the big traffic circle. The parking area is packed with cars all helter-skelter. The building is also packed….I only see about ten empty chairs in the whole place. Pretty sure there were upwards of three hundred attendees. Yet my counterpart, who has lived in this town of approximately 15,000 people all her life, doesn’t know anyone but me. Which is fine….at least we have each other, I say. But 300 people on a hot, hot August day in a room with basically no air circulation, jammed together all perfumed-up…it got to me. I needed something to drink badly before I passed out. We asked for water, which they didn’t seem to have. So I made my way outside, where, with help, I located the outdoor sink for hand washing. The water was delightfully cold, and I ran it over my wrists for a few seconds, as the local people accompanying me looked a little embarrassed. Then I had to go back in.

Wedding behavior is different here. The ceremony doesn’t take place at the toy; the toy is more of a huge, lavish reception which can last up to ten hours. Loud music from a live band, lots and lots of food served in an endless cycle, only the men get liquor (and it flows rather freely on their side of the room). There is dancing….first the older men, then women (not usually both together), then the young men who get quite ambitious and athletic. It’s funny, though. At the end of each song, the music just stops. Nobody applauds. Nothing. It just….stops. And the women never look like they’re enjoying themselves. The men get all exuberant and into their dancing. The women just, well, dance. No expression on their faces, pretty much as little movement as possible, with the exception of incredibly graceful hand gestures which I have tried and tried and failed to master. We didn’t dance.

The other women seated at our table were nice. We exchanged quite a few nods and tentative smiles back and forth. There weren’t any disapproving stares (my hair is terribly, terribly short for this country) or glares or anything. How refreshing! Then the girl seated across from me asked my counterpart if she could talk with me, and she came around to take the empty chair to my right.

Man, but that music was loud! So loud I could barely hear this lovely 20-year-old as she practiced her English and asked me questions in Azeri (which, unfortunately, I kept having her repeat). We talked about me coming to her country and where I lived in the States (they ALWAYS ask which state….I think they’re baffled when I say New Mexico; it would be much easier if I said New York or California) and what I think of Azerbaijan and how many children I have and what they do and whether they’re married. And then, there’s that darned question: “Do you like your son better or your daughter?”

Sigh.

But one thing she said…she thinks Americans are very nice and kind. I did ask how many Americans she has met other than me. And we did have a good laugh together.