Sep 28, 2005 6:46 PM
Newsletter 12
Newsletter 12 returns to late July, where Newsletter 11 - part two left off.
I hope you enjoy it.
On Tuesday after work (19 July), I went home and got thinking that I really needed a haircut so I called the shop where Excel works. Her name was given to me by her friend who works at the European Haircare and Facial Center across the street from my flat. She said to come and told me how to get there – it’s in the town center, near Khalifa (“Huh-LEE-fuh”) Street, the main street in Al Ain, on the second (third) floor above a store called Shop and Save and next to the Al Maha building. Somehow, given that information, the taxi driver got me to the store and I found the entrance to the floors above street level – in the area between the two buildings. There were signs for several businesses posted on the walls inside the small, dark entrance but none said “Kenz Lebnan” which is the salon name. There was one sign in a language I couldn’t read, however; the others were in English and Arabic. Not sure I was in the right place, but to be sure I got to the right floor, I took the small elevator and pressed “2.” As I stepped out of the elevator after it stopped, to my immediate left was an etched glass door which said, “Kenz Lebnan!” I went inside, found Exel and she set to work.
She did a very good job and when it came time to pay m 50 dh, I went to the cashier. Then I realized that although I had 50 in small bills, giving those away would leave me with only 500’s. I asked if they had change for 500, thinking it unlikely, but they did and carefully counted out change for me. I gave them back 50 dh, gave Exel a tip and left, thanking Exel again. I went down the steps to ground level and decided to go into Shop and Save to look at watches. I’ve been looking for one with a large white face and thick black hands. I found one in there, had tried it on, and was in the process of saying I’d buy it when someone came up next to me on the left and there was a small stir among the shop assistants. I turned to look and there stood a girl from Kenz Lebnan. “Madame,” she said, “I think you forgot to leave the 500.” Well all the shop people heard her – because they were so close (gathered close by, actually), not because she spoke loudly. I was surprised because I was pretty sure I’d given them the 500 so I looked in my wallet but couldn’t tell. I realized my reputation among those shop clerks was shot already anyway so the most graceful thing I could do is hand over 500 dh and hope it was true that I had indeed forgotten to leave one. I handed one over saying I was very sorry, and she took it and went away. Then I turned to complete the transaction with the watch. Two clerks stuck close by me as we went to the cashier and I handed over the exact amount – 55 dh. They gave me a drawing entry – most stores have a raffle of some kind going on most of the time – so I wrote my name, PO Box address and phone number on it while they looked on closely, then they told me to place the stub in the bin outside (which I did) and I left the store feeling like a criminal. I am kind of worried now that my reputation might be shot – this is a small town – and that I’ll be known as “that grey-haired American lady con artist.”
On Wednesday evening I met Rebecca and Brian at the Al Ain Mall ice rink to go to dinner. The restaurant we had planned to go to in the mall had closed so we ended up riding in Brian’s new red van to the Town Square and eating in an Indian restaurant there. I had a tasty but very spicy dish called prawns masala – tiny shrimp in a red sauce. With it I had Naan which reminded me of the Non in Uzbekistan, a flat circular bread, and fresh lime juice salted (it could be ordered with either sugar or salt) and it was definitely salty but very refreshing. It was my first experience with Indian food.
(Thursday) It’s the weekend at last! My neighbors who usually awaken me at 11:30 PM must be out or away because I slept straight through until about 5:00 AM and then couldn’t get back to sleep. I kept trying though and finally gave up about 7:00 and got ready for the day. I wanted to take a taxi to Al Bareed (the post office) to mail post cards, so after making sure I had the cards with me, I started walking toward the main road near my flat when a taxi that lives near me (at a traditional house between my apartment complex and the main road) came out of its driveway onto my street just before it meets the main road. It stopped for me and after verifying that the driver understood where I wanted to go, we took off. (I think I’ve figured out that when a driver gives a half nod and says something like “neh,” he is showing he understands where I want to go and knows the way. I’d been thinking “neh” meant “no” or “don’t know where it is” or “don’t understand.”) Actually, after giving it some thought, I think maybe they are saying, “Nam,” one of the Arabic words meaning Yes.
