I have mentioned this before. Adyghe people really like the male given name NART.
I have two friends/students who are named Nart, two other acquaintances named Nart, and, one time last month, my eyes were hurting so I left my contact lenses out for the day, and I thought I saw one of my friends named Nart and called out to him. It turned out to be the wrong guy, but he also happened to answer to the name Nart.
In Karachaievo-Cherkessia, you don't really come across this name. You do however come across the name Sousruko, which, according to legend, is the name of the most famous, Prometheus-like nart. You also hear the names Setenai and Adyif among women. Setenai was Sousruko's mother, and Adyif was his wife. All were apparently giants.
Last month, although only for one night, I had a new set of neighbors in the room next to me. They were from the local dance ensemble who had just returned from winning a championship in Europe. The name of the ensemble? NART.
The accordion player in the ensemble had stayed in the room a week and a half before. I had only noticed him as the strange man from Chechnya who slept during the day with his door wide open and who cooked himself a dish of something and forgot about it on the kitchen table when he left for Europe. I got back from Moscow to find it covered in mold. The dish is still outside on the balcony to this day.
That one night, when the entire ensemble was staying in that room, the ensemble director had recognized me already, through Susanna Rashidovna. He told me his name was Kazbek and invited me to join them for food and drink. I resisted the offer twice- in the North Caucasus, it is generally unacceptable for a young woman to be eating and drinking alcohol in an otherwise exclusively male company. Eventually, I gave in, after they convince me that they were sovremenniye ("modernized"). Even so, I sat there like a very shy and awkward pshashe. That is, until I was "coerced" into dancing Lezginka.
The men then requeste that I sing for them the songs I know in Chechen and Adyghe, with which they played along, amazingly in the right key. Strangely enough, I, as the American there, was the only person able to translate a few phrases from Chechen to Adyghe (my eclectic music taste must have come to use in some way or another). After a few hours of multilingual comeraderie, they decided that my local name would be Halimat, and that I was pretty much an honorary pshashe.
This was a good thing to know, because, a month later, I was to take this image to the stage.
THE Concert.
Susanna Rashidovna, as I have mentioned, writes songs and composes music and designs clothing. Last Tuesday was her grand performance night to show off all her work, in honor of her father, the university head, who has just celebrated his sixtieth birthday. I was to have two songs; the first, a duet in Spanish with a girl named Zamira, which we had been rehearsing for months; the second, an Adyghe traditional song that Susanna had re-written. The song, Си Къасей, has a verse in English and a verse in Adyghe. I had known and practiced this song all year. A few weeks before, however, there was a change of plans. A celebrity from Nalchik, Sati Kazanova, was to arrive, and she wanted to perform this song, so I was to perform a different song- a cappella, a very old Kabardian song that I had recorded before. This meant I had to memorize it well enough to perform on stage in front of hundreds of people.
Believe me, I really tried to memorize this song. I practiced every day, in front of the mirror, in the shower, in front of my friends... I had Timur translate the song word by word into Russian so I had a better idea of where to express the emotions and how to memorize full long phrases.
At the concert, I got to wear the traditional Adyghe sai, a beautiful long gown that is worn at weddings and for dancing. It fits perfectly around a woman's figure, accentuating a small waist. I kind of want to have one of my own, but they are expensive.
The concert as a whole went well, although not as well as it could have gone. Most people were unhappy with some kind of mistake they had made. Our Spanish song went well, but my Kabardian song left much to be desired. People in the audience complimented me, but I know I can do, and have done, much better. The problem was that I was so nervous that I might forget the words (and this time, people in the audience could understand the language and would notice the mistakes) that my entire body and voice was shaking. Instead of a powerful, emotional voice to carry the meaning of the lyrics, a frightened, shaking voice came out, and I clearly had rushed through the words just to get it over with. Needless to say, I was very disappointed with my performance, after anticipating it so much.
The lesson learned was that when you memorize a song to perform, you really have to know it "a 6 out of 5". It needs to be not only memorized, but internalized, so that you take the words not from your cluttered brain, but from your soul. That way, there is no chance to forget the words, and the energy can be focused on the vocal expression rather than recalling every word and getting nervous about not being able to do so.
That evening, I must admit, I was incredibly down on myself, almost comically. What didn't help was the fact that Sati Kazanova also performed THAT song as well, in a way I wished I had, and another girl singer that Susanna works with, the tall, skinny, glamorous Milana had probably blown everyone away with her stage presence. I was so upset that when I got back to my room, I tore off my new necklace and threw it onto the floor and broke it, and yelled at Timur at two in the morning (because, obviously, this was his fault?)
Wednesday, however, was a new day that brought a new mood and another chance. I was to perform in a restaurant for the university head's private birthday celebration, and many important people were to be there.
