The Pilgram

My host dad, who I usually call Narman the cameraman, has recenty returned from Iran.  I don’t have the language capacity to figure out exactly what he was doing, but from what I gather, he went on a pilgramage to a mosque in Iran, and came back to a big crowd congratulating him on his journey.

The day before he came back, I walked across the yard to my room to see a sheep tied up to a tree.  The plan was that as soon as Narman got back, he was going to sacrifice the lamb and we would all feast.  I have heard stories from other volunteers about sheep-sacrifices at their host families, and I wanted no part of it, so I got the hell out of there and went to my friends house.

Upon my return, they had killed the sheep and there were about 20 people at our house all chatting it up and eating some pretty fresh meat.  As people entered, they embraced him and said ‘May God accept your sacrifice’ (obviously, they said it in Azeri, but i can’t remember what it was). 

Anyway, this was all a few weeks ago, and things have calmed down, but everyone keeps refering to him as The Pilgram.  When I asked my host mom what time where the screwdriver was, she said, “I don’t know, ask The Pilgram.”  I wonder how long this is gonna last.

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