Alla — the quietest yet most powerful voice of uzbek children’s folklore
In Uzbek oral folklore, there are many loud voices: epics, battle tales, proverbs. Yet among them exists a genre that never speaks loudly. It does not shout, does not make claims, does not step onto a stage. And still, it enters human life as the very first cultural experience. This is alla.
Alla is sung for children, but it does not belong only to them. It is the first spiritual bridge between mother and child, the first affection given through words, the first education set to melody. Perhaps this is why alla has rarely been studied as a separate genre: it seems too natural, too simple. Yet it is precisely this “simplicity” that is its greatest strength.
No one teaches alla. It is not taught at school, not memorized from books. A mother knows it without ever having learned it. This genre has no author, but it has a performer. She is the mother. That is why alla is not written — it is lived.
When we speak of children’s genres, we usually imagine playfulness, joy, and simple verses. Alla does not fit into this image. Though it is a children’s genre, it carries the full weight of the adult world: dreams, anxieties, hopes, prayers, and sometimes silently sung pain. The phrase “Sleep, my child” often hides an inner plea: “May you be at peace,” “May your life be light.”
Another unique quality of alla is that it addresses not the child’s mind, but the soul. The child does not understand the meaning of the words, but feels the melody. Through that melody, the child senses whether the world is safe or not, whether there is love or not. In this sense, alla is the child’s first psychological school.
Today, many products created for children — cartoons, songs, applications — are colorful and noisy. Alla, however, is slow. It moves against time. Perhaps that is why it seems to be gradually retreating in modern life. But in truth, it is not disappearing — it is simply remaining silent. Because alla cannot live in noise.
To preserve alla does not mean to bring it onto the stage or formalize it. To preserve it means to preserve the mother’s voice, to find time to be alone with the child, to put the phone aside and allow space for silence.
Alla is the oldest, purest, and most neglected form of Uzbek children’s folklore. It does not demand articles from us, nor does it wait for research. It asks for only one thing: to be sung. Softly. With love. Every night.
Abduqahhorova Gulhayo
Uzbekistan
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