Turkmenistan. Part VI. Goukher Kakyshevna
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May 26...31, 2014
Unlike Russians, many Turkmens don’t have a patronymic middle name. Many of them create a patronymic name out of their last name—Musa Nuryiev becomes Musa Nuryievich Nuryiev, for instance. Some create a last name for their children out of their own patronymic name. I didn’t manage to fully uncover the origins of this tradition, but I did manage to visit a traditional Muslim village.
Nokhur
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First, you have to make your way here.
An old Nokhurli.
Young Nokhurlis.
An ancient chinar tree.
The same tree on a hundred-year-old photograph from the archives of the Kunstkamera Museum.
From here, it’s another half hour by car. UAZ jeeps are the main form of transportation in these parts.
Karaul
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We’ve arrived. The inhabitants of Karaul (which means “black village”) have been living according to Islamic tradition since ancient times.
The Soviet regime was never able to do anything about it.
The village’s inhabitants are farmers.
They pray five times a day.
The women don’t go out into the street or to the store. If they need to visit someone, they do so in a burka and accompanied by a man.
The government brought gas into the village via hideous brown pipes and has mostly stayed out of the way since then.
An old shopkeeper recounts, “The Soviets couldn’t do anything. As soon as our villagers saw outsiders, they’d start shouting, ’Committee is coming!’ And we’d hide everything, Korans-shmorans and all.”
This store is state-owned, so it has to sell alcohol and cigarettes. But all the booze is on the floor behind the counter. The locals buy very little, if any. Privately-owned stores don’t stock any alcohol at all—it’s against their religion.
Our hosts are already waiting.
The young women are preparing dinner. Please meet Gokher Kakyshevna: she’s the one in the green dress on the right.
Until the age of 17, Gokher was an ordinary city girl. She lived in Ashgabat, went out with her girlfriends, chatted online, listened to her iPod and studied English. And then Kakysh, her strict and traditional father, said, “It’s time.”
She shed some tears, but there was nothing to be done. It was time to get married. The husband had been known for a long time—Gokher’s cousin. Here he is cooking shashlik:
After the wedding Gokher, in accordance with tradition, didn’t take off her burka for three months, showing her face only to her husband.
Then her relatives bought her right to reveal her eyes—this is done with gifts and money.
But the eyes aren’t the whole face. Gokher must wear a yashmak, a veil covering her mouth, for another five-ten years. She can take it off after she turns 30 or has a child. This photo was taken with the kind permission of her father.
[A photo of Goher’s face was here before I’ve learned that her husband found this page and demanded divorce. I don’t want to ruin the family, so the picture is hidden.]
During all this time, Gokher is allowed to talk only to her husband, her mother-in-law and her parents. She can still talk to her younger brother, but not her older one.
Her relative has already had a child, so she’s free to walk around with her face uncovered.
All right, we’ve been chatting away for too long. The table is already set. These are pre-dinner appetizers. The cutlery in the wooden box is particularly beautiful.
There are carpets in every room of the guesthouse. The bed has already been made.
The morning starts with breakfast outdoors.
What a beautiful view.
Time to go.
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