I returned to my host family’s house after a day at school and was told that we were going out. (Well, when I say I was told I mean that through a lot of loud slow Arabic which I did not understand and hand gestures I got the sense that we were going somewhere.) After a short walk down the street we arrived at a house and walked around to the back where in the driveway between two houses there were about 25 women and children and one man sitting outside and loud Arabic dance music playing. To show respect we went around and shook the hands and kissed the cheeks (multiple times) of everyone there. I finally got to practice the little Arabic I know (Hello, how are you, my name is Suzanne) but everyone laughed at me, of course. Finally, I got to sit down and the talking had stopped and everyone was just staring at me.
A few in the group knew a little bit of English and tried it out on me then one said, “You dance, Suzy?” Before I could respond, the music was turned up, everyone was clapping and I was taken by the hand and thrown into what seemed to be a Jordanian line dance that moves in a circle around whoever dances in the middle. I was the center of attention and all the women wanted to have their turn dancing with me in the middle. This was truly the cultural immersion experience. The dancing continued all night and on our way home I figured out that this was an engagement party and the one man there was the groom. Tomorrow would be the wedding and everyone at the party had asked my host mother to bring me along.
Since I arrived in Jordan all I have heard about is that the summer is the season for weddings, and in my village (Turra) there have been at least 5 each night. You can tell because most weddings parties set off firecrackers, and so each night I have been here has been like the 4th of July. I was excited to attend my first wedding but had no idea what to expect. First we returned to the house we had been at the night before for the engagement party and did more dancing in the driveway as many other women arrived. After about an hour, a bus arrived and a stampede of about 50 women and children ran toward the bus (made to hold about 20) screaming and pushing. I am not sure why everyone was pushing for a seat because as soon as the bus was loaded, the music was turned on and everyone stood up to dance more. All the men who had been inside the house had loaded into the back of pick-up trucks and the caravan of cars drove in circles around the village honking the whole way.
The stampede onto the bus was the same as the stampede off the bus into the house. The men all stayed outside and within 10 seconds of the women running in, they had all shed their head covering and long robes and the room soon looked like a packed American dance club with women dressed in tight black pants and skimpy shirts. The music and yelling became louder and the dancing faster and everyone was sweating like crazy in the room with only one window.
Suddenly, I noticed in the corner the bride, sitting still like a doll in a display case on a big red velvet throne placed up on a table. For the first 30 minutes she just sat there, looking out over the room but not moving. Then a series of rituals began as the dancing and yelling continued. First the groom came in and went up on the throne with the bride and each woman took a turn to go up and kiss the couple. The groom was sweating like crazy and looked mortified to be up on a throne looking out over this crazy female dance party. After all of the greetings, the bride and groom were given boxes of packaged wafer cookies and candy to throw out over the room. Then a box of jewelry was brought in and the groom put the gold rings, bracelets, necklaces and earrings on the bride. Then someone started spraying a can of what I can best describe as a cross between silly string, perfume and shaving cream all over the room. After these and other rituals had all occurred, the bride and groom were escorted out and all of the women quickly covered again and followed them outside of the house. The music and screaming continued and everyone piled into cars again and the honking caravan resumed.
We were taken back to the first house and the women spent another hour dancing in the driveway, but this time a few men were present and all of the clothes stayed on. For the little children, this was their chance to finally get a good look at the strange American and not only would they come up and stare, but the less bashful ones would grab my arm, pet my hair or sit on my lap. My host sister, Shahinaz, is very possessive of me and always makes sure that she gets to sit right beside me and hold my hand. The constant staring can be a bit much at some times but the attention from the little kids is actually nice because they are the best ones for me to practice my Arabic on.
By the end of the night I was exhausted from all of the dancing and was able to talk my host mother out of dinner (which is typically eaten around 10PM) telling her I just needed to go to bed. This was quite a feat because every meal is a challenge with her as she continually tries to stuff more and more food down my throat. With my little Arabic I repeat, “Delicious; No, enough, thank you” but the point never seems to get across to her. Supposedly, there will be many more weddings throughout the summer and since everyone seems to love to watch me dance, I'd better practice my moves.
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