This time, I was not so nervous, but I did have to wait quite a while for my turn on stage. It was the quintessential Adyghe event... about twenty or so long-winded toasts and copious amounts of food. (Something that I should have learned by now: when you sit down to eat, be careful not to get too full on the salads... because soon the meat courses will come, and you may very well be force-fed shashlik). The highlight of the night was seeing Tamara Nekhai and Aslan Tlebzu again, and talking and having tea with Said Bagov and Murat Kukan, an Adyghe actor who has had many roles in Russian action films. The President of Adyghe Republic was also there, Aslan Kitovitch Tkhakushinov, but I think he may have left before too long.
All I can say is, I'm always happy to live in a place where a 60th birthday party lasts until 2am. Timur had warned me against singing in restaurants, especially so late at night, because he feared someone might kidnap me as a bride. Incidentally, the dormitory security workers seem to think Timur will steal me as a bride. Bride-stealing, as it is in Adygeya, is really only a nod to tradition. Instead of all the time and money that goes along with engagement rings and months upon months of elaborate wedding plans, the groom "steals" the bride with his friends and they are married within the week. The bride knows beforehand that this is going to happen. Usually.
The next day, I helped out at an English Club lecture about cultural stereotypes of Russians, Americans, Arabs, and Caucasians. The lecture and workshop was rather predictable... people showed me how they no longer believe that all Americans are fat or stupid, and then showed the new Arabic teacher how they don't believe all Arabs are terrorists who cover their women in burqas... the interesting part was how the discussion worked in reverse. I made a point of immediately warning that if anyone asked the question, "Do Americans really think that in Russia, bears walk on the streets and people wear shapka-ushankas and drink vodka and play the balalaika all the time?" that I would jump out the window. For some reason, Russians often believe that all Americans think this about them! After I said that, everyone laughed, and the question was avoided. We then worked together to make a list of guidelines for foreigners visiting the North Caucasus, which went more or less like this:
1. Respect elders.
2. EAT.
3. Be careful of horrible drivers.
4. If you are a woman, do not go out alone at night and pay no attention to "compliments" from strange men.
5. Don't be afraid. It really isn't a war zone.
I guess this says it all in a nutshell. Although, as far as stereotypes go, many people don't appear to try very hard to avoid reinforcing them. For example, my "favorite neighbor" is a short, bearded guy from Dagestan who drives a white Priora with opaque tinted windows, with the words "DAGESTAN" and "MY LIFE MY RULES" on the back, who drives back to the dormitory every night at 3 am listening to the same Elbrus Dzhanmirzoyev song at full volume, and is always wearing matching sports clothes and red dress shoes. In other words, a caricature of a young Caucasian man.
I haven't actually met him, but I am going to guess his name is Maga.
I have two friends/students who are named Nart, two other acquaintances named Nart, and, one time last month, my eyes were hurting so I left my contact lenses out for the day, and I thought I saw one of my friends named Nart and called out to him. It turned out to be the wrong guy, but he also happened to answer to the name Nart.
In Karachaievo-Cherkessia, you don't really come across this name. You do however come across the name Sousruko, which, according to legend, is the name of the most famous, Prometheus-like nart. You also hear the names Setenai and Adyif among women. Setenai was Sousruko's mother, and Adyif was his wife. All were apparently giants.
Last month, although only for one night, I had a new set of neighbors in the room next to me. They were from the local dance ensemble who had just returned from winning a championship in Europe. The name of the ensemble? NART.
The accordion player in the ensemble had stayed in the room a week and a half before. I had only noticed him as the strange man from Chechnya who slept during the day with his door wide open and who cooked himself a dish of something and forgot about it on the kitchen table when he left for Europe. I got back from Moscow to find it covered in mold. The dish is still outside on the balcony to this day.
That one night, when the entire ensemble was staying in that room, the ensemble director had recognized me already, through Susanna Rashidovna. He told me his name was Kazbek and invited me to join them for food and drink. I resisted the offer twice- in the North Caucasus, it is generally unacceptable for a young woman to be eating and drinking alcohol in an otherwise exclusively male company. Eventually, I gave in, after they convince me that they were sovremenniye ("modernized"). Even so, I sat there like a very shy and awkward pshashe. That is, until I was "coerced" into dancing Lezginka.
The men then requeste that I sing for them the songs I know in Chechen and Adyghe, with which they played along, amazingly in the right key. Strangely enough, I, as the American there, was the only person able to translate a few phrases from Chechen to Adyghe (my eclectic music taste must have come to use in some way or another). After a few hours of multilingual comeraderie, they decided that my local name would be Halimat, and that I was pretty much an honorary pshashe.
This was a good thing to know, because, a month later, I was to take this image to the stage.
THE Concert.
Susanna Rashidovna, as I have mentioned, writes songs and composes music and designs clothing. Last Tuesday was her grand performance night to show off all her work, in honor of her father, the university head, who has just celebrated his sixtieth birthday. I was to have two songs; the first, a duet in Spanish with a girl named Zamira, which we had been rehearsing for months; the second, an Adyghe traditional song that Susanna had re-written. The song, Си Къасей, has a verse in English and a verse in Adyghe. I had known and practiced this song all year. A few weeks before, however, there was a change of plans. A celebrity from Nalchik, Sati Kazanova, was to arrive, and she wanted to perform this song, so I was to perform a different song- a cappella, a very old Kabardian song that I had recorded before. This meant I had to memorize it well enough to perform on stage in front of hundreds of people.