I got to the post office, mailed the postcards, bought more stamps and then went back outside. BTW, the date palms recently planted on the grounds of the post office and four corners of the intersection are still wearing the burlap “coats” I mentioned a week or so ago. I looked around trying to decide where to go next and opted to walk to the street and go down and through the Subway (a way to get to the other side of the street without encountering traffic), cross under the street and come up on the other side. Once on the other side of the street, I started to walk to the corner, intending to go to the corner, turn and stroll along Al Ain Street. But first I came to a space between a building and the bank on the corner and through the opening I could see another smaller street with lots of tiny shops. I decided to go there instead and am glad I did because it was a wonderful cultural experience. Beyond a row of shops was a series of small two story white stucco buildings composed of tiny shops having glass walls and doors and numerous outdoor vendor stands. The buildings were placed together in groups of four around a small plaza with arcaded walkways between each set of four. Walking along and around there was so much like being in the bozors (bazaars) of Uzbekistan that I kept having flashbacks and the sensation that I was actually in Uzbekistan.
There were many, many “textile” (fabric/material) shops, many shoe shops, clothing stores, and perfume stores as well as small electronics shops, luggage shops, etc. The shops all had their doors open with merchandise displayed on them – several lengths of various fabrics, for example. Most doorways were narrow and had two wide pieces of thick clear plastic hanging from the top of the doorway like curtains. The shops inside were small and stuffed to the brim with merchandise, well organized but crowded. All the outdoor vendors seemed to be selling much the same things – watches, wallets, strings of religious beads, ropes and other paraphernalia, key chains, sunglasses, kids cell phones (fake or real?), etc. Usually each had something not all the others had. Most of the merchandise was from Pakistan and I noticed that for most of the time I was the only female shopper there and, judging from their dress, all the men were probably Pakistani – and it seemed that there were hundreds of them, alone or in twos or threes or small groups, hunkered down, walking, talking, sitting on benches, etc.
A couple of times I walked into textile stores that looked as if they sold only women’s fabric and found that they were filled with male customers. I realized later that the shops also sold fabric for men’s clothes but it’s also true that many men do the family shopping, so I don’t know who these men were shopping for, themselves or a female family member. The clerks were all males, too. When I found myself in that situation, I looked toward – not at – the customers and said, “Assalom Alaykum,” (peace be unto you) and they, obligated, replied “Salaam.” I then spent a minute or so standing in one place letting my eyes rove over the selection of women’s fabric and finally said, “Shukren,” (thank you) and left.
As I walked I was wearing my sunhat, brought from the US, which has become definitely squashed and the brim hangs down or curls up in strange ways but still keeps the sun off my face. A couple of times as I passed outdoor vendors, they held out to me in their hands a hat – always the same kind, looking much like a stiff, tiger-stripped Crocodile Dundee hat – vigorously inviting me to purchase, no doubt to get that strange looking thing off my head and out of their sight! I resisted their entreaties.
After a while I began to look in earnest at some of the girl’s dresses offered by the vendors, thinking I might get something for my little granddaughters Izzy and Jayde. I looked at many and bargained mildly but didn’t buy anything. Then I found a booth having little boy’s long shirt-dishdashas (robes) and matching pants. The vendor and I got into a deep discussion about sizes and colors. I brought out the picture of my 5 grandchildren so he could see the relative sizes of my three little grandsons, Zane, Kemp and Cole, and went through the vendor’s selection of colors until I found some I liked. The pantaloons (pants) have open casings at the waist; I pointed at one and pantomimed sewing and then a stretchy motion imitating elastic; he nodded to show agreement – i.e., it is up to the purchaser or eventual recipient to put into the casing something to allow it to fit the waist of the individual who will wear it.
I wanted to know if they were washable and pantomimed hand washing and he said n English, “Yes, yes wash.” Two of the robes had sizes written on the front in ink. I wanted to know if they would wash out so I pointed to the numbers and again pantomimed hand washing and he indicated the numbers would wash out. Then he pointed out that on some of the robes (none I had selected), blended into the colourful embroidery near the neck opening, the clothing size number was integrated into the stitching pattern. Very clever. Eventually he offered me a seat – an upturned bucket with a couple of folded towels on it – and I accepted it with trepidation; it was down quite low and I wasn’t sure I could get down gracefully or up at all, but I managed. The vendor was impressed with my use of Arabic, slight though it was, and we had a good time communicating in English, Arabic and he at times in Urdu.
