Chapter #1 Zawaaj
At exactly ten O'clock the phone rang, it was Sumaiyah trying to tell me that they were out the door, excitement got the better of her and the words didn't exit her lips. She handed Abasia the phone and she told me.
I had just walked out of the shower and was hurrying to get dress and still undecided as to whether or not to put make up on here or wait until I reached the castle. Then there was the next gruesome act of picking which one of my makeup kits to use.
There are certain things that would surprise foreigners about life in the Arab world. When I left my beautiful South American life to come to KSA, I thought it would be a boring simple holy life with no worldly needs, thus I give away all my exotic clothes, makeup, hair accessories etc only to realize I needed it here more than any where else in the world, I have to blame the media for my ignorance .
Surprisingly the castle was quite nearby but in a remote area, not one visible from any of the road I generally commute. The last castle I went to was a great distance from my comprehension of the city but then again I don't do much exploration.
The thing about castles in my mind it is always a tall building made of stone and has a tower, but none of the castles I have visited so far has such dimensions. This castle was clearly either old or specifically designed for the not so wealthy. There were no guards with metal detectors to invade your every possession, nor to check your cellular phones for cameras.
The entrance hall was dotted with palm trees in pots and large mirrors on the wall a total necessity for the ladies of course who would need to check their every appearance. As we walked down the hall I looked into the abaiyah bay to see the usual South Asia expatriate faces who would generally work here and tried to see if I recognized any one.
Where is the wash room?
I don't think it has mirrors! Abasia said
My goodness how can you have a wash room with out mirrors!?
I don't know we have never used them.
Abasia took me to the wash room, as I walked down the halls I view, review and being myself criticized internally not mentioning my views. Living in the KSA I have learned shut your mouth you are a foreigner just enjoy your self and mind what you think you want to say translations can be taken in many ways.
There was a clear cut need for serious renovation. The kitchen was large and the door stood wide open the expatriates were busy making tea in a metal tea maker which stood on a floor burner these are generally common here especially when families go for large gathering away from home. I was wondering why didn't they have an electrically tea maker but kept walking on by.
Each cubicle of the toilet were large enough to hold at least ten to twenty people I investigated it to see if it had a shower rose but there was none I stood thinking why would you make a cubicle so large but eventually gave up trying to find logical reasoning behind this. One by one I examined then to find one where the door had a lock that worked but was unsuccessful.
The wash basins were in another room this was a smart thing not everyone who wants to wash their hands want to use the wash room.
After I had stripped my abaiyah (Black gown worn in some Muslim countries) and started to reapplied my makeup I heard the sounds which some how seemed familiar the beating of drums and the songs seemed even more familiar I had hear it only a few weeks ago at another wedding I had attended.
I returned to my hostess who had stripped in the hallway like most people and then we entered the hall of the wedding. My hostess greeted the mother of the bride and other family members of the bride. I didn't not that I wanted to seem rude it was that I felt uncomfortable since I didn't know them and besides no matter how long I live here I still can't figure out how to kiss here I always stop before everyone else .
The interior design was like a real castle with beautifully decorated columns, behind us stood a beautiful balcony and a winding staircase from which the bride would enter at the climax of the wedding.
The cat walk which leaded to the stage was low, wise I thought so if you have to fall there isn't far to go before you land.
My daughter entered and mounted the stage flouncing in all directions as possible I on the other hand tried to avoid drawing any attention to my self walked among the tables.
Being a foreigner I am always conscious of all eyes on me, she on the other hand fits in just right and only when she decides to intentionally speak English so that others wouldn't understand her then is when it is clear that she is a foreigner, Cognitive code I guess.
It matters not how much I try I can't speak nor act like a local she on the other hand seems as local as you can get.
Eventually we arrive at the front of the hall, the music was loud and my host could barely hear me.
