Orozo, the month of fasting before Ait, to the foreigner, shows itself in bits and pieces, as do many things here in Kyrgyzstan. This year, it was heralded in, ironically, by the neighborhood drunk.

He’s a nice guy. We first met when I was digging a trench to help drain the road this spring. He and his friends were all three sheets to the wind. One grabbed my shovel to dig while he sung me a song. Since then, his only faults are holding my hand a little too long when he greets me, and insisting a little too forcefully that I buy him a bottle. On this, the first day of Orozo, his behavior was no different.

“This is Orozo! You know! We are Muslim! Orozo!” His words were all excited, his breath sweet, as usual, and his eyes glassy. “No eating from sunrise to sunset! No drinking! Orozo!”

“And you? Are you observing Ait this year?” My question was genuine. The Kyrgyz around me are generally pretty easy going about their religion. It was quite conceivable, I thought, for him to tell me he wouldn’t be eating during the day, and ignore his particular indiscretion. Needless to say, I was wrong.

“No, no,” he said honestly, with no sense of inferred cynicism, “I’m ill.” And he flicked his throat, confirming for me that he was, indeed, drunk as a skunk. “Come,” he said next, confirming his character, “buy me a bottle, let’s drink.”

It is easy, however, to forget in general that Orozo is going on here in Naryn. I have only one acquaintance who observes the practice, and I seldom even see him. It wasn’t until later that week, on a Friday, that the holiday poked its head over the tall grass again.

“Hey, what’s that man hollering about?” I had stopped a neighbor boy who was running past me while I trimmed our hedges. I was referring to a man driving up and down Naryn’s Lenin Ave. with a megaphone. Though we were on a little side street and couldn’t see what was going on, his method of announcement was pretty clear. Normally this kind of ruckus happens as exuberant wedding parties celebrate loudly in large motorcades, but this was different.

“He’s talking about Islam, about Orozo,” the boy told me, “he’s telling everyone to go to the Mosque.”

“Oh, okay.” I said, and then dimly moving on to weather-chat, I asked, “so, where are you off to in such a hurry?”

He was kindly didn’t even bat an eye, “to the Mosque.”

Right.