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| Mariage ouzbéko-coréen à Richtan. |
The men finished their meal but they have kept my portion of plov. These four quiet veterans are going to prove they are bloody pranksters. One of them has fingers tattooed with the numerals of his year of birth 1947. The vodka does not be long to appear and I must drink with each. I refuse the chewing tobacco, a brownish powder which is taken under the tongue before being spat out. They speak to me in Russian and I answer in French. We understand each other for the main part. As usual, they enumerate the name of French celebrities. Here, they are rather interessed in soccer, thus it will be Zinedine Zidane and Michel Platini. I speak to them about Sevara Nazarkhan, a singer woman native of Fergana. Not know. We clap hands and we laugh. They offer me two small Rishtan ceramic cups. "Souvenirs !" There is a small kind sun and I begin to feel really good.
The groom is Uzbek, the bride Korean. It was Stalin who introduced the Korean component into the Uzbek ethnic landscape by deporting Koreans from the Vladivostok region to develop the rice culture in Uzbekistan. They are now approximately 300 000, that is why the economic relations are favoured between both countries.
I am asked to take a seat at a table. The room has coffered ceiling in Uzbek style, moulded walls and big windows adorned with white curtains and trimmings. Beside me is a man whose the whole front teeth are in gold. He lets it know by laughing even if the occasion is not to. Impressive. Vaguely worrying. Others are women, among whom a tall Tatar, who impresses me too for quite a different reason. Another young woman, wise, smiles to me, sitting next a large woman who glances severely at me. The bride and groom are with their parents at the head table on which is an enormous three-storey white cake. An organizer bawls in a microphone jokes beyond understanding for me but good for the atmosphere. Speech by the parents, strange Korean song by the bride's father followed by a long roar by the entertainer, cheers. Games are organized. It is speaking in Russian, Uzbek and Korean. A cameraman films the young married couple, the guests and the tables full of food. Pizzas, soups, salads, noodles, eggs, round breads, sodas, tea, wine "Santana", vodka. Again, I have to drink without weakening. We invite me to tell something in the microphone for the happy couple. "A lot of happiness..." A girl translates and the audience applauds euphorically. More toasts. The band plays now dance music. A tune repeats "Chakhrisabz, Chakhrisabz", the name of Tamerlan home town, followed by a Korean rock. Then I dance. We move in Uzbek techno and the dances are more and more crazy. The atmosphere rises. And then nothing more.
Night has come. My left leg is injured. I must have fallen in one of these aryks which are everywhere. I am in a ghost town where there are no passers-by, few lights except those of rare cars. I walk along a building by asking me what is the name of this city. I remember the golden smile of the man. I remember the Tartar woman. We were dancing in a palace where pillars carved with foliage motifs seemed devoid of all gravity. The dome shone and sparkled from inside. Argan oil lamps on the big sofas reflected an intense and vibrating light. I remember she had accompanied me to the taxis. A taxi for where ? I asked her. I do not want to leave ! And she laughed, she laughed, and her laughter got lost into the night.
The groom is Uzbek, the bride Korean. It was Stalin who introduced the Korean component into the Uzbek ethnic landscape by deporting Koreans from the Vladivostok region to develop the rice culture in Uzbekistan. They are now approximately 300 000, that is why the economic relations are favoured between both countries.
I am asked to take a seat at a table. The room has coffered ceiling in Uzbek style, moulded walls and big windows adorned with white curtains and trimmings. Beside me is a man whose the whole front teeth are in gold. He lets it know by laughing even if the occasion is not to. Impressive. Vaguely worrying. Others are women, among whom a tall Tatar, who impresses me too for quite a different reason. Another young woman, wise, smiles to me, sitting next a large woman who glances severely at me. The bride and groom are with their parents at the head table on which is an enormous three-storey white cake. An organizer bawls in a microphone jokes beyond understanding for me but good for the atmosphere. Speech by the parents, strange Korean song by the bride's father followed by a long roar by the entertainer, cheers. Games are organized. It is speaking in Russian, Uzbek and Korean. A cameraman films the young married couple, the guests and the tables full of food. Pizzas, soups, salads, noodles, eggs, round breads, sodas, tea, wine "Santana", vodka. Again, I have to drink without weakening. We invite me to tell something in the microphone for the happy couple. "A lot of happiness..." A girl translates and the audience applauds euphorically. More toasts. The band plays now dance music. A tune repeats "Chakhrisabz, Chakhrisabz", the name of Tamerlan home town, followed by a Korean rock. Then I dance. We move in Uzbek techno and the dances are more and more crazy. The atmosphere rises. And then nothing more.
Night has come. My left leg is injured. I must have fallen in one of these aryks which are everywhere. I am in a ghost town where there are no passers-by, few lights except those of rare cars. I walk along a building by asking me what is the name of this city. I remember the golden smile of the man. I remember the Tartar woman. We were dancing in a palace where pillars carved with foliage motifs seemed devoid of all gravity. The dome shone and sparkled from inside. Argan oil lamps on the big sofas reflected an intense and vibrating light. I remember she had accompanied me to the taxis. A taxi for where ? I asked her. I do not want to leave ! And she laughed, she laughed, and her laughter got lost into the night.
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