In an Emirati Wedding Dinner Party
Been to the wedding of our ultimate boss’s grandson (who’s also our director’s son (yes, our director is our boss’s son)). I was with couple of guys here from the office. The first big question mark after we received the invitation cards was: what do we take with us in terms of a symbolic gift? It doesn't feel right to go to such occasion 'empty-handed'. But the local etiquette is not really clear to us. One of the guys suggested that in the lack of clear-cut etiquette procedure you don’t really have to bring anything. But he was instantly rebutted by another guy, who said that in such case you follow the tradition of your home country. Most of us come from the Levant’s middle class, so our traditions are almost the same; a box of Patchi chocolate with nice golden watermark prints on the top lid. I opted for a nice little flower bouquet. Other guys liked the Patchi idea better. I don’t know whether it’s a mere coincidence that those who brought chocolate were notably heavier than the rest of us who brought just flowers. In fact, they’re so fat you could only get to them with a harpoon. So chocolate was probably a subliminal gesture of some sort. That was our first fiasco; we couldn’t agree on a single gift to represent us all. We sat arguing about it in the reception hall. Each one accusing the other of giving out hints that he wanted to go solo with the gifts. Two of us have actually snuck to the hall from a side entrance without the obligatory hand-shake with the dignitary line-up at the main door. what an embarrassment! They were heavily reprimanded and asked to exit the same way they’ve come in and proceed from the main entrance like sane human beings. The supplies of juice, Arabic black coffee (Gahwa Murra) and tea have started to come forth profusely. I was the only bachelor in the group. It didn’t make me feel the least bit out-of-place. I’m not sure why. Probably because I’m yet to see what good a marriage could bring to a guy’s life. But let’s not dwell on that one, since we’re talking about a wedding here. The reception hall got filled within the hour, the 10 meters high reflective ceiling could hardly absorb and defelct the noise. We were then invited to proceed to the dining hall. Everyone was super friendly and courteous. And it’s not like they were being so for the sake of the occasion. The people I work for are very good people. I really can’t stress how good they are. I’ve never met a family of businessmen, whether in Syria or here, with such integrity and humbleness.
I tried to guide my group to a corner table, that way we could perpetrate our brutal eating act low-profile and off the radars of the prying eyes. But the manager of the office felt it was more appropriate that we be seen around the center. The bastard must have lunched on his wife cooking and was not that hungry. The disadvantages of being a single started to show a little bit. The food was great. The gang of the married questioned my enthusiasm to attack the Harees plate so fast. It was splendid. I have not learned the recipe yet, but I will tell you it's the tastiest thing I've eaten in a while. It’s the best local dish. Probably the best dish ever. The married warned of its aphrodisiac effects. That made me dig deeper still. It was then time to descend upon the grilled varieties. I had to loosen my belt at one point. Thank God for the loose and spacious tablecloth and its properties of concealment. Comparisons were being drawn between our own local wedding styles and this one. A Lebanese guy talked about how quiet it was compared to a Lebanese wedding party. I asked him whether they have Ra’es Arabiya (Arabic dance for men of Aleppo), or Tare’ Fashak (shooting celebratory rounds in the air from small firearms.) He didn’t know what ‘Fashak’ is. But when explained he said that in the southern suburbs of Beirut mere Fashak isn’t enough. RPGs, mortars and probably Katiushas are the basic gear. The architects in the group started giving out unsolicited feedback on the decoration of the hall. We kept on goading and teasing the structural engineer about the huge columns-free span. It was all good hearted and easy. A skinny Indian guy (who had actually got skinner after the dinner) said that their weddings are mostly mix gendered. A manager of a distant department in our group of companies brought his son, a 6’8” guy from Pakistan. He was commended on the good job of bringing up this handsome dude. Who must go to Bollywood to capitalize on his handsomeness....etc...
Once finished, we filed out of the dining hall and shook hands with the same dignitaries in reverse order. All in all it was a very good and easy flowing event. if I’m invited again I’d gladly oblige. Although I'm still not sure whether this is merely a formal wedding dinner (which is more likely to be followed by many offshoot parties), or whether this is the one and only event in the whole thing.
Oh, and the shrimps were superb…
Needless to say, it was real hard to go to sleep at night. Scenes of debauchery kept flashing back and forth.
I tried to guide my group to a corner table, that way we could perpetrate our brutal eating act low-profile and off the radars of the prying eyes. But the manager of the office felt it was more appropriate that we be seen around the center. The bastard must have lunched on his wife cooking and was not that hungry. The disadvantages of being a single started to show a little bit. The food was great. The gang of the married questioned my enthusiasm to attack the Harees plate so fast. It was splendid. I have not learned the recipe yet, but I will tell you it's the tastiest thing I've eaten in a while. It’s the best local dish. Probably the best dish ever. The married warned of its aphrodisiac effects. That made me dig deeper still. It was then time to descend upon the grilled varieties. I had to loosen my belt at one point. Thank God for the loose and spacious tablecloth and its properties of concealment. Comparisons were being drawn between our own local wedding styles and this one. A Lebanese guy talked about how quiet it was compared to a Lebanese wedding party. I asked him whether they have Ra’es Arabiya (Arabic dance for men of Aleppo), or Tare’ Fashak (shooting celebratory rounds in the air from small firearms.) He didn’t know what ‘Fashak’ is. But when explained he said that in the southern suburbs of Beirut mere Fashak isn’t enough. RPGs, mortars and probably Katiushas are the basic gear. The architects in the group started giving out unsolicited feedback on the decoration of the hall. We kept on goading and teasing the structural engineer about the huge columns-free span. It was all good hearted and easy. A skinny Indian guy (who had actually got skinner after the dinner) said that their weddings are mostly mix gendered. A manager of a distant department in our group of companies brought his son, a 6’8” guy from Pakistan. He was commended on the good job of bringing up this handsome dude. Who must go to Bollywood to capitalize on his handsomeness....etc...
