The Wedding Party

Tonight Jason and Luke stayed home while I went with some other teachers who live in our neighborhood on a “walkabout.” Michelle, a returning teacher, took us to see the various markets and good restaurants nearby to help us get acquainted with our area. After the walkabout, we went back to her apartment for some snacks and drinks. We had a great time visiting with Michelle and her husband David. It was fun to hear stories of where they’ve lived and to share our own stories.

Noel and Rachella walked me home. On the way, we heard lots of music coming from down the road. We could see colored lights and people standing around outside. I said to Noel, “I’d sort of like to go down there and see.” Rachella said she didn’t want to intrude on anything private, and I said I thought we could just walk by and see what was going on.

When we got to the place it was hard to see what was going on. Most of the people were standing inside an enclosed yard/porch area (which might have been in front of a restaurant, but I don’t know for sure) which had a chest-high fence around it. Rachella and I hung back, but Noel walked right up to the fence. An Egyptian man greeted him and invited inside. He went in without hesitation. Not wanting to be too far from our “protector,” we went near the fence to watch what was going on. We could see a man playing what I can only describe as a snake-charmer’s instrument. He was wearing a long black robe and a white pillbox-type hat. His cheeks puffed out like Dizzy Gillespie’s as he played. He was accompanied by a drummer drumming a round drum that was slung ‘round his shoulder on a strap, similar to the style I imagine Revolutionary War drummers carried. (But not a snare drum—just a hollow-sounding drum.) There was also a DJ. We could also see 7 or 8 men, all dressed in Western clothes, dancing together to the music,. At first it appeared that the gathering was only men, so Rachella and I were very hesitant to enter the gate when an Egyptian man invited us in. We initially said no, but the man insisted, so we followed. Our “host” brought chairs for us to sit in so we could watch the festivities. Someone brought cold Pepsi in bottles for the three of us. While we were sitting down, I saw that there were indeed women and children there, but they were sitting in a group toward the rear of the yard—so the men and women were segregated, but not divided by any physical barrier—the women danced and clapped together, occasionally trilling “lalalalalalalalalala”, while the men danced separately together. The host explained to me (in very good English) that this was a wedding party for the groom and his family, and that the bride and her family were celebrating elsewhere before the wedding tomorrow. As he explained all this we watched the men dance, and much to my astonishment I saw one man dancing with a gun in his hand. It was a small pistol that looked sort of old to me. He was holding the barrel in his hand very casually, and dancing with the others. They must have seen the fear and concern on my face, because our host leaned down and explained to me that this man was a policeman who was on duty, but attending the party. (He was not dressed in any uniform, just street clothes.) I said, “But why is he dancing with his gun?” The man just laughed, and then the next thing I knew, the gun was put away, out of sight. It was clear to me that they wanted us to feel comfortable. Our host asked me how we like Egypt, and I said, “We’ve only been here four days, and we love it. We’re having a great time.” He said, “Egyptians love foreigners. You are welcome here.” We felt very welcome indeed.

We watched the dancing, and before long, Noel was dancing with the men. He danced for quite a while—a great sport, especially considering the heat. Our host said, “Your friend, I think he is very tired!” Later the men beckoned to Rachella and me to join them, but I kept shaking my head, saying “No…la’a…no…la’a.” The host man asked me, “Are you shy?” To which I replied emphatically, “Yes!” My face was very red, and I was very conscious of the perception Egyptian men have of American women, as loose-living and promiscuous. Embarrassed and not wanting to do anything untoward to promote this stereotype, I repeatedly declined. The Egyptian women ultimately rescued us by setting up chairs among themselves and inviting Rachella and me to join them. We sat with them, clapping along to the music for a few minutes before one woman tapped me on the shoulder and gestured to me that I should dance there among them. I definitely did not want to be the center of attention, but I also did not want to be a stick in the mud, so I told her I would only dance if she and the others would dance too. So Rachella and I stood up with these beautiful women, garbed in brightly patterned robes and hijab (headcoverings, but no veil), and danced. I could not stop smiling. There was one girl who basically bellydanced, and she got a real kick out of it when I tried to do some of her moves! (Very clumsily and unsuccessfully, I am sure!) We clapped, snapped, did a sort of conga line, and just tried to copy whatever they were doing. At one point, the lady told me “This song is like our Macarena.” Funny. We had so much fun, but after a few songs I told the ladies we needed to go home. It was about 9:30 or 9:45.

On our way toward the gate, the host stopped me and said, “Would you dance with me?” Of course I said no, that I needed to get home to my husband and baby. He tried to persuade me, so I said, “My husband would be jealous! No, no…” He said, “You can tell him it is just aerobics. You teach me aerobics.” Rachella helped me out by saying I needed to check on the baby, so we got away. We told the groom, “Mabrook,” or congratulations, and thank you (“Shukran”) before leaving. We all agreed that that was by far the coolest experience we may ever have in Egypt.

I felt welcomed into the group, and though the Egyptians seemed interested and intrigued by us, they wanted us to join in and be a part of their festivities, treating us like family rather than as outsiders. I never got the feeling we were being laughed at or made a spectacle of—just that they enjoyed our presence as much as we enjoyed the experience.

The only disappointing part of the evening was that Jason was not there to enjoy it, too. He would have loved every minute of it, joined Noel with the men, and relished my participation with the women.

After leaving the party, Noel and Rachella walked me the rest of the way home. We had to pass our neighborhood mosque, which I think had just let out. There were about 50 cars crammed down into the end of our street, none of them headed the same direction, all about 5 inches apart, with many people walking in between the cars. After only 4 days here, this, amazingly, doesn’t surprise or scare me, and I just navigated my way through the logjam to our building. (The Muslims after mosque time sort of unnerved me some—just being one of 3 white faces among the crowd—but we walked the short distance to our building with purpose and made it home just fine.)

We got home and told Jason the whole story, and he was definitely envious, but glad that I’d had that experience.

(Thanks very much to Nabeel’s family for my initial exposure to a wedding party with Arabs in attendance! J The “lalalalalalala”s didn’t freak me out, and I felt familiar with the family’s very welcoming spirit. My fear melted away (once the gun was gone!) as I realized that their attitude toward us was much like the way we are always welcomed into the Shabouts’ home.)