A Bedouin Engagement Party (Part 4 of the Bedouin Series)

Hey Everybody,

This post could contain the most ridiculous stories from my time in Jordan. I had the opportunity to go with a bedouin family to a wedding. This post includes the journey there and the party itself. If you haven't read the last posts in the bedouin series, please do. They'll make this post a lot funnier.

The only problem with this post is that I don't have any pictures from the event. Sorry,

Prologue

Tonight, by host brother Zaid is having his engagement party. The house is abuzz with preparations. The women all disappeared for a few hours, and I learned that they had gone to a salon in Ma’an to get their hair done. When they got back, they all showed off their gorgeous dresses and hairdos. The mothers planned to wear conservative ones in bright colors, but the young girls had very immodest dresses. The engagement party is separated by gender, and because women don’t have to cover around other women, they pull out all the stops. The most adorable moment of the morning was when all of the young grandchildren decided to give Omi a makeover. They were brushing her hair and doing her makeup. She was being such a good sport.

The women and kids cleaned the house while the men sat on their butts by the door. At about 2 PM, the extended family started showing up, and at 2:30, a bus pulled in and we piled on.

The Bedouin Barty Bus (October 5) 

Arabic doesn’t have the letter “p,” so Arabs often replace it with a “b.” This means that I’ve spent a month and a half being offered bebsi, hearing about lots of beoble, and blaying games. Consequently, when 25 bedouins (and their two American guests) get on a bus to drive 3 hours to go to a wedding and bring drums with them, by definition, it is a barty bus. And a barty it was. It was actually insane. Before you keep reading, I have to admit something: I AM NOT MAKING ANY OF THIS UP

I wish I had pictures. I just have one of the barty bus. 

There were maybe 5 men on the bus, all of whom were sitting in the front. All of the women were in the back. I don’t know if it was deliberate or not, but I do know that the cool kids sit in the back of the bus. Whatever.

Aubrey and I sat near a 27-year-old woman named Bushra. She was a cousin (of both the bride and the groom) and was fluent in English. She had learned it mostly from school, in addition to movies and music. She wore a hijab, and yet she swore like a trucker.  She had studied International Relations, yet, she graduated without being sure if the Holocaust had happened or not. Now she knows it did, because the professor that said it didn’t couldn’t give an adequate explanation of why all Jews hate Hitler so much if the Holocaust wasn’t real. She is still unemployed, looking for a job. She was super fun and funny, but there were some things about her that were distinctly different from the majority of the Bedouin community. Firstly, she was an only child. Secondly, she was 27 and unmarried. She has been dating a Palestinian-Jordanian man for 12 years now, but they still haven’t gotten married. This has to do with the high cost of throwing the wedding party, buying the bride the right jewels, etc. We talked a lot about politics, culture, urban vs. rural life, etc. She was also the one truly leading the barty.

She whipped out the drums and led the whole women’s contingent in singing songs in Arabic. I didn’t know any of them, but I understood some words. Yay for progress. The kids were dancing in the isles, banging on the drums, etc.

After about an hour and a half on the road, we stopped the bus so that we could have teatime. Omi had already walked up and down the bus a few times with a big box of cookies, but apparently, that wasn’t enough. Now, she had four thermoses of tea and a stack of filjan (mini cubs for Arabian coffee). Bushra couldn’t figure out why Aubrey and I were so surprised/amused by it. 

Once we got moving again, I was asked to take out my guitar and play and sing for everyone. Like every other Jordanian girl, the first song Bushra asked for was Hero by Enrique Iglesias. Then I made up a song with lyrics that made no sense because bushra and Aubrey were the only ones in earshot that understood anything. People were laughing and singing, drumming and dancing more. It was actually insane. The kids never got tired. 

Once we got close to the hotel, the barty bus turned into a salon. Suddenly all of the young girls and mothers started doing their makeub—ON THE MOVING BUS. It was hysterical to watch Bushra and the moms hold the girls’ heads down to the seat so that they didn’t move too much while applying copious amounts of eye shadow. The amount of makeub urban Jordanian women wear in day to life is massive (because with a hijab and no makeup, women just look pasty and bland). Bushra asked if she could do my makeup, and I told her she could, so long as she didn’t make me look like a Russian hooker—and she understood me. She laughed hysterically, and then told me she was shocked I said that. She swore she wouldn’t translate it for the bus. I wonder what would have happened if she had. As soon as she started doing my makeup, the bus got to the point where we were clearly close to the destination with a driver that didn’t know exactly where we were going. The bus ride got even more jerky, and my fear of looking like a Russian hooker got even greater. I shut my eyes and let Bushra put eye shadow on, and suddenly, I felt the makeup go onto my eyebrows—so much for subtle. I decided that since I don’t know anyone at the wedding, it literally did not matter. Also, because women are uncovered, taking pictures is super haram, so it was no broblem.  