Once finished, we filed out of the dining hall and shook hands with the same dignitaries in reverse order. All in all it was a very good and easy flowing event. if I’m invited again I’d gladly oblige. Although I'm still not sure whether this is merely a formal wedding dinner (which is more likely to be followed by many offshoot parties), or whether this is the one and only event in the whole thing.
Oh, and the shrimps were superb…
Needless to say, it was real hard to go to sleep at night. Scenes of debauchery kept flashing back and forth.
This entry was posted
on Wednesday, May 20, 2009 at 11:30 AM.
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6 Comments:
i love harees. (as a FOOD item). and i once mentioned that to someone and they gave me a really weird look. i learnt about the 'effects' from another conversation. now i keep my mouth shut. i still love harees though.
also, ive been to a tonne of emirati weddings, most of them in the same family (and those of kids of extended uncles and aunts - a very desi concept)...
the last one i went to was a nightmare. i knew the groom and his family really well, but the hosts were late... me and my friend got there and we were stared down by ALL the emirati females... clearly we were unwelcome until the hosts showed up... AAACK!!!
the emiratis like chocolates for everything. my friend's bro has had a baby; i will be taking chocolates over the weekend. a HUGE basket with golden ribbons. when someone gets married, you take chocolates. when someone is in the hospital, you take chocolates. when you are happy, you take chocolates, when they are happy, you take chocolates. flowers, which i prefer personally, are faaaaar too subtle for the emirati tradition. emiratis dont do subtle :)
our (desi) weddings last for at least a week, are mixed (generally), and there's firing of klashnikovs / ak47s.
enjoyed the post.
Hello Hemlock, Mabrooks for your friend's brother.
Are you saying Harees has the same effect on both genders? I didn't know that this could happen! Imagine a couple having a nice candle-light dinner of Harees, wouldn't that be romantic?!
I've heard a lot about desi weddings, but haven't yet been invited to one.... I'll sure post about it when it happnes.
Thanks for dropping by...
never been invited to a desi wedding?!
VAT SACRILEGE IZ THEEES?!
ok. i'll invite you MY wedding (if and when it ever happens) but youll have to come to pakistan...
lemme know if you have the appetite for risk (and beautiful women).
as for the harees effect... i dont think so... i mean (ok, this has to be the weirdest conversation ive ever had)... WHATEVER!
no, harees does not do for women what it does for men. full stop.
You dont take a gift to a wedding here. Gifts are only really given by close family. father, uncle...
The celebration you were at was the "3urs" as you know, in Islam you have to have a maher, then a kitab, and finally Ish-har. basically making the union public.
1st, anywhere from 2 weeks to a year before that wedding you went to, ther eis the Khutba, the engagement party. It is only attended by close family, sometimes just the groom and bride's direct families.
In our cases, uncles and aunts and their kids are invited. but only one or 2 of each house comes. After this celebration, you are engaged.
Then, you have a gathering called the Miltcha. This is where the actual kitab happens, and you are legally and religiously married then. the Islamic marriage contract is prepaired by a legal scholar (shaikh) and he sits with the groom and bride and their fathers. They are asked if they both consent, and must both sign the contract.
Usually a brother from both side is also a witness. but it can be anyone. In my cousin's case for example, I was one of the witnesses because we were always close as kids, up till now. so although it was weird (and probably uncomfortable) for her husband, I was there.
This miltcha is attended by anywhere from the immediate family to 100 or 150 people. That is the case in all our miltchas. Uncles, cousins, 2nd cousins, close family friends.... Its very close, and this is when family give the now married couple gifts.
The last thing is what you attended, the 3urse. Anywhere from 50 to 5000 or more popel may attend. depends on how large your family is, your circle of friends, and who you are.
AFTER the 3urse, eithe ron the same night, or one following, the women's 3urse is heald, and at the end of it the groom with his father, and a few male cousins/brother walk into the celebration, and he and his bride are sat together and blah blah. This part I dont like because it makes the poor people seem like dolls and trophies. But it's tradition.
Hope this clears up some of the confusion.
ABIT,
Thanks for the clarification. We more or less have the same thing. Except the ‘miltcha’ (or multaka?) called ‘katb ketab’. And the 3urs for males is called ‘talbesah’. And for women it’s called that, simply ‘3urs’.
Difference is that as I know in the traditions, only the groom will venture in the women’s 3urs. And few bother to cover. (it’s assumed that he’s totally awed by his pride and preoccupied by the formidable task ahead of him)
There’s also a stupid tradition (only in Aleppo I guess) that the father and the brothers of the pride will not attend any of their daughter/sister’s celebrations.
The groom is also put through quite a nasty experience while he’s being dressed up for the night (this is why it’s called talbeseh). He will be stripped to underwear, and sometimes beyond, and his friends will poke him in the ass with fingers and needles. Some will even stroke his wick. Or spank him with the belt of the suit. It’s nasty. But it’s inevitable.
Hemlock,
If I’m invited I shall try my best to attend. :)
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