Click here to read Part I

Amid the struggles of Kazakhstan’s Uyghur community to preserve cultural traditions, weddings have endured as one of the few institutions capable of fostering social cohesion. They now create temporary, tangible spaces of Uyghur cultural visibility, where the Uyghur language, music, costumes, and rituals can assert themselves.

Unlike modern Kazakh weddings, which typically involve two large ceremonies, each financed by one side of the family, Uyghur weddings generally center on a single joint celebration, with both families sharing the cost equally. This arrangement not only reduces financial strain associated with weddings but also helps preempt rivalry and competition between in-laws, reinforcing the event’s emphasis on communal harmony over excessive displays of status. 

A traditional Uyghur wedding in Kazakhstan can last anywhere from two to three weeks, unfolding through a series of rituals. The festivities typically begin with qiz sorash (literally, “asking for the bride”), a visit by several elder men from the groom’s family to the bride’s house to formally request her hand in marriage – a symbolic act based on prearranged parental consent. This is followed by the rehmet bildüdürüsh chayi, or “thanksgiving tea,” when women from the groom’s family visit their soon-to-be in-laws bearing gifts as expressions of gratitude. 

On the Friday before the main celebrations, the groom and his relatives are hosted for a festive toyluq, a pre-wedding feast centered around an enormous serving of polo (pilaf rice, widely regarded as “the king of the table” across Central Asia). The next day, Saturday, features three distinct gatherings: a morning celebration for men (erkek toyi), an afternoon one for women (ayal toyi), and an evening feast for young people and children (yashlar toyi). Sunday brings another male gathering, where communal bonds are reaffirmed through music, storytelling, and prayers. The following Friday, women gather again for the jümülüq chay (“Friday tea”), a convivial postscript to the main festivities. A few weeks after the wedding, the groom hosts his in-laws in a ritual known as kélinni körüsh – a visit affirming goodwill and ensuring that the bride was being well cared for.

Central to these ceremonies is the meshrep — the core institution of Uyghur social life: an organized communal gathering that blends moral instruction, entertainment, and fellowship. Presided over by the yighit bash (“leader of the young men”) and his female counterpart, the ayal bash (or khotun bash), the meshrep transforms the wedding from a private family event into a communal affirmation of Uyghur identity and belonging. 

Long before it was integrated into life-cycle event celebrations, the meshrep served as a mechanism of self-governance and mutual support within Uyghur villages during the Soviet era, enforcing norms of behavior, resolving disputes, maintaining moral cohesion, and providing entertainment through poetry, singing, dancing, and improvised jokes (chaqchaq). In post-Soviet Kazakhstan, where formal communal institutions have waned, the endurance of the meshrep through festive occasions like weddings preserves a sense of moral continuity and social cohesion.

Today, few weddings follow this elaborate pattern. Urban life, time and economic constraints, and the rise of the professionalized wedding economy have led to the condensation of the typical urban Uyghur wedding into a 2-day event. 

As many educated young Uyghurs leave traditional Uyghur mehelles for professional or educational opportunities in downtown Almaty or in Kazakhstan’s rapidly growing capital, Astana, weddings have become one of the few occasions that bring this increasingly urbanized, dispersed, and Russophone community back together. Often organized under the guidance of the local community’s yighit bash and ayal bash, these celebrations gather people in the spirit of the meshrep – moments when shared memory, ritual, and merrymaking reaffirm Uyghur social bonds across the distances of modern urban life.

Apart from the nikah – the Islamic religious rite formalizing the conjugal union – and intimate gatherings limited to the bride’s close female friends (not unlike American bridal showers), the centerpiece of most Uyghur weddings in the Almaty region is a large-scale toy held in a banquet hall. 

Along the Ghulja Highway, east of Almaty, a cluster of banquet halls serves the Uyghur community’s wedding economy. Although only a few of these venues cater exclusively to Uyghur clients, most feature Kazakh and Uyghur menus that include iconic dishes from both national cuisines. 

An Uyghur wedding is a carefully orchestrated spectacle. At its center stands an eloquent host, or tamada – a somewhat awkward appropriation of the Georgian word for “toastmaster” – who moves seamlessly among Uyghur, Russian, and occasional Kazakh. This linguistic mixture reflects the gradual decline of the Uyghur language among younger generations.

The program typically features a professional singer, performing Uyghur-language songs accompanied by Westernized pop instrumentation, and a large dance troupe presenting adaptations of traditional folk dances. Equally integral is the wedding band, which performs with traditional instruments, such as the zurnay (a double-reed wind instrument), naghra (small drums), and karnay (a Central Asian long metal trumpet). 

Unlike the singer, the host, or the dance troupe, members of the traditional band arrive hours before the ceremony to begin performing well ahead of the guests and the newlyweds. As attendees slowly trickle into the banquet hall, the musicians stand by the entrance, filling the air with festive instrumental music – a practice that echoes traditional village weddings and other communal gatherings rooted in the meshrep tradition. 

Once all guests are seated and the hall prepared for the main ceremony, the tamada coordinates the lively sequence of rituals, performances, and games. Religious blessings blend with the exchange of well-wishes between the two families, followed by words of counsel to the bride from senior female relatives. Pop tunes and folk dances alternate with guests dancing. The tamada leads games offering prizes that range from a box of chocolates to a new smartphone, presumably courtesy of the newlyweds’ families. The main course for wedding banquets is often dapenji, a spicy chicken stew, served in a well choreographed procession by the venue’s waitstaff.

The highlight of the ceremony arrives with the formal presentation of the newlyweds, announced by the resounding, almost deafening sound of the karnays, each musician raising one of the long brass trumpets. 

For many Kazakhstani Uyghurs, especially those of older generations, the modern, albeit increasingly consumerist version of traditional life-cycle rituals offers more than entertainment. These celebrations are sources of pride and a reaffirmation of cultural identity. 

One of the few Uyghur-language films produced in post-Soviet Kazakhstan, Ümütlük Dunya (A World of Hope, 2016), closes with a wedding scene in downtown Almaty, accompanied by a song from pop icon Möminjan Ablikim, “Uyghur dégen mushundaq” (“The Uyghurs Are Such”). As the newlyweds embrace their loved ones and receive blessings, the lyrics unfold: “After saving their fortunes for a wedding, they would still welcome a guest to their house. If you ask how this could be, one who knows will tell you — the Uyghurs are such.” 

The verse captures what the dazzling ceremonies of Almaty’s Uyghur suburbs continue to convey today: generosity as a moral virtue, festivity as a social bond, and endurance as an integral part of identity. Though modern weddings may cost a fortune, they are also underwriting an uncoordinated cultural preservation.