I finally chose three outfits (one for each grandson), a grey and a brown both in size 13 for Zane (age 6 and of slender build) and Kemp (age 4 and of stocky build) and a turquoise size 9 for Cole (9 months). Each robe has a short, stand-up collar with an opening doing down the center front having machine stitched decorations on the overpiece and snaps to close it (Cole’s being smaller has only one snap). I’m not sure the pantaloons will ever fit my grandsons, but the robes are long enough to wear for pajamas, for example. Then the bargaining for price began with the use of calculators. He originally punched into his calculator the beginning price, 65, and after some hemming and hawing on my part, lowered it in increments to 55. When I punched 50 into my calculator and showed it to him, he laughed delightedly and said something to indicate how clever I was to bargain and agreed to the price (either that or he was gloating that I had settled for a higher price than I could have!).
Before he bagged the merchandise and took my money, he again pantomimed stitching in the waistbands of the pantaloons and I realized that either elastic or a drawstring would work. Finally, he began thanking me and then speaking and gesturing in what I think was the asking of Allah’s blessings upon me, my children and my children’s children (I’ve read about this custom and assume that is what was happening), I smiled, nodded, held my hands in the “omen” (amen) prayer sign when he did, and thanked him, too. He then asked me if I’d like some tea; I said no, thanked him and then said, “Maayah,” (“MI-yuh,” water) and pointed to the small bottle of water I carried in my purse. He laughed delightedly as though I was very clever and repeated to the next vendor, “Maayah.” I walked away as he urged me to return many, many more times.
I started to walk past the next vendor, who had been watching this whole process with interest, and he began showing me some of his merchandise. I looked at little girl’s dresses but wasn’t satisfied with any. Then he showed me some men’s headscarves to go with the robes I’d bought (the other vendor had shown me some, too, but they were too big for my little grandsons). He had some smaller ones and I haggled for three and bought them for, I think, 15 dh total. I went along looking mainly for girls’ dresses then and finally got one for Izzy, a lovely blue velvet decorated on the bodice, down the skirt and on the sleeve edges with gold machine stitching, little mirror pieces and gold/multi-colored trim. The pantaloons have the same gold/multi trim on their edges. I realized I’m just not sure enough of Jayde’s size to buy anything for her yet. I kept looking, though, and found a style in one shop I’d like to buy if I can become sure of her size. I’ll email Gina about it.
As I was walking around looking, I suddenly realized that in two days it will be the birthday of my only sister, Diane! I’d been thinking about it but had taken no action. So I started looking as I walked and tried to remember where I’d seen some shawls hanging outside the open door of one textile shop. It was getting late in the morning and the sun was getting hotter and hotter. I was equipped with my neck cooler (a cloth cylinder with scarf-like open ends having some kind of water-absorbing crystals inside that I’d soaked in water so the center of the cylinder was about the size and shape of a long Polish sausage, only flexible) tied around my neck, my sunglasses, sunhat and purple umbrella. I know I made a strange sight among all those men who wore long, single light-color robes and pantaloons and some kind of traditional head covering – cloth turbans and skull caps mostly. I was wearing a dress of winter-weight (much too hot for this climate!) turquoise/black tiny check fabric with a faux jacket-like front having decorative silver and black buttons and beautiful black embroidery at the jacket edge. The dress reaches to about 5 inches above my ankles and has a self tie in back. I was also wearing my brown Rockport Prowalkers (it’s the only color they come in, alas – great shoes but no variety), whereas everyone else, I’m sure, was wearing sandals over bare feel – I didn’t look but that is usually the case. I was probably also the only person there having blue eyes and invisible eyelashes (light brown as compared to their usually brush-thick black ones). Again, I didn’t look, that’s just what is usual. I’ve thought of buying mascara and have recently begun pricing it but haven’t yet been able to let myself pay 59 dh ($16) for any. The cheapest I’ve seen is 40 dh (($10); even that rankled and I didn’t buy. I guess I’ll have to stick with invisible eyelashes.
