Women and vodka in large quantities

Observe any flower seller (of which Kyrgyzstan seems to have a surplus) around the weekend of the 8th March, and one will notice a flurry of excitement.

The reason? The eighth of March marks a celebration of women. Not just mothers, or lovers, or wives. Women, vapshe (generally). As many a drunk gold-toothed man pointed out during toasts at our work celebratory meal, women are ‘mothers, sisters, daughters, cousins, neighbours, colleagues...’ The more vodka had been consumed, the longer the list.

Initially skeptical due to memories of sitting through hours of performances in Russian on women’s day in Kazakhstan, the women in the office soon convinced me of the need for women’s day as a global institution. 

After all, how many countries allow women employees half days off work in the run up to mothers’ day and/or valentines day to beautify themselves? Several haircuts/eyebrow treatments/manicures were had by colleagues in the days preceding our work celebration; every lunchtime talk would turn to outfits and hairstyles. The men didn’t seem to bat an eyelid at the time taken away from work, and fully approved of all beauty treatments.

After having been told by my colleague who spent two years in America that ‘women in the West dress to be comfortable. Women here dress to look good’, and chastised by the women in the office for not wearing heels, I felt I needed to make an effort. I have been reminded that cultural appropriacy takes many forms, and if I’m prepared to don a hijab then I should also be prepared to wear heels every day. 

With this in mind I turned up at a local hair salon, accompanied by a friend, to be greeted by a host of teenage boys. Indeed, hairdressing in Kyrgyzstan seems to be an up and coming profession for teenage boys. Forty five minutes later, four pounds poorer and with the second worst haircut I’ve ever had, I reminded myself that outward appearance isn’t everything. Alas, it does really seem to be here. 

All prepared for my first major social gathering in Kyrgyzstan I arrived at the restaurant and received smiles of love and approval from the girls at work due to my thick layer of makeup and smart clothes. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I was joyfully seated in between two of the ‘watchmen’ (aka doormen/drivers) from the office, who proceeded to quite openly attempt to get me drunk. As they are both in their fifties and have amazing fur Russian hats I enjoyed their company, and thankfully know enough Russian to pretend I understood what we were talking about.

Every ten minutes someone would make a toast, to ‘mothers, sisters, daughters....’ and a shot of vodka was drunk. After consuming somewhere in the region of five I noticed that the women were only having a sip each time. Lesson learned. As the only Westerner I was obliged to make a speech, which was relatively short as my Russian speechmaking vocabulary is limited. I managed to rescue this with cunning use of Arabic, as there are several common words with Kyrgyz, ‘alhamdulilah’ etc. Job done.

Next up was the dance competition. I joke not. Everyone was partnered up, and categories included Kazakh dancing and seventies moves. My Kazakh moves were some of the best I may add, though the five shots of vodka probably helped. 

After a couple of hours at the local Chinese ‘discoteca’, complete with very bad nineties house sung in English by Russians, I was ready for bed. Though I will add that my manager came alive on the dance floor, John Travolta would have been seriously jealous.

I’ve made an appointment for nail extensions next week. This cultural appropriacy thing sure is difficult.

 

(For anyone concerned about my vodka drinking habits please be assured I will avert to the ‘woman technique’ next time toasts arise)