Yep, that's what it is. And you'd understand, too, if you'd just gone through a month of daylight fasting. Or a month of not eating in public because most people around you are fasting (and it's illegal to eat in public). There's such a sense of delight in the air. Even though it's the smaller of the two major religious holidays (not counting the fasting month, which is a holiday of sorts, but not in a jolly sense), it comes first, and the sense of joy over having made it through another fasting month is palpable. I almost typed relief, and I'm sure it is a relief for many, but it's also a sense of accomplishment for many. I'm learning so much as I live in the culture and learn to see things through their eyes, instead of my biased western eyes, which would tell me, "Duh, it's just totally because they can eat again." It's not that simple.
This breakfast holiday (in August, which is a confession on how far behind I am on posting pictures, or maybe it's a trailmarker of sorts) was more stressful for me than some. I think it was because I was away the third day of it, so I was trying to visit many friends in the first two days. Because visit friends is how you celebrate holidays. It's a family holiday, yes, but it's opposite of what family holidays are at home, where we hunker down and hope no one interrupts our family time unless we schedule the interruption to work in a soup kitchen or something. Okay, that's harsh, but really, in my culture, you don't have open houses on Thanksgiving and Christmas, and that's pretty much what people do here. It is so hard early on to realize that people are honored when you visit them on these holidays. And there are families that are so genuinely busy with their family things that it's hard for them to have guests over. I'm starting to figure out who those families are, and I love them just as much.
I'm also starting to figure out the rhythm of who is home which days. I think they figure this out from early on, which helps them know who to visit when. But as best I can figure, the general rule is that everyone goes to the patriarch's home on the first day. So if your friend is the unmarried daughter of the patriarch or is married to the patriarch's son, that means she either lives in the home or is going to be at the patriarch's home that day. So those families you visit in their homes on the first day.
But if she's married, that means that she will spend the first day in her husband's families' home, so you have to visit her in her home the second or third day. It also depends on when exactly they slaughter the animal to celebrate the day. Some families may be at home all day, but they are cutting meat, and it's still not a good time to visit. But yeah, just keep in mind that the animal will be killed at the patriarch's home the first day, so every child and child's spouse will be there the first day. Then work it out from that.
Also, you don't truly drop in on people. You message them a few days before the holiday and ask when the right day and time to come is, and if they don't answer you, you cross them off your list. Ha ha. That sounds harsh, too, but it's not really, because I have so many friends in diverse towns that I can't possibly visit them all in three days, so I'm learning to whittle down the list by who specifically asks me to come (understanding that even those people don't always mean it, but the people who say it five times probably do, and if they don't, it's their problem for saying it five times, when once or twice would have sufficed). I do have a short list of friends with whom I know that I am always welcome whether they trumpet it or not, and if I have time, I try to see them, too.
I visited about seven homes each of the two days of this holiday. Day one was going to be death by harees, because that's what they eat the first day, the day the meat is killed and before
it's cooked and ready to be eaten. I mean, you have to try everyone's harees, in case you've never tasted it before. My friends have stopped being surprised when I tell them that I have tasted most of their dishes before. Day two was nearly death by meat, because you have to sample everyone's meat. And most of the fresh stewed-like meat is truly delicious. But after six or seven houses, even if you try to only eat two or three pieces in each place, well, it's painful. You know it's bad when I can even indulge in Dairy Queen at the airport, my airport tradition (I flew out that night), because I was so full of meat. Not even a Dilly Bar.
This is just one of the families we visited the first day. This the patriarch's home, so all of the children are home and here, from the older marrieds to the four-year-old. After we had the sweets and harees, we had a leisurely walk to parts of their town I had never seen before.
The patriarch with four of his sons and Tyler. The little one is hiding at her father's side. Everyone gets and wears new clothes for the holiday, so it's fun to see what everyone picks out. (I think Debbie K. gets credit for this pic.)
Walking together. The next-to-youngest girl declared to me that I am her aunt, but Kayla is her friend. Fair 'nough.
Parts of the 7-mile-long wall that once surrounded this town.
The friends again, and some scenery.
Walking through the town. Who says it's all brown here? This is nearly mid-August, the hottest time of the year.
Just had to capture the Lexus, because they're everywhere here. It seems to be one car that it's okay to own old, too.
