It was a wonderful birthday. We had permission from the Chief to photograph anything or anybody. We had already been called out from the Guest House to take pictures of the damsels dressed ready for the festival. My son's ploy of printing out and presenting over forty superb photos from two years before, worked wonders. However, I wanted un-posed shots and lurked by one of the concrete pillars for ages, taking shots of the dancing. When, after a couple of hours, my legs got tired, I moved to some rocks where groups of the women were sitting, gossiping, preening their head-dresses, breast-feeding their babies, cuffing awkward children . They did not seem to mind my presence. Never have I admired so many dirty babies. Although mothers were in pristine new dresses, the babies were wrapped in a series of increasingly dirty pieces of cloth.
When I asked the Chief's son how they celebrated birthdays, he said that they didn't. Most of the older generation were uneducated and had no record of when they were born. That put me in my place. There was a school just outside the village. It must have had some effect, for when I admired the Kupas of one little girl sitting beside me, she proceeded to count in English the number of pearl buttons that decorated the tail-end. She reached sixty-five, quite an achievement. We descended the hill for lunch, but were back again for the afternoon, and then the next morning and then the final afternoon. This was when the men sacrificed offerings of bread and goat's cheese to the Spirits of the mountain above. The women waved branches of Walnut tree (myself included) and sang. Then the young men came rushing down from the mountain and tried to drag the lines of women away. Pandemonium ensued with swirls of dust everywhere, the women shrieking in mock protest. The Chief remarked that it was healthy dust! The final evening our Guide had sent the Jeep to Chitral, where the driver bought some mutton for supper which the Chief's wife cooked into a very palatable stew. This was our first meat other than chicken, and also the last. I purchased another Kupas Head-dress for my Collection to add to the ones my son had brought back on previous trips. It had belonged to a woman who had converted to the Muslim faith and thus would wear a veil instead. We had also been presented with woven bands to wear across the shoulders and I bought a really decorative waist-sash. I was happy to pay the asking prices and gave a donation to the school to buy pens for the children. I had brought a goodly amount of pens as gifts, but nowhere near enough for over a hundred children. These I intended for the teacher - it is a great mistake to give them to children - they only fight over them and little ones can get hurt. Tomorrow we leave for the second village and another Dance Festival. Angela Thompson [EMAIL PROTECTED] To unsubscribe send email to [EMAIL PROTECTED] containing the line: unsubscribe lace-chat [EMAIL PROTECTED]
