136 - Chicken Head Kissing Corner (Qakh, Azerbaijan)
THE KURMUKHI CHURCH OF ST. GEORGE lies in the Qakh District of northwest Azerbaijan. Pilgrims hold a ceremony every spring at this dilapidated Georgian Orthodox Church perched on a hilltop overlooking the area. I never got specifics and my research turned up nil, but the crux of the ritual revolves around removing a metal cross from a water cistern, symbolically ushering in dryer weather and bidding farewell to the rainy season. The action is reversed in the fall to beckon the rain… I think.
Ethnic Georgians from Georgia and surrounding villages in Azerbaijan converge to pay their respects. Amy, a Peace Corps volunteer living near Zaqatala, invited me to join her. I’ve always been a fan of exotic aquatic ceremonies, so the decision was easy. We arrived too late to see the cross removal, but there was still plenty to absorb. Ignorance is bliss, especially when combined with curiosity.
As we approached the church, throngs of devotees converged on the path. Some carried chickens, while others pulled along sheep. I believe the animals served as a religious sacrifice… or lunch. Many women were barefoot, a sign of devotion and “wishful” thinking, i.e. that doing so will lead to the granting of wishes. Candle offerings are common, so we purchased a few to place inside.
Adherents circle the building three times before entering, kissing each corner as they pass. Chicken heads adorned a ledge near one corner, a mystery that remains unsolved, at least for me. I inquired, but no one seemed to have the answer. My ignorance made the experience all the more exhilarating.
The church’s sorry condition surprised me. If not for the line of folks stuffing themselves in like the proverbial clown car, I’d have assumed it abandoned. Graffiti on the walls did much to underscore this point. Indeed, the church is not a functioning one, empty most of the year without active worshipers. Azerbaijan is predominately Muslim, the locals holding this Georgian Orthodox Christian Church in low esteem. Inside, pilgrims lit candles, performed the sign of the cross, and moved downhill for the festivities.
We followed suit, sat in the shade, and enjoyed a Georgian-style picnic. Amy’s Peace Corps comrade knew a local family, and we were all invited to partake in the feast. Nearby, I spotted a makeshift wrestling ring where young men tested their mettle before eager spectators. Nothing goes with a religious ceremony like a little grappling. There was even a band.
Our Georgian hosts were a jovial bunch. I was honored by the invitation, stuffing my face with delicious pork and quaffing homemade wine like it was my job. At one point, I locked arms with a family patriarch and guzzled a cup of brew. Wine and pork aren’t exactly common in Muslim Azerbaijan, a definite source of contention between Azeris and ethnic Georgians.
For the trip back to Zaqatala, we hopped aboard a derelict bus that appeared to be on life support. The engine was at least 1 hp. Then again, it might have been powered by gerbils. A man entered, toting his not-so-mini satellite dish. This made me giggle, not because it was odd, but because it was so undeniably apropos. Yes.
Courtsey of AgayevPRO.