Stay long enough, go deep enough in Georgia, and you’ll be invited to not only a funeral feast, but the ormotsi, or 40, which takes place 40 days after death. I was just at one yesterday, in our village of Etseri, in memory of two brothers who died in a car accident in May. On the same day, there had to be a funeral in Nakra, for another young man who also died in an accident. Svaneti’s had a slew of young people’s passings since February, and the whole place is in agony. There are similarities and differences between these two feasts, and also between each of them and the tslis tavi, or “year after death” memorial.
Usually, the funeral meal has the least, if any, sweet food on its extensive menu: after all, this is death we are remembering. The other two feasts may have sweet food; indeed, yesterday’s feast did feature various cakes and fruits, although no chocolate or other candies.
If the organizers are wise and watching the weather forecast, they will arrange for a long marquee tent to be erected. This proved vital yesterday, as rain was coming and going while we waited some two hours in the host family’s yard to be summoned to eat. Indeed, once we were all in, it started again, not very heavy but enough to have ruined everything but for the fabric shield we had.
All three feasts will have a person taking cash gifts and carefully writing down each donor’s gift in a book. Yesterday, though, reminded me that I still have new things to see and learn at these events, despite having been to so many of them over the last two decades. The gift-writer had a pair of scissors at hand, with which he cut off a few hairs from the donor’s beard and put them in a small glass, already half-full of such. I asked what this was about. Apparently (as I knew) the men don’t shave between funeral and ormotsi, and this little cutting is a reminder that they can now start shaving or beard-trimming again. I expected to then hear that the collected hairs are then burnt or otherwise ceremonially disposed of, but no, they’re simply thrown away. Interesting!
A long history of taking part in feasts in Georgia (happy and sad both) has given me a comparison list of various qualities. Another way in which yesterday’s feast stood out was in its choice of man to fulfill that vital role, Tamada, or toastmaster. Above all (aside from having a good reputation in this position) he must have a booming, preferably deep voice. This one had neither vocal quality, and I can confess that, from about 3/4 of the length of the tent away from him, I could not understand a single word he said. Yes, Georgian is my 4th language; but usually I can follow along! Thankfully, as is typical at non-amplified feasts with a long rather than square space, the toasts were passed on to someone in the middle or at the far end to repeat; otherwise every word would have been lost. The rain, and the irrepressible dull roar of most of the roughly 340 of us, only made hearing harder. A microphone and speaker would solve all of this; but tradition will out. Besides, electricity is not to be assumed guaranteed.
The feast itself was half farmed out to caterers from Zugdidi, a common division nowadays, and half done by local ladies, such as kubdari, the traditional Svan meat pie. At least the load was lightened for the village ladies, always a mercy.
I did dare to take a quick phone photo of the heads of the two bulls and calf sacrificed for the occasion, sitting so prettily on their trays on the balcony. In Svaneti especially, ritual is everywhere to be found. Sadly, so is sorrow, these months.
Blog by Tony Hanmer
Tony Hanmer has lived in Georgia since 1999, in Svaneti since 2007, and been a weekly writer and photographer for GT since early 2011. He runs the “Svaneti Renaissance” Facebook group, now with over 2000 members, at www.facebook.com/groups/SvanetiRenaissance/
He and his wife also run their own guest house in Etseri: www.facebook.com/hanmer.house.svaneti