The old mud walls.
My buddy Mo-ham-med. (See the last post for the story behind his name. No, not the name Mohammed, but why I'm hyphenating it.)
This breakfast holiday (in August, which is a confession on how far behind I am on posting pictures, or maybe it's a trailmarker of sorts) was more stressful for me than some. I think it was because I was away the third day of it, so I was trying to visit many friends in the first two days. Because visit friends is how you celebrate holidays. It's a family holiday, yes, but it's opposite of what family holidays are at home, where we hunker down and hope no one interrupts our family time unless we schedule the interruption to work in a soup kitchen or something. Okay, that's harsh, but really, in my culture, you don't have open houses on Thanksgiving and Christmas, and that's pretty much what people do here. It is so hard early on to realize that people are honored when you visit them on these holidays. And there are families that are so genuinely busy with their family things that it's hard for them to have guests over. I'm starting to figure out who those families are, and I love them just as much.
I'm also starting to figure out the rhythm of who is home which days. I think they figure this out from early on, which helps them know who to visit when. But as best I can figure, the general rule is that everyone goes to the patriarch's home on the first day. So if your friend is the unmarried daughter of the patriarch or is married to the patriarch's son, that means she either lives in the home or is going to be at the patriarch's home that day. So those families you visit in their homes on the first day.
But if she's married, that means that she will spend the first day in her husband's families' home, so you have to visit her in her home the second or third day. It also depends on when exactly they slaughter the animal to celebrate the day. Some families may be at home all day, but they are cutting meat, and it's still not a good time to visit. But yeah, just keep in mind that the animal will be killed at the patriarch's home the first day, so every child and child's spouse will be there the first day. Then work it out from that.
Also, you don't truly drop in on people. You message them a few days before the holiday and ask when the right day and time to come is, and if they don't answer you, you cross them off your list. Ha ha. That sounds harsh, too, but it's not really, because I have so many friends in diverse towns that I can't possibly visit them all in three days, so I'm learning to whittle down the list by who specifically asks me to come (understanding that even those people don't always mean it, but the people who say it five times probably do, and if they don't, it's their problem for saying it five times, when once or twice would have sufficed). I do have a short list of friends with whom I know that I am always welcome whether they trumpet it or not, and if I have time, I try to see them, too.
I visited about seven homes each of the two days of this holiday. Day one was going to be death by harees, because that's what they eat the first day, the day the meat is killed and before
it's cooked and ready to be eaten. I mean, you have to try everyone's harees, in case you've never tasted it before. My friends have stopped being surprised when I tell them that I have tasted most of their dishes before. Day two was nearly death by meat, because you have to sample everyone's meat. And most of the fresh stewed-like meat is truly delicious. But after six or seven houses, even if you try to only eat two or three pieces in each place, well, it's painful. You know it's bad when I can even indulge in Dairy Queen at the airport, my airport tradition (I flew out that night), because I was so full of meat. Not even a Dilly Bar.
This is just one of the families we visited the first day. This the patriarch's home, so all of the children are home and here, from the older marrieds to the four-year-old. After we had the sweets and harees, we had a leisurely walk to parts of their town I had never seen before.
The patriarch with four of his sons and Tyler. The little one is hiding at her father's side. Everyone gets and wears new clothes for the holiday, so it's fun to see what everyone picks out. (I think Debbie K. gets credit for this pic.)
Walking together. The next-to-youngest girl declared to me that I am her aunt, but Kayla is her friend. Fair 'nough.
Parts of the 7-mile-long wall that once surrounded this town.
The friends again, and some scenery.
Walking through the town. Who says it's all brown here? This is nearly mid-August, the hottest time of the year.
Just had to capture the Lexus, because they're everywhere here. It seems to be one car that it's okay to own old, too.
Another door, because I'm obsessed with the doors here, especially the old ones.
The old mud walls.
My buddy Mo-ham-med. (See the last post for the story behind his name. No, not the name Mohammed, but why I'm hyphenating it.)
And here, I think, is my favourite picture from the summer. I'm not sure if it's the colors or the way it shows our happiness or the way that my western friends and local friends blend together until you almost can't tell who's who. (Or maybe it's just because I like the way I look in it!) I think this was also on Debbie's camera, though I think it was Mohammed who took the picture.
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