Believe me, I really tried to memorize this song. I practiced every day, in front of the mirror, in the shower, in front of my friends... I had Timur translate the song word by word into Russian so I had a better idea of where to express the emotions and how to memorize full long phrases.
At the concert, I got to wear the traditional Adyghe sai, a beautiful long gown that is worn at weddings and for dancing. It fits perfectly around a woman's figure, accentuating a small waist. I kind of want to have one of my own, but they are expensive.
The concert as a whole went well, although not as well as it could have gone. Most people were unhappy with some kind of mistake they had made. Our Spanish song went well, but my Kabardian song left much to be desired. People in the audience complimented me, but I know I can do, and have done, much better. The problem was that I was so nervous that I might forget the words (and this time, people in the audience could understand the language and would notice the mistakes) that my entire body and voice was shaking. Instead of a powerful, emotional voice to carry the meaning of the lyrics, a frightened, shaking voice came out, and I clearly had rushed through the words just to get it over with. Needless to say, I was very disappointed with my performance, after anticipating it so much.
The lesson learned was that when you memorize a song to perform, you really have to know it "a 6 out of 5". It needs to be not only memorized, but internalized, so that you take the words not from your cluttered brain, but from your soul. That way, there is no chance to forget the words, and the energy can be focused on the vocal expression rather than recalling every word and getting nervous about not being able to do so.
That evening, I must admit, I was incredibly down on myself, almost comically. What didn't help was the fact that Sati Kazanova also performed THAT song as well, in a way I wished I had, and another girl singer that Susanna works with, the tall, skinny, glamorous Milana had probably blown everyone away with her stage presence. I was so upset that when I got back to my room, I tore off my new necklace and threw it onto the floor and broke it, and yelled at Timur at two in the morning (because, obviously, this was his fault?)
Wednesday, however, was a new day that brought a new mood and another chance. I was to perform in a restaurant for the university head's private birthday celebration, and many important people were to be there.
This time, I was not so nervous, but I did have to wait quite a while for my turn on stage. It was the quintessential Adyghe event... about twenty or so long-winded toasts and copious amounts of food. (Something that I should have learned by now: when you sit down to eat, be careful not to get too full on the salads... because soon the meat courses will come, and you may very well be force-fed shashlik). The highlight of the night was seeing Tamara Nekhai and Aslan Tlebzu again, and talking and having tea with Said Bagov and Murat Kukan, an Adyghe actor who has had many roles in Russian action films. The President of Adyghe Republic was also there, Aslan Kitovitch Tkhakushinov, but I think he may have left before too long.
All I can say is, I'm always happy to live in a place where a 60th birthday party lasts until 2am. Timur had warned me against singing in restaurants, especially so late at night, because he feared someone might kidnap me as a bride. Incidentally, the dormitory security workers seem to think Timur will steal me as a bride. Bride-stealing, as it is in Adygeya, is really only a nod to tradition. Instead of all the time and money that goes along with engagement rings and months upon months of elaborate wedding plans, the groom "steals" the bride with his friends and they are married within the week. The bride knows beforehand that this is going to happen. Usually.
The next day, I helped out at an English Club lecture about cultural stereotypes of Russians, Americans, Arabs, and Caucasians. The lecture and workshop was rather predictable... people showed me how they no longer believe that all Americans are fat or stupid, and then showed the new Arabic teacher how they don't believe all Arabs are terrorists who cover their women in burqas... the interesting part was how the discussion worked in reverse. I made a point of immediately warning that if anyone asked the question, "Do Americans really think that in Russia, bears walk on the streets and people wear shapka-ushankas and drink vodka and play the balalaika all the time?" that I would jump out the window. For some reason, Russians often believe that all Americans think this about them! After I said that, everyone laughed, and the question was avoided. We then worked together to make a list of guidelines for foreigners visiting the North Caucasus, which went more or less like this:
1. Respect elders.
2. EAT.
3. Be careful of horrible drivers.
4. If you are a woman, do not go out alone at night and pay no attention to "compliments" from strange men.
5. Don't be afraid. It really isn't a war zone.
I guess this says it all in a nutshell. Although, as far as stereotypes go, many people don't appear to try very hard to avoid reinforcing them. For example, my "favorite neighbor" is a short, bearded guy from Dagestan who drives a white Priora with opaque tinted windows, with the words "DAGESTAN" and "MY LIFE MY RULES" on the back, who drives back to the dormitory every night at 3 am listening to the same Elbrus Dzhanmirzoyev song at full volume, and is always wearing matching sports clothes and red dress shoes. In other words, a caricature of a young Caucasian man.
I haven't actually met him, but I am going to guess his name is Maga.
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