Back to my quest for a shawl for Diane. I passed for the second time a textile shop where a beautiful piece of embroidered light green (!) fabric was on the door display. I’d admired it the first time but hadn’t stopped to inquire. This time I went in, entering through the plastic doorway protectors – and faced a room with rolls of fabric standing or leaning all around on the floor with only narrow walkways leading here and there, and lengths of fabric hanging from every inch of wall space. I found myself facing two shopkeepers and several male customers, all of whom were staring at me. One of the clerks took over the male customers and the older one came to wait on me. I asked the price of the green fabric; I think it was 40. I asked “For 1 meter?” and he said, “The whole thing” and told me he had the same type in other colors. He had the other clerk hand him a shopping bag and in it were seven other swaths of the same fabric type and embroidery in different colors. I didn’t care for any of them and started negotiating with him over the green one. It turns out it was actually two pieces, one with embroidery (“for up” - the top) and one without embroidery (“for down” - the bottom) and he said there were two yards of each, 60 inches wide. I bought the set for 22 dh. I don’t think he was happy with the price (his final offer had been 25 but he let it go for 22.) Maybe I hadn’t better show my face there again, except that is the shop where the dresses are that I like for Jayde.
I finally found a shop I hadn’t looked in before that was displaying a shawl on the open door but I thought the shawl was nice and would be easy to mail. I asked the male inside the shop about the price of the shawl. He showed me that he had some like it in clear plastic packages and told me there was only one color – natural. He called them “shaylas”, which is what the women call the long scarves/shawls they use to cover their necks, throats and heads and that drape artistically partway down their backs and over their shoulders to drape down the front. I bargained with him on the price and got him to come down 1/3 (I won’t mention the price since Diane will be reading this account; I’ll just say I was pleased with it). We bargained using paper and pen since by then my hands were so full of purchases I couldn’t extract my calculator from my purse and he didn’t seem to have one. After I’d paid for it and he’d bagged it for me, he pressed me to buy one of the tiger-stripped hats others had tried to get me to buy. If it hadn’t been tiger-stripped, I might have bought one because I’m not really happy with my mashed one although it is easy to manage and I can easily stuff it into the big bag that I often have with me.
After leaving that shop, I made a few additional feeble attempts to find a dress for Jayde but the heat was too much and my water was giving out. I decided to catch a taxi and looked around to see where I was, since I’d never been on that street before, and where the best place to get a taxi might be. There, across the parking area, I saw the Waterpots R/A (roundabout)! It is very near the Al Jahily District where I live. Knowing a taxi couldn’t stop on a R/A, I headed in the opposite direction, past the shops to the parallel street and was nearly there, crossing the parking area and seeing a taxi coming along the street, when I heard a beep and saw a taxi coming toward me through the parking lot. (The drivers beep their horns when they see a walker to signify their availability to take on a fare.) I gratefully opened the back passenger side door (the only appropriate place for a female to sit in a taxi), said, “Assalom Alaykum,” waited for the response, and then said, “Jahily.” He said “Nam,” and I got in. It was a short ride to my flat and when I got inside I drank a LOT of water and enjoyed the cool air produced by my central air conditioners, of which I have two, each with a thermostat, one for the front of the flat (majlis, dining area, kitchen, blue bathroom and entry) and another for the bedrooms, two bathrooms and long hallway in the back.Note: interesting foods I’ve purchased lately. Pineapple juice from the Sultanate of Oman (next door), coconut juice from Thailand in pop-top cans, rice milk from Australia, and tomato juice made from “tomatoes from the sunny Mediterranean” but patented in the UK (no clue where it was packaged, but it has to be consumed within four days of opening!).
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NEWSLETTER PRE-12 - SPECIAL EDITION!
6 September 2005 – Tuesday
Last night I went to an Arabian wedding party! It was a wonderful experience. I was invited by telephone the day before the event by a National staffer at Maqam. The wedding was her brother’s. I got the background on attending weddings from Mary Kay and a National staffer at Zayed, learning that gifts are not taken to a wedding party, that the women’s and men’s parties would be held separately in the same hotel, that fancy dress was not required (I own nothing fancy, even in the states, so that would have eliminated by attendance right there!) and that I could take a guest – or even guests, I suppose – who had not been invited. I decided to invite Susette, the daughter of the Fletchers who is visiting from the states for a few weeks, because I wanted to go but not alone, I didn’t know if any other library staff or anyone else I knew would be there, and I thought she might not have another chance to attend such an event. She was eager to go. So I decided to wear the only dress I brought with me that I haven’t worn to work, a dress of bright orange batik print with empire-waist made of crinkle fabric. Suzette showed up in pink chiffon. In the US those colors would clash but here are very acceptable together. My dress had the disadvantage of having sleeves that exposed by elbows, which I realized I would get away with only because I was a Westerner.