As we continued driving around in circles, Bushra told us that she’d been to this area a million times with her boyfriend and consequently knew how to get to our destination. She didn’t want to help the driver, though, because she didn’t want to tell her family where to go. She didn’t want them to know why she knew the area so well. This directly relates to my Ammani sister’s secret boyfriend(s?) and how she shared that with her family—not at all.

We pulled into the hotel parking lot and Aubrey and I quickly pulled on our Thobs in the back of the bus. Here goes nothing.

The Tackiest Genre of Parties Ever: Jordanian Engagements

The barty bus docked, and the women said goodbye to the men. They would be having a separate party. Aubrey and I had taken our staff's advice about attire for Bedouin weddings. We wore traditional Arab dresses. I wore this (minus the hijab because they told me not to):

We entered the hall and followed Bushra to the bathroom because she wanted to finish getting ready. Within 10 minutes, she had transformed from a conservatively dressed Muslim with everything covered to a western looking woman that was literally letting it all hang out. So much cleavage, tube top dress, bra streps showing, etc. 75% of the women underwent similar (though more classy looking) transformations. 

The problem, though, was that we were no longer in the badia—we were in Zarqa, a major city, and here, younger women wear western style dresses. Aubrey and I already stuck out as Americans, but with what we were wearing it was that much worse. Literally Cady Heron at the mean girls Halloween party. I wanted to do what I’ve always been taught to do at wedding parties—start drinking—but alas, this is a Muslim event, so no booze. We decided to roll with it and have a good time instead. 

Jordanian engagement parties are ridiculous on every level. They are kind of a mix between a bar mitzvah party and a prom with the same cheesy dance music, colored lights, awkward dance music, and parents glaring at young people dancing in ways they deem too risqué. Times a million. At first, all of the women are in the hall, minus the bride. Music is playing, people are dancing, schmoozing, sometimes eating, etc. Then, the (always female) photographer and camerawoman tell everyone to cover their hair again because the groom is coming in. The rule with wearing a hijab is that women must cover their hair around any men that they can technically marry. Both polygamy and cousin marriage are OK in Islam (although polygamy isn’t really a thing in Jordan alhamdullah), so pretty much everyone has to throw their hijab back on. Bushra didn’t, and I didn’t ask.

Then the bride and groom enter. For this party, they had all of the girls stand on either side of a red carpet lined with white pillars and lace (that fell over a million times before the entrance happened) leading up to the door. The couple enters, and super awkwardly dances/walks/struts their way down the isle. Zaid, the groom/my host brother, looked so uncomfortable. 

The bride was having the time of her life. Again, this is why these types of parties need alcohol. The two of them make their way own the isle and up to the stage. At this point, the lights turn off.

Spotlights go onto the couple, and they dance their first dance. At both of the parties I’ve been to, the lights have been accompanied by both a fog AND bubble machine. Yes. This is real life. There are fucking bubbles and fog machines setting the mood for this couple to have their first dance while EVERYONE stares at them. At this wedding, imagine this same lighting/fog/bubble madness in a warehouse. 

At both weddings, I was surprised because they used an English song as their first dance. The lyrics were about as cheesy as they come, and I almost died of laughter both times. The Jordanian women think it is just the most romantic thing in the whole world. Then I remember that very religious Muslims don’t make physical contact with the opposite gender until they get engaged/married and their reactions make more sense.

He then presents her with a lot of fancy jewelry—gold necklaces, rings, bracelets, etc. This is why getting married is so expensive. She won’t marry him unless she gets the goods. It’s the modern day dowry, and apparently, it makes sense.

After their first dance, generally, the lights turn back on so that everyone starts dancing again. Because all I want at an awkward (and sober) dance party is the ability to see all of the grandmas laughing at my dance moves. In this case, though, I didn’t know anyone, so I decided to dance like an idiot and have a lot of fun. I danced with Bushra and Aubrey, the young Bedouin girls, the bride’s siblings (one named Liqat who will become important in the next post), and every other random woman there. 

