Iraqi Wedding

With shame, I admit that last night was the first time I have been to a wedding in Syria. While since moving to Syria I have been to a wedding in Pakistan and an engagement party here, no wedding. Early last summer my friend Saleh teased me by inviting me to an upcoming wedding, promising a good time as it would be an Allawi wedding, meaning mixed and drinks (Shami weddings are traditionally gender segregated). But the day rolled around and he was in the village and forgot about me and went and I got to hear about it later.

Last night Um Tareq suddenly announced that she and Um Qassam were going to a wedding and I should come too. This despite a day of traveling that began at 5am- my pleas of exhaustian were ignored. As were the fact that I would have to go in sneakers and less-than-formal wear, everything being packed. And that I was dirty.

"It's fine! Yalla!"

So I went. I asked who's getting married. She told me, oh, I don't know, somebody's relative, which doesn't exactly narrow it done.

The salle was a place called قصر الأميرة, Castle of the Princess, which at least to me sounds less cheesy in Arabic. It was mixed, though mostly ladies. The bride and groom were seated on a raised dance platform, her dress fanned about her. They both looked young and nervous, and for not the first time I couldn't help but think of a wedding as a vulgar affair, announcing to the world the couple's (assumed) sexual initiation. The bride wore the popular style: elaborately detailed bodice, large sweeping skirt, intricate hair, layers of makeup. Um Tareq leaned over, telling me that the bride was fat, but the groom looked neat and na'im. I told her she was a little mean and she said, what, she is fat! Look at her arms, they're full.

The bride turned out to be a relative of Um Rad, a jovial friend of Um Tareq I've met before several times. She was very interested in my joining the party, and anytime a song coaxed the seated to the floor she would grab me by the arm and drag me out there. I got a quick lesson in dancing the "Iraqi way", which involves a lot of head movements. Luckily I'm an ace at the snake so I embressed. But the star of the show was an approximately 8 year old girl, who had tricked herself out for the party: full blue dress, teased up hair with sparkles that flew and glittered in the air every time she flung her hair around. Girl got down, and enjoyed being the center of the dancing ring. The bride joined the dancing occaisonally, but the dress limited substantial movement. There was some debke, but it was nothing like the non-stop debke frenzy I experienced at a Palestinian engagement party this summer.

During dancing breaks, I chatted with some ladies, some of whom I'd met before and most I hadn't. Luckily Um Rad was there to introduce me:
"She's American but she doesn't like Bush," a sentence repeated verbatim with every introduction.
Really? American? The introducee would reply. Then would come questions about America vs. Syria and such. Sadly, Um Rad had some cake-related matters to attend to, and I was briefly left alone dancing with some ladies and their fiances and an eight-year-old without introduction. One woman said she liked how I danced and I returned the compliment.
"Oh! Are you not Syrian?" she said at my accent.
No, no, American.

I left somewhat early, due to aforementioned fatigue, but I might have to honor three engagements to really learn some Iraqi dance.