We arrived by taxi at the Al Ain Intercontinental Hotel and found our way down several turns of tile steps having walls decorated in colorful tiling to the banquet hall below. Music could be heard all the way to the lobby it was so loud. At the bottom of the steps and to the right were huge open doors leading into the hall and a party that was in full swing. It was scheduled to start at 8:30 and it was nearly 9:00 by the time we arrived but these are come and go as you please events. Just inside the doors, were two lines of older and elderly Emirati women wearing black abayas and shaylas and most of them wearing burgas (gold-colored metal partial-face covers shaped kind of like large mustaches that hide strategic parts of the face, such as the lips, which can be considered too sensual to be viewed by men). They were smiling and greeting guests by shaking their hands and saying – well, something welcoming, I’m sure, but I couldn’t hear anything because the music was so loud!.
My thought is that in one line were women from the bride’s family and in the other were the groom’s relatives. I shook hands with each one and said, “Assalom alaykum,” and smiled. I’m sure Susette, behind me, was following my lead in shaking hands as I followed the lead of a couple of Emirati women just ahead of me. One of the women graciously led Susette and me to a table as I took in the sight. The room stretched out to my left and right. In the center of the room was a runway leading to the back of the room and a stage that was decorated with a triple-arch backdrop, a larger, higher arch in the center and two smaller, shorter ones on either side. In front of it were two large arm chairs. Upholstered in red velvet with golden medallion-like decorations and with a gold-painted carved wood frame and legs, the chairs were just behind a low table holding a huge bouquet of flowers. On either side of the stage was a pedestal holding a vase of what looked like roses - red, yellow and white (the white ones might have been chrysanthemums).
Most of the rest of the room was filled with large circular tables covered in starched white tablecloths, and table settings of white china, glass goblets and silverware. Each table had large bottles of bottled water and several small plates of food including taboleh (a salad of finely chopped greens, tomatoes and cucumbers) and hommos. We were led to a table one away from the runway and one or two away from the stage. The loudspeakers were going full blast with traditional and popular Arabian music. Instruments seemed to include a synthesizer, tambourine, string instruments and who knows what else; it was so loud I couldn’t concentrate on details. A male singer was singing songs that everyone was obviously enjoying – I did, too, except for the volume. It wasn’t until later in the evening that I learned that there were live musicians performing; they were hidden behind a screen of yellow draping in the far left corner of the room because they were males! On the runway were a few teenage girls and soon a woman and some young girls, dancing in what was apparently traditional style. It consists of feet movements that were hard to see because everyone was wearing floor-length dresses or skirts but seemed to be an up and down motion combined with a little slide forward when one particular foot touched down. The arm movements were similar to Uzbek dancing and hula arm motions but the distinctive feature was the hip movement! It, too, was similar to the hula but with very short, jiggling movements. Many of the dancers tied a shayla or similar length of cloth around themselves so it rode low on the hips and, oh my, did those hips and buttocks shake! Most of them, and the woman who was on the large side, had a very undulating movement going to the strong beat of the music. One teenager was thin as a rail and although she was dancing as well as any, she had no extra padding on the buttocks and it just didn’t have the same effect. One of the most interesting movements was done by the large woman and the slender girl; they got down on their knees with their hands on the ground and really let those hips move. I was frankly startled but no one else seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. At another time those two did a very intimate looking backing up to each other and letting their backsides bump into each other. The people on the runway changed throughout the night and the opportunity to participate seemed to be open to anyone who wanted to dance, most of those who did were teenagers and young girls.
Seated at our table and across from us were two middle-aged women and two teenage girls, all wearing black abayas and shaylas. They greeted us by smiling, nodding and saying something we couldn’t hear because of the music. We responded the same way and they started offering us food from among the offerings on the table and we tried small portions of several things. When I had a chance to look around I saw that all the tables in the room were mostly full and most of the women were wearing the traditional clothing including many women, including the two at our table, wearing burgas. There were a few women wearing colorful head scarves and dresses who were likely Sudanese or possibly Egyptian, and a handful not at tables who were obviously maids who had come to look after the children of the families they worked for. Susette and I were the only Westerners in the room! And I was definitely the only one with grey hair showing. The next thing I knew, I was being greeted effusively by a young woman with long hair, dramatic makeup and a very low-cut, very revealing dress lavishly decorated with beads, sequins and other decorations. It was sleeveless, revealing henna decorations from her fingertips to above her elbows. It took a moment for me to realize it was M, the co-worker whose brother’s wedding it was, who always wears an abaya and shayla at work. I’d never seen all of her hair before although she wears heavy makeup even at work. We greeted each other with the traditional 3 or 4 kisses with right cheeks together and then the same on the left. I hollered an introduction between her and Susette, who made the same greeting. She was obviously delighted that I had come and welcomed us warmly. We tried talking for a minute but I honestly couldn’t tell a thing she was saying and tried to pantomime what the problem was. She understood, again welcomed us and then went to sit with her family on a red plush sofa which was near the stage at an angle from which they could see the guests, the stage and the runway.
