Saturday, the last toi of the season. And the day of the Kara-Ak derby, at 6 p.m. The groom is a Neftchi man and the bride is for Tulpar, and they got married on this date on purpose "to find out who will win in the family".
So at 20.15 I stopped the programme and told 300 people: "There is a television in the corner. You have exactly ninety minutes of a football match. After that, a toi." The hall went quiet like in church. The old women looked at the screen too, to be polite. The groom's father held the bride's father's arm. I will not tell you the result. It is not my blog.
Then they danced until two.
This year a couple needs dollars for the hall, and the banks give 300 a month. So the brides' mothers are in the exchange booths at Bazar-i Kalan, at 9.5 and soon 11. I ask my fee in som now, at the bazaar rate. Some halls ask in som at 8.40, then quietly add a "service" of 15%.
A dowry has always been a number. This year the number runs away. A grandmother told me: "In my time we counted sheep. Sheep do not have a rate."
Last night, toi number 700 since I started counting in 2011. The couple did not know. The hall did not know. After the cake I said into the microphone: "Today a small anniversary: this is my seven hundredth, and your first." They gave me a bottle of cognac and a hug that smelled of vanilla.
I counted: 700 tois, about 210,000 guests, 3,100 jokes (the same 40 jokes), and a lot of tea.
The couple's first bread, which they broke at the head table.In February, after the American's talk of "selling" Irad, an uncle at a toi told the room: "For the bride we ask a good price, but we do not sell the country." Somebody laughed, somebody did not. I stood with the microphone and for a second I did not know where to look.
Then I said "To the bride, who is not for sale, and to the land, which is not for sale either," and the sözchü cried "Baarakelde!" Done. A host has one job in these moments: to give people a sentence they can drink to.
The new invitation is a picture in WhatsApp, with a map and a link to the playlist. The printed one is for the old aunts, who do not forgive. Tamga Print, the shop by the university, still prints about 150 cards for each toi. I asked the designer: why? She said: "Because a card can be put on the fridge, and a message gets lost."
I put mine on the fridge too.