August 26th, 2012

The other day at work I had a son of my patient invite me to a wedding.  He pulled me back inside his father’s room to explain to me that he didn’t want to invite everyone, as if I was very special to get such an invitation. I have spent some time taking care of this man’s father before and was engaged in conversation about Saudi and my experiences thus far.  He offered to introduce me to his wife and said that I should become friends with Saudis to really experience and gain a liking to the place.

I thought it would be very interesting to attend a wedding, and text Spencer immediately afterward to see if he might be interested in coming because the invitation was extended to him as well.  I was told by this friend that my husband was welcome although the men’s portion isn’t quite as entertaining, lengthy or lavish as the women’s party.  As everything else in Saudi culture, women and men do not mix. They are separate parties, the men never actually seeing bride nor the groom, and technically come to find out; it isn’t a wedding at all but a reception.  The marriage is just bridge and groom together each having a witness or the bride, her father to consent, they sign a paper in front of some legal dude, and there you go a Muslim wedding.  Awesome!  Then at some point they adopted the Western wedding of white dresses and veils.

Anyway, I am jumping ahead of myself.  Ali, my new friend, told me that he had to see if his wife could get an invitation card for me.  That is the only way women are allowed, an exclusive party, and you must bring your card.  So Ali invited me even before he knew he could get me a card. He said usually the cards go out a couple months in advance. He knew for sure he could get one for my husband, somehow that is easier to obtain.  Even after I told Spencer to reply ASAP to the invite, it wasn’t certain, and basically wasn’t until the day of.  I had a day off between shifts and got a call from Ali telling me he had the cards. I met him at the hospital, to obtain them and get directions where to meet him that evening.

It is a bit of an ordeal  for me because I have to go down to Spencer’s, to then come back into the city with him, since he cannot  go anywhere off the compound solo. 

We met Ali’s son, Faisal, at a nearby grocery store at 9 PM. We followed him to his high secure walled enormous house, where we were led into the sitting room.  The ‘maid’ proceeded to bring us water. There were two other workers around, bet you never guess their nationality?  Filipino. Congratulations if you got that right.   You are beginning to understand Saudi culture.  Is America that bad?  Do we not like to get our hands dirty or do manual labor?  I scorn the Saudi’s but reflecting upon some American’s it seems that we have more Latin American labor workers than white.  Back to my story, we sat in this lovely sitting room, which the couches had piles of pillows on them waiting patiently for someone to come talk with us.  When Ali came he apologized to us saying that everyone was busy getting ready.  He sat down and chatted with us. Not long after Jessie, a Lebanese American living in Saudi came into the room.  She was great and provided some relief to me the rest of the evening. 

Ali pulled me into the hallway to meet his lovely wife; Spencer wasn’t welcome because she wasn’t wearing her abaya.  Looking at her, she was a beautiful woman and seemed much younger than him but she had daughters my age and older.  Ali took Spencer and they left for the men’s party.  I sat with Ali’s wife, Jessie, and Nouf, Ali’s daughter (she entered shortly after Spencer left).  Ali’s daughters were beautiful.  He has two daughters, 31 & 24, both of whom were married and had at least one kid. The younger daughter was pregnant.  We sat in that room for another 1 ½ before leaving for the party.    I found them easy engage, converse, and they did like my humor. 

These ‘weddings’ are celebrated in a conference or reception hall, the venue is chosen by the family depending their wealth and prestige.  Women spend hours in preparation, their hair, make-up and gowning up in beautiful dresses of all kinds, sleeveless, strapless not like you would assume in such a repressive society of women.

Upon entering the hall there is a big entrance hall and a cloak room off to the right.  Once you hand the Asian ladies your Abaya in exchange for a number card I proceeded to the right down a huge hallway that lead to a room with music blaring from the door. The women’s restroom was off to one side. (I later went to the restroom with Nouf because we both had a hot drink spilled on us.  The bathroom had mints, hair spray, bobby pins, and static spray, seriously everything you could think a woman might need when going to the bathroom).

Once we entered the banquet room there was a long row of women standing.  I smiled shook hands, and kissed cheeks with dozens of women I’ve never met, nor could converse with.  I repeated something like ‘congratulations’ in Arabic which Jessie had rehearsed with me. 