A few minutes later another co-worker, B, who was wearing an abaya and shayla, came up to me and greeted me. We did the cheek-kiss thing, she introduced the girl with her – her sister, I think, but couldn’t hear for sure – and we shook hands; I introduced them to Susette, who did the cheek-kiss thing with my co-worker and shook the other’s hand. B said that two of the other staffers (an Egyptian and a Sudanese) had planned to come but weren’t there. Then they went off to sit somewhere else. Susette and I enjoyed looking around at the guests. Most but not all were wearing the black traditional dress but those who were not were wearing clothing so elaborately and expensively decorated in beads, sequins, jewels and exotic trims that it put any fashion show or beauty pageant gown competition into the distant background. Susette, who wears very stylish makeup, called the women’s make up works of art and said that even her friend in the states who used to be a makeup artist in Hollywood couldn’t do anything approaching the elaborate styles we were seeing. The hairdos, too were elaborate works of art, piled or hanging down, creatively highlighted, totally amazing. The lavishly made-up, gowned and coiffed ladies made bright splashes of color against the overall background of guests wearing black, black, black.
Then came the food! Huge platters at least three feet across piled high with fancy rice that reminded me of the Uzbek traditional dish, Plov. It had finely chopped carrots, greens, golden raisins and exotic spices in it. On top was what was probably (sorry, Gina, please shut your eyes and don’t read the rest of this sentence!) a roast baby lamb. The Emiratis at our table insisted we take some food and we gladly dug into the rice with the large spoons at our places. It was delicious. Then they urged the meat on us. Having observed guests at other tables spearing pieces of meat with their forks, I grabbed a fork and made a stab, eventually with much effort and a lot of twisting and turning of the fork, pulling away a piece about five by three inches in size. I placed it on my plate as I had done with the rice although the others at our table just ate directly from the huge dish. Using a knife, I cut the meat into bite-sized pieces and ate it. The flavor was delicious. The rice I also ate in small bites from my plate. I figured the others at the table would just have to think that I was an uncouth American by not following protocol, but they were very gracious. Throughout the night, we exchanged a lot of smiles, nods and unheard comments (theirs in Arabic, ours in English with a few Arabic words from me).
Throughout the evening, waitresses came around carrying and offering various goodies. They were either hotel employees from Southeast Asia who wore white blouses and long black skirts or were Sudanese or Iranians in brightly colored dresses and head scarves. Some carried trays of tiny cups of something on tiny saucers. I took one of each for Susette and I, thinking it might be chocolate but then we realized it might be coffee instead and since our mutual religion forbids drinking coffee, we didn’t even try it. Others came around in twos, one bearing a traditional Arabian coffeepot, brass with a bulb shaped bottom, artistic handle, domed top and beak-shaped pouring spout and the other with small, u-shaped cups without handles and knew they were serving coffee. A girl with a lovely glass and metal bottle filled with what turned out to be perfume with a slender metal tube going down inside it who waited for guests to holdout their inside wrists to receive swipes of perfume and then – for Susette and me, realizing these Americans didn’t know what to do, helped me dab it behind my ears, and at my throat. The scent was very pleasant and very Arabian smelling.
