Life in Central Asia: Experiencing Eid

Excitement crackles in the air as I prepare for my first Central Asian Eid. 

I feel like my 7-year-old self waking up on Christmas morning as I slip on my new poinsettia-red outfit. I rub my fingers across the smooth mini reflective mirrors and feel the bumpiness of the sequins and thread to secure everything in its place.

Eid is one of two major Muslim holidays. This first Eid marks the end of the month of fasting called Ramadan. Locals celebrate by having quick visits to the homes of family and friends to drink tea and eat sweets. For those who can afford it, they wear a brand new outfit and the children receive money. Kids race to a nearby shop to buy whatever toy or sweet they can with their newfound funds.

Shouts of joy meander through the open windows. I peek out an upstairs window and observe two elementary-aged boys chasing after each other in the dirt street with their new toy guns.

After applying make-up—something I rarely do these days—I add my faux gold dangling earrings and costume gold necklace to my complete my festive look. 

One by one, I carefully slide on my set of four 21-carat gold bangles, a treasured gift from my husband years ago when we started to date, but also highly coveted by every Central Asian woman.

Clink! Clink! Clink! Clink! The bracelets jingle together in their familiar melody. The corners of my mouth turn upward. I sashay downstairs. 

My husband and I visit two households together, but we don't stay in the same rooms. He's taken to the men's guest room while I'm whisked away to the designated hosting room for women. With limited language, I'm grateful a short visit is expected for the holiday. This takes my mind off the pressure for what to say with my limited vocabulary and allows me to savor the experience.

I step into the women’s room. Compartmental glass trays filled with a wider than usual assortment of dried fruit, candy, and nuts spread across the Persian rug. Trays lined up next to the floor cushions contain sweets I haven't seen or tasted yet.

A small sampler plate of goodies and a steaming cup of green tea is set in front of me. The hostess beams with holiday cheer and I sit on the soft floor cushions.

One treat grabs my attention. It resembles an orange donut hole. I lift the dessert to my mouth. My eyes widen. This thing heavier than I anticipated—and dense.

I take a small bite, wondering if this will not be a treat I'll want to repeat. But then the soft, syrupy flavor cascades inside my mouth. This donut-hole imposter melts in my mouth. My eyes sparkle like tinsel on a Christmas tree. 

“What is this?” I ask, slightly in awe.

“Mutiyeh,” the hostess says. Her eyebrows arch and a half smile plays across her lips.

When Your Kid Is Treated Unfairly

I pace along the sidelines of the turf field and past my abandoned chair. This warm and sunny day feels ironic given the emotional storm crashing inside of me. The first game of my son’s recreational flag football team isn’t going as expected.

My eleven-year-old sits on the sidelines across the field, shoulders hunched. He gazes toward the track and plucks at the fake grass. His friend comes off the field and plops down beside him. My son is momentarily pulled back to the present. He smiles, offers a high-five, and utters what looks like “Good job.” He talks with his friend for a couple of minutes before the coach puts his friend back in the game.

Disappointment flashes across my son’s face, and I watch as energy drains from his body. He shifts his eyes away from the field to anywhere but the painful moment he finds himself. When the game finally ends, my son has played thirty seconds of a forty-minute game. And he’s not the only kid with this low playing time. Three others were in the same boat.

My anger surges. How could a program advertised as recreational, intended to teach youth who’ve never played flag football before, treat kids like this?

My son meets me on the track beside the turf field, eyes cast downward. His arms sag at his sides.

“I’m so sorry for the way the coach treated you,” I said. “It wasn’t right.”

My son snaps his head my way and stands a bit taller. The acknowledgment of the unfair situation he faced makes him feel seen for the first time in an hour. No one likes to be treated unfairly. And when we or someone we care about experiences unfair treatment, it can be unsettling.

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