The banquet room that we met in was quite large; I can’t exactly give a size comparable to something you might recognize.  But there was enough to fit 350-400 women in organized couches and rows of chairs.  There were speakers surrounding the room, blasting music from a woman singing at the far side.  In the middle of the room was a ‘cat-walk’ that spanned the length of the room at one end had a couch and the other a door.  As the music played and songs were recognized it brought  women of all ages from their chairs onto the cat walk where they danced to the blaring slow beat in a two-step fashion and rolling their wrists as they strolled back and forth along the cat walk.  Food was served by Asian women, assortments of hors d'oeuvres, wrapped and unwrapped chocolates, Arabic coffee, more and more until you had enough to burst.  My new friends would give me chocolate and tell me to give it to my husband.

Spencer sent me a text about an hour after I arrived saying he had been deserted by Ali. They had their dinner and sat briefly before leaving.  When they got back to the house Ali told Spencer he was going to the hospital to stay with his father, and that I would call Spencer when I was done and needed to be picked up.  Ali didn’t invite Spencer to wait inside, and I am not sure he would have if he had known that Spencer couldn’t leave without for two reasons:  1.) his place was about 45 minutes from here 2.) He would be breaking the rules leaving alone.  So we talked briefly, when there was a break in the music, Spencer would wait in the car.  He drove away from the house and had to an inconspicuous place neither in front of someone’s guarded house, nor too dark and unsafe.

Several hours later, around 1 am the bride finally emerged and slowly as if marching to the traditional wedding beat walked through the door, down the stairs, and across the cat walk where she sat waiting for her counterpart, this whole process was on caught on film.  I wonder who would or could actually watch the film?  Would they have to black out the bride’s face?  Okay, maybe I am being sarcastic here but seriously, I guess as an unhappy wife could pull out the video while eating her bonbons and remember the days of excitement and happiness about her recent marriage.   Anyway, waiting what felt like an eternity the groom then followed the bride across the cat walk and sat next to her on the coach.  Prior to this the women in the room went frantic, scarves, cushions, and make-shift covers were pulled out to shield the women from the men who emerged, uncles came behind the groom.  I just couldn’t believe how ridiculous the women behaved.

Yet, after the uncles left some women danced in front of the groom unveiled/uncovered.  Were they his sisters?  The bride and groom didn’t look at each other once during this whole procession nor did they whisper to each other. What kind of relationship did they have? Was this the norm to ignore your spouse sitting next to you?

The bride and groom eventually walked back across the catwalk to the banquet room where I was told they cut the cake and get more pictures taken.   More trays of smoothies, chocolate, and smoking coals were brought through the room. The smoke was waived by each person in front of their face and they inhaled the smoke.  I don’t understand why they performed such a practice but the whole room was smoky. It wasn’t until 2:20 that we were allowed into the banquet room to feast.  And what a feast it was, this really showed the lack of etiquette of the women, cutting in line, and pilling food on their plates. 

Apparently you can stay into the daylight hours, and at 7am you would be served a light breakfast at which time you line up for your driver to take you home where you sleep all day. 

We ate; I sampled so many of the dishes and all the desserts.  It was so late already, and the pain of the morning was starting to hit me, yes, I had to get up at 6AM for work.  I thought, okay, I’ll do it once but never again and truthfully I am sticking with it.

Jessie and I left together, Nouf walking us to the cloak room and bidding me farewell, and saying we should get together again.  I would love to, but am I using them to try to get an inside view of the culture, do we have much in common or would it be awkward? We’ll, see anyway what happens.  I spend my days off at Spencer’s at least for now when I only see him when I don’t work.  That may change when I get out here every day.

Nouf called me that evening to ask me how everything went.  She wanted to know if I was coming to the wedding tomorrow night.  I told her I needed a break, and it was my birthday but that we should keep in touch and do something.  I think another thing holding me back is the taxis. It isn’t too cheap to be riding around in a taxi all the time. It adds up.

I might add that I apologize for the lack of pictures.  It isn't allowed to take pictures at the weddings, nor of women without their abaya and potentially the scarf covering their heads/faces.  I did get a picture with Nouf but I am respecting her wishes and withholding the picture.