The Secret of the Huvdi: How the Lullaby Lives on in the Digital Age
A human being begins to hear the world long before seeing it. In the darkness of the mother's womb, the child's first and only point of reference is the steady, monotonous, and ceaseless rhythm of the mother's heartbeat. Yet, upon birth, this familiar world collapses, replaced by frightening open spaces, harsh sounds, and the unknown. The only way to reassure the infant that they are not alone—and that they are safe—is to restore that lost biological rhythm.
This is precisely how the lullaby—the huvdi—originated millennia ago.
It held no mysticism, yet it carried a profound, innate significance. A mother singing a huvdi subconsciously synchronizes the song’s tempo with the rhythm of her own calm breathing and pulse. The melody is remarkable: it almost always mirrors the movement of the sallanchak—the traditional Turkmen cradle. Free from abrupt leaps or complex musical arrangements, the song stays within the natural vocal range where a woman feels most comfortable speaking. For the infant, the meaning of the words often matters little; instead, they tune in to the rhythmic structure, which relaxes their muscles, regulates their breathing, and soothes them.
However, the Turkmen huvdi is more than just acoustic therapy; it is the first poem a person hears and the first lesson in geography, ethnography, and patriotism—absorbed right along with a mother's milk.
For centuries, every region of Turkmenistan has encoded its unique way of life and natural landscape into its lullabies. One can trace the country’s map through these songs: the lullabies of Lebap echo with the majestic roar of the Amu Darya and tell tales of a young fisherman; those from Balkan sing of the Caspian Sea and even the ancient earth’s hidden depths; in Dashoguz, the songs bring to life rice paddies, the ringing of camel bells, and the grace of Akhal-Teke horses; while in Akhal, beneath the shadow of the Kopetdag Mountains, the songs celebrate mountain valleys and the vast expanses of the Karakum Desert.
The preservation of this delicate art form inspired a major national contest titled "Müdimi senadyr ene hüwdüsi" ("A Mother’s Lullaby: An Eternal Hymn"), the final round of which took place at the Center of Public Organizations of Turkmenistan. Organized by the Women's Union, the National Trade Union Center, and the Secretariat of the National Commission for UNESCO, the event brought together the finest performers from all the country's provinces (velayats), as well as from Ashgabat and Arkadag. The finale showcased not only the songs themselves but also various types of traditional national cradles.
Chinar Rustemova, Executive Secretary of the National Commission of Turkmenistan for UNESCO, spoke to ORIENT about why the huvdi tradition is gaining international recognition today and why gadgets can never replace a mother's voice.
"A smartphone cannot convey a mother's scent": a conversation with Chinar Rustemova
— Chinar Tadzhiyevna, today, in the age of high technology, we are increasingly returning to archaic forms of folklore. Why is it so important to talk about huvdi right now?
— Because we are facing a very quiet yet serious challenge. In more and more homes, recordings of huvdi played on mobile phones are replacing a mother's voice. A smartphone is placed next to the cradle, and a few months later, parents are puzzled: "Why does the child wake up crying the moment the screen turns off?" The child is simply becoming accustomed to the device, not the person.
Yet a child should be nurtured in a mother's embrace from the very first days of life! Without any intermediaries.
For centuries, our culture was built on the infant sensing the mother's physical presence—her scent, her warmth, and the rhythm of her heartbeat. It is a sacred space of security. Children raised amidst digital noise and those nurtured through direct physical and emotional contact with their mothers are fundamentally different in their inner makeup. If we lose this connection in infancy, it will be very difficult to bridge the generations later on.
— The competition clearly demonstrated just how much performance traditions vary by region. Is the difference truly that profound?
— You’ve made a keen observation. We possess a vast repository of folklore—a veritable encyclopedia of huvdi (lullabies) that has evolved across our various velayats (provinces). And the differences lie not only in the melody but in the very philosophy behind the lyrics.
I am originally from Lebap Velayat, but I raised my children in Balkan Velayat after I married. I was constantly comparing these melodies! Our daily lives and the surrounding landscape are all reflected in the songs. In Lebap, the huvdi is imbued with the poetry of the Amu Darya River, featuring imagery of small fish, the river’s calm surface, and cotton fields. In Balkan, the lullaby breathes the spirit of the Caspian Sea and the wind; it echoes themes of felt-making, carpet weaving, and even respect for the labor of those who extract the earth's resources. In Dashoguz, the poetry speaks of rice paddies, steppe livestock herding, and camel caravans. In Akhal, it reflects the Kopet-Dag Mountains and the vast expanses of the Karakum Desert. The huvdi is a true mirror of life.
— So, patriotism begins right here—at the cradle?
— Precisely! Through the huvdi, a child first realizes where they were born, the land they inhabit, and the debt they owe to it. After all, patriotism is not some abstract concept from a textbook; it is the feeling of home, instilled by a mother’s singing while the child is still too young to consciously understand. If a person is raised in this atmosphere of love and respect for their roots, a mother need not worry about their future—they will grow up to be honest, strong, and noble.
— It is well known that Turkmenistan has put forward an initiative to include the art of the lullaby in the UNESCO Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity…
— Yes, in 2024, we prepared a nomination dedicated to the art of performing lullabies and the traditions of crafting cradles. When we presented this initiative to UNESCO, colleagues from Tajikistan and Iran immediately approached us with a proposal to make it a multinational nomination. These countries also deeply cherish this cultural element. After all, borders are somewhat arbitrary concepts: large Turkmen communities live in Iran and Tajikistan, and there is a constant, mutual cultural synthesis. When I served as ambassador to Tajikistan, I personally heard our compatriots in the Jilikul district singing those same melodies—tunes familiar to us since childhood.
We are currently preparing for the International Day of Intangible Cultural Heritage, observed on October 17. As part of our UNESCO nomination bid, we have developed a four-year action plan to revitalize, study, and promote huvdi (the Turkmen lullaby tradition). This is not a one-off event, but a systematic, ongoing effort.
— Chinar Tadzhiyevna, what kind of lullabies did you sing to your own children?
— (smiling) I blended traditions! At first, I sang the songs my mother and grandmother had taught me in Lebap, but later I began adding Balkan melodies I had picked up from my mother-in-law.
— Were you good at it?
— Of course! I’ve always been a singer at heart!
At that moment, Chinar Rustemova began to sing—softly, yet with remarkable soulfulness. She started with a Lebap melody, smooth as the flow of a river, then transitioned to a more rhythmic, lilting Balkan tune. And as that simple melody played, it became abundantly clear: as long as a living human voice rings out over a cradle, the mystery of a mother’s love remains beyond the reach of cold algorithms—yet perfectly understood by every one of us.