'Why did you come all the way to the front.'�
'So I can get a good view of the bride she explained.'�
'You don't need to view the bride you know her you have seen each other all your life, it's the groom who needs to see his bride.'�
As the musician sang I wonder what the lead singer uses to keep her singing for three to four hours straight with only brief breaks. The lead singer was beautifully thin I couldn't figure out her nationality but I guess East African ,the drummers who also acted as back up singers were of Sudanese and Chadian origin it was clear.
A tall old Pakistani woman sat in a chair besides our table she held in her hands a long stick which was designed like a candy cane, this stick I eventually learned is what she would use to keep children off the stage.
On the stage gyrated many women young and old alike individually or some times in groups my host would point out the different family members of the bride as they entered the stage.
Sumaiyah went onto the stage, I looked at the crowd trying to see if I saw her dancing but didn't. Every one was crowed around the mother of the bride who was dancing on stage.
Why is Sumaiyah sitting on the stage I asked Abbasia.
'It's tradition that friends of the bride sit on the stage.'�
'Where are the family of the groom?'�
'Well they are not going to come to their fathers wedding'�
'They should come if they are angry show their anger and what a better venue that his wedding?'�
An African woman walked around with Garlands in her hands. I wondered where she had gotten the flowers for the dessert is not the idea place for growing rose bud and really I don't ever see much tree excepting to date plants much less flowers.
'Is she selling those '
'�Yes do you want one'�
'What will I do with it in the morning?'�
On the table was a dish with the general cutters a variety of betefoor sweet and salted, lebenah, buklofah and of course Arabian Coffee with beautiful Arabian Coffe porcelain cups.
'When is the bride coming out I am hungry, is it an Arab tradition to starve foreign guest?'� I asked sarcastically, my idea of a wedding was always like my ancestral West Indian, Christian wedding where you stuff until you burst, but never the less I don't have much of an appetite at midnight. Despite hunger I can't find the place to but the food.
The light came off, and disco lights took the stage, all heads were turned to face the balcony at the back of the hall from where the young bride would emerge and graceful walk down the winding stair case, being ushered in by (too expensive) rose petals. No longer was there live singing a cassette took over the musical entertainment and I tried as hard as I possible could to figure out the words with the least of luck the only thing I could figure out was 'Ahlam'� which meant dream. I wonder if this was truly a dream for the bride marrying a man older then her father but here that is nothing strange or unusual it was better to be married than unmarried.
I remembered some years ago at tahfeez classes I was trying to make a marriage proposal to a Syrian friend on the behalf of one of my friends nephew.
Suad refused my proposal stating that she could not marry any one outside of her fathers village ,claiming that she would be cut off from her family if she did and what would happen to her when not if ,they divorced.
'What makes you think you'll divorce?'�
'Always when Arab women marry American men it ends in divorce.'� Suad added.
'That is because of too much tradition; keep tradition and culture out of the marriage bed and you'll life happily ever after.'�
'My uncle has three wives, one Jordanian, one Syrian, one Egyptian, and one American.'�
'Now that is a man who knows how to handle family life.'�
'Give it to the teacher'� Suad added sarcastically.
Before I could catch my self the whole class burst out into laughter despite the fact that no one else was a part of the conversation nor really knew English. Our teacher was unmarried and by local standards was pass the marital age she was twenty eight, being unmarried always makes you the center of attraction.
Hadia, my French Tunisian friend tapped in, 'You see we Arabs marry from with in, we marry near you know.'� Said in her beautiful French Arabian accent.
'Don't tell me you are married to your cousin!'�
'Yes, how did you know ? You too? He saw me and he loved me.'�
'Hell no we Americans don't marry our cousins; cousins are seen like brothers and sister'�
'Before we marry we would called each other brother and sister, after we got married when I called him brother he said what, I am your husband and you are my wife now.'�
I sat there thinking about the seven month old baby floating around in Hadia's belly. UGH she's pregnant for her cousin, but then I snapped back , putting away my ignorance and embracing my innocence. I was in a different part of the world and the customs are different.

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