For the first time since I had arrived in Bedouinville, I was actually hungry because they didn’t serve dinner. When I saw trays come out with desserts, I was stoked to go and eat some, but I was having fun dancing. Sure enough, I looked over at the waitress and saw none other than my Omi speaking very forcefully at her and pointing at me. Yes. The groom’s mother’s big concern during her son’s engagement party was that the random American she had known for less than a week was well fed. She then left the waitress and came over to me and told me to go straight to the table so that I could eat. After about two bites, Omi came over asking if I wanted another one. I thought Jewish mothers were relentless, but Bedouin grandmas are so much worse.

While we all ate, I asked Bushra what the men do in their party. She said the men’s party is lame. They sit around, drink coffee and tea, and talk. Women get to have fun and dance. I didn’t know this at the time, but one of my male friends from SIT told a very different story. At the party he went to, the men sat around drinking coffee and tea while smoking copious amounts of Hookah for the first part of the party only. When they get their fill, the shabob (single twenty somethings) get up and dance to live music, firing round after round of bullets into the air with their military grade automatic weapons. When he asked his host brother if he could try one of the weapons, the Bedouin guy just shook his head no and fired another round into the sky. 

After eating, I went and danced some more. I noticed that the bride’s sister was mirroring my dance moves, and I was really weirded out. I am a very awkward dancer, and I couldn’t tell if I was being mocked or not. Arab dancing style looks like belly dancing, and what she was doing just looked weird. As I said, I’m a terrible dancer. After the party ended, she told me that she loved my American dancing style. I almost died of laughter. I wish I could say it was the funniest part of the night.

The Aftermath

After the party ended, Aubrey and I sat own and were instantly swarmed by a large group of Jordanian teenagers, plus one mom. They asked us who we were, why we were there, what we were doing in Jordan, etc—all in Arabic. I was so proud of myself because I could actually hold a real conversation. They told me I had good Arabic, and when I told them I had only been studying for 5 weeks, they were amazed. While I was having a conversation with one girl, Aubrey tapped me on the shoulder and told me that she had gotten another marriage proposal. Sure enough, a mother was trying to set Aubrey up with her son. She is very shy, and her spoken Arabic is not that strong. I decided to have some fun. “maybe,” I said. “when she’s done with university. She has to see him first and see if he’s good looking enough for her.” Aubrey was mortified, but I didn’t care. I was super amused. The mom kept assuring me that her son was handsome, smart, kind, etc. And then she told me that my daughter was very beautiful.

In that moment I almost died. I don’t think I have ever laughed so hard in my life. I later learned that the woman had already said something about Aubrey’s mom (me), meaning when I butted into the conversation and started trying to set up the wedding, this woman’s assumption about the relationship between me and Aubrey was solidified. When we told her our ages, she didn’t believe us.

Yes, you are reading correctly. This woman assumed that Aubrey, was young enough to be my kid. 

I am 21, but people generally think I’m in my late 20s; Aubrey is 20, but people generally think she is between 12-15. The two of us couldn’t decide for whom the mother-daughter comment was more mortifying/humiliating. I am still pretty sure the answer is me.

 

Having said that, I think me and benti (my daughter) are pretty adorable.

After saying goodbye to the throng of girls and the mortified mother, Aubrey and I learned that pretty much the whole party (minus the Bedouins) assumed we were an adorable mother daughter duo. 

I think I have effectively proved my point that Jordanian engagement parties are the most awkward event in the entire world. If you have any questions or want more funny stories, please let me know. There are so many more...

Epilogue: Where Are We Sleeping Tonight?

Even after the party had ended, We weren’t sure about the logistics of the night. I knew that Dr. Raed, our academic director was at the men’s party, but I had no idea where that party was. We had gotten no information about where we were sleeping that night. We assumed we’d be staying with our families in Amman, but we didn’t know how we were going to get there or if our families knew. When I texted him to say that we wanted to meet up with him, he told me to shake the bride’s hand and wish her mabrook, congrats. This type of planning is standard practice here. Coming from the Badia, it makes even more sense, as it is impossible to predict exactly when people will arrive anywhere, if plans will change, when a random family member will swoop you up and take you on adventures, etc. Why would you plan ahead so far when plans change so quickly?

As Aubrey and I left the hall, we didn't know where we were going next or how we were getting there. Again, it's all part of the adventure.