Then a woman with burning oud (incense) in an oud censer came around and proffered it toward the guests. Having observed others and being invited by her, I used my hands to waft some of the smoke toward my face, sniffed it, smiled and thanked her. Fortunately, it was very pleasant and not strong smelling, like some of the incense that vendors and shops at the malls burn! One waitress brought around glasses of orange-colored liquid, one of which I took and thought it was either guava or mango but very mild and sweet, not perfume tasting as is usually the case, or maybe it was apricot or peach juice, come to think of it. Several groups of two waitresses each came around later in the evening bearing huge handled oval baskets (at least three feet long and two feet wide) packed with artistically-arranged foil-wrapped chocolates. I see these kinds of candies everywhere; there are special shops that sell nothing but “sweets” in gorgeous-colored foils, packed artistically with lace or other trims between rows of different-shaped chocolates into baskets, tins, chests, plates and anything else that you can think of that holds something. I watched as these baskets made the rounds to see how people took things from them. Most people plucked at least three items and some shared with family members at the table, others just kept them. So I spotted three shapes I wanted to try and when the basked came around to me, I picked three, one shaped like a large tear drop, a lump square one and a flat rectangular one about three inches by one inch. I ate the teardrop one right away and saved the other two until today. Another girl came around later in the evening with perfumed water which she dabbed onto the palms of our hands. Following the lead of others at our table, we rubbed it onto our hands as we would have done with hand lotion. It had a lovely, light fragrance and might have been rose water but (never having actually seen or smelled rosewater) am not sure.
At one point I realized that very few others were wearing glasses. I spotted a young girl and two middle-aged women in black and I. I think that was it! All this activity and observation took up some time and then M came over to sit with us for a while when the music died down a bit and told me some of what was about to happen. The bride would come in and then later the groom would arrive (although sometimes grooms were too shy to come into a room full of women and didn’t show up at all). When the groom came, he might or might not give the bride “a kiss on the head.” They would sit down and drink something (non-alcoholoic) from the same glass and then might share a small cake. The latter was not traditional but had been picked up from American movies or tv shows and was becoming widely used. She said that her auntie’s husband had also sung to the auntie, but that apparently was a rather rare occurrence. Susette said she’d love for her new husband to sing to her (she’s not married and not engaged yet) and I thought it sounded pretty good, too. I also got to meet M’s baby girl, who is absolutely beautiful and was cute as can be; she smiled and smiled at me when I talked to her in a mixture of Arabic and English. A very short older woman in an abaya, shayla and burga came up to M then and M said, “This is my mother.” I stood, shook her proffered hand and said, “Assalom alaykum.” We smiled and nodded at each other, then she took the baby and M excused herself and went back to sit with her family. Soon B, the other co-worker in attendance, came by with her sister or friend and said good night; we did the cheek-kiss and then she and Susette did and we shook hands with the friend.
Not long afterwards, the highlight of the evening began when the bride arrived through the same doorway we had entered by. She was preceded by two young girls holding large handled baskets of rose petals, which they tossed as they crossed the floor to the ramp, ascended it and strolled along its length to the stage; they were followed by two teenagers holding long lighted candles decorated with twined flowers, then came the bride in an extremely elaborate white, sleeveless, low-cut wedding dress that must have weighted at least 100 pounds with its long train and even longer trailing veil, its petticoats and layers. She was holding a large, lovely bouquet, was wearing beautiful makeup and looked beautiful. I’m assuming she was between 18 and 20 years old. Her hair was up in a lovely style and her hennaed arms and hands were beautifully displayed. By tradition, she had to walk the length of the ramp to the stage, turn and walk the length of the ramp again, then turn and walk back to the stage. She made it down, half-way back and then turned and headed for the stage. A young woman at Zayed had told me that her wedding dress last year had been so heavy she was barely able to make it to the stage, where she practically collapsed into the chair, let along traversing the ramp twice more! This bride remained standing upon her return to the stage, smiling and posing for pictures by the two Southeast Asian expat ladies who were videotaping and taking still shots. Then she went to each end of the stage and stood, smiling at the guests. I guess that was so everyone would get to see her clearly. Then she finally got to sit down while more photos were taken.
