So, here in Sunny Naryn, during the winter, I seemed to reference the biting, bone chilling cold every week. These days, I just can’t get enough of the warm weather.
These Kyrgyz folks, so conscious about not getting cold, are walking around in skirts and t-shirts. I hardly even need a jacket to ward of a chill at night. We’re out and about without the armor that kept us warm all winter. The hills have turned green, and the animals have all gone out to pasture. The weather extremes, folks, make this place just all the more real.
The onset of warm weather has also brought another summer steadfast – kanykul, or, as we know it so faithfully at home – Summer Vacation. But before they’d let the kids out of their classrooms, we first needed to observe the tradition of akyrky kongoro – the last bell.
This is the ceremony where the old kids graduate, and the everyone celebrates. We were outside in the weather, and there was singing and dancing, and costumes and fun. But that was just at the regular school.
At the music school, where my 14 year old host sister was just finishing up, a recital commenced. There were piano players, a flute player, a kid who sang with an accordian, and lots and lots of komuz players. The komuz is the traditional Kyrgyz guitar type instrument, carved from the wood of the apricot tree. For those of you who saw the Trees for the Kyrgyz final video, you heard it played there, amongst a host of other traditional instruments. In the grand finale of the recital, all of the players plus their teacher got on stage for a powerful strumming string session of bliss.
The last bell, akyrky kongoro, has heralded far more than simply seeing the kids march about the streets in their new found free time. It also means all the happy summer things that I didn’t know I missed are coming back.
First off, kymys, the fermented horse milk that shocked me (and everyone else) on arrival has started to flow from the mountains. It is much lighter than the cow kymys I’ve been drinking all winter, and carries an almost woody flavor. Nostalgia is a funny thing.
There are also sheep. Lots of sheep are around these days, and the prices are going down. Over the weekend, my host father simply informed me that we’d run out of meat at home, and a koi soi, or sheep slaughter, was in order.
This time around, though, I’ve seen it done, and I’m getting confident. As I have now decided that I would like to slaughter a sheep for my American family when they arrive a month from now, I decided it was time to get my hands dirty.
Now, while they won’t let me slit the throat yet, I am learning to skin the beast with my fist. This stuff is Peace Corps, through and through.