Then there was a buzz of excitement in the air, and a lot of swishing of black shaylas and abayas as women who had removed those black garments to show off their dresses quickly covered themselves. People were turning in the direction of the doors and I turned, too. There, coming down the stairway. was a group of about ten Emirati men and several boys wearing the traditional white dishdashas and either white or red-and-white checked head coverings surrounded by black agals. It was very exotic and it made my heart beat faster but that could have been because the music suddenly picked up pace and was throbbing through everyone. The groom came through the doors first, distinguished by the fact that he carried a thin wooden cane, followed by the others who were probably in some order according to their relationship to the groom which is unknown to me. The groom was young, very nice looking, not particularly tall and possibly a bit portly. He was bearded, of course, with the very tailored type beard popular here. He mounted the ramp walked its length followed by the others. Meanwhile I noticed that some women were hurriedly covering the bride’s face with part of her veil. When the groom came up to the bride, he removed her veil with authority and no fumbling, pushed it back off her face and kissed her on the forehead. It was very romantic! So much better than the full-lip lock often favored in my own country. :) They smiled at each other but didn’t touch, even to hold hands. Then the men came up to the groom, gave the traditional cheek-kiss greeting or nose-touch greeting to the groom and then to the bride. Then more family members mounted the ramp and came along to offer greetings in the same manner. At one point, the groom motioned for his young, unmarried sisters to come up for a picture. M was sitting by me at that time, explaining things as best she could through the loud music and she said she had eight sisters, including a set of identical twins, and three brothers. Then there were more pictures taken, many of them, including one where M’s baby, the groom’s niece, was handed to the groom and pictures of that were taken. The groom looked very happy and proud but I thought that the bride looked a bit embarrassed by this, maybe thinking of what was to come that night (she is undoubtedly a virgin) and what it takes to make babies! But I might be just reading that into the event.
When the couple had a chance to sit down, their chairs separated by about three feet, the groom leaned toward the bride frequently, talking to her in a relaxed manner but I thought I could see a lot of love in his eyes and he gazed at her. I couldn’t see the expression on her face since it was turned away from me when she looked at him. As various people came along the runway to greet them, the couple stood up to meet them.
One of the coolest sights was that of the older, abaya- and shayla-clad, burga-wearing women walking along the ramp one at a time to give their greetings. The groom usually placed three or four kisses on the foreheads of these very, very short ladies. It was immensely touching to see. Apparently the well-wishers came in groups according to family since the way the groom and the bride greeted them differed. I figured if they touched noses and foreheads, they were from different families and if they did any version of the cheek-kiss they were blood relatives.
Then there were more pictures taken, including that of the happy couple sharing a drink of what looked like guava or mango juice which came in a long goblet with two straws sticking out the top. They took one quick sip at the same time, pausing long enough for a couple of photos, and then put it aside. When the cake arrived, it was served to them as bites on a fork by young boys or girls. Very cute! Then the dancers came onto the ramp to entertain the couple. About this time I asked M, who was still sitting near me, how long it would continue. It was about 11:15 by then; she said until at least midnight, probably later. I looked around at my table (I was sitting with my back to it to see the stage) and saw that it had been cleared of everything except my two foil-wrapped chocolates and that the other guests from our table had departed, as had the largest portion of the other guests. I conferred quickly with Susette, who indicated she was ready to leave, and then turned to M and told her we needed to leave. She thanked us graciously and with feeling, we all did the cheek-kiss thing and Susette and I stood up to leave. Weaving our way through the tables and remaining guests, we finally exited the room and went up the multi-level stairway to street level. I could barely hear anything, my ear drums being numb from several hours of constant bombardment. The music was absolutely great; I just wish I had been able to enjoy it more at a very much lower volume.
I called the driver who had driven us there and who had said to call him any time and he would come get us. When he arrived, we got into the car and headed back, talking about all we had seen ad heard, asking questions and I telling her anything I had been told by M and previously by others about Emirati marriage and wedding customs. For instance, when I had asked M what she had done yesterday (she was off work and I knew it had to do with the wedding), she told me it had been a henna day, when the bride had her arms and hands decorated for the wedding and so did other women family members and friends, while dancers danced and singers sang. Another thing about their marriages is that they are usually arranged either by the boy and his parents agreeing on a girl, then his parents and hers agreeing, and then his sisters and mother going to visit the girl to tell her about him and then waiting for her to say yes or no. I guess but don’t know that if the boy’s parents want him to marry a particular girl and he doesn’t want to, he can say no, too.
The taxi driver took Susette to her home first, since she isn’t used to taking taxis here and doesn’t yet know enough about locations to give directions. She thanked me profusely for giving her the opportunity to attend and asked me if I could find out what kind of eye liner the Emiratis use, if any dance lessons are offered, and how she can find out more about their makeup application. She also said she would write a thank you note to M for the wonderful experience.
Then came the long taxi ride back to my place and I ended up getting in just after midnight and fudged with the alarm, moving the time up to 6:15 even though I knew I’d be cutting it fine trying to do all my morning things in one hour before catching a taxi to get to work on time. It had been a great night! Now I’m hoping that some of the other unmarried Emirati girls I work with will get married while I’m here so I’ll have the opportunity to attend other weddings!
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