Revised May 28 2002

"Come to the wedding"
or "How they get married in Wadi Mousa"

Page 1 of 3

This is a description of a very ordinary wedding in the village of Wadi Mousa close to the world famous site of Petra in south Jordan where I rent a house and where I try to spend several months every year. I participate largely in the life of the village and enjoy it very much. I am lucky enough to be considered a full member in my own right of the same tribe as my landlord and an integral part of his family.

 

I wa s woken by several small-girl giggles and groaned inwardly. This was always a risk when I slept in my friend Nadia's house: she has two small daughters, whom I usually love dearly, but NOT first thing in the morning. Nadia's husband Sami has often said the same thing. Since on these occasions his wife reproaches him with being an unnatural father, I try not to agree with him out loud. This time I pulled the covers over my head hoping that they would go away. No such luck. Nadia herself twitched them back and smiled down at me.

"Really, Ruth!" she said. "It's nearly nine o'clock!"

I glared at her and she produced a giggle worthy of her daughters. "Have some tea" she offered. I brightened very slightly. It was good tea, hot, just sweet enough, just strong enough - and freshly made. Wonderful girl! She had made fresh tea before allowing her daughters in to my room. Of course, she might even have sent them in! I scowled, and then mentally shrugged. I had to get up some time after all.

"How was the party?" she asked after a decent interval during which I had drunk two glasses and had started on a third.

My nearest neighbour and good friend Ali was celebrating the wedding of his brother. The pre-wedding party had taken place the night before in the yard just in front of my house, and I had sought refuge with her in order to get at least a few hours sleep. After the party, traditionally the men kill the goats for the wedding feast and I had no illusions about being able to sleep with that going on a few yards away from my bedroom window.

"Not bad at all. Everybody danced, there was only one drum and the men and the women both wanted it. For a moment it looked like an argument, and then the men went off to find one somewhere else. They had hired some people from outside to dance," I said disapprovingly.

"We aren't Hassanat!" she laughed. The Hassanat tribe are collectively the best dancers in the valley. Nobody can compete with them in the traditional Bedouin dances. (See some photos on the page about the Petra Horse Guards' annual outing"). "Was that all? Did you dance?"

"Of course! They called me out to dance alone again and all the women were clapping and singing at the same time. It was great fun. The men were much quieter, I should have almost said that they were bored - until somebody brought along a revolver and they took turns firing it off. Then the police arrived and everybody was shouting for a while. The women went out on to the balcony to look" I reported.

"Did they arrest anybody?"

"Not this time. The police said that they would overlook any firing during the day as long as they stopped after dark, because people would be frightened".

"Hah! Do you remember my wedding?" My goodness, yes. Her father fired off a couple of hundred rounds from a rifle that must have been at least as long as he was tall - and he was by no means a small man. Everybody was cheering him on. Of course her father was an important man in the valley and no policeman in south Jordan would dream of remonstrating with him over such a minor "crime"!

"Abu Jaed's wedding was just as bad. I came here especially for it, I couldn't miss the wedding of one of my best friends after all. There were six weddings in the valley that day, and I seriously wondered whether it was the Israelis or Saddam Hussein and the Iraqis who were invading" I recalled. " Mind you, even if there had been an invasion I doubt if anybody would have noticed it, except possibly to invite the invaders to lunch".

"How about the wedding party where they hired a professional belly dancer? We were all watching from the upstairs windows"

"That was a good one" I agreed. "The men started stuffing banknotes in her brassiere, they had a wonderful time!"

"No!" Apparently Nadia hadn't seen this bit. "Sami wasn't doing such a thing, anyway!" she said confidently.

"Of course not!" I assured her, dismissing any memories of her husband on that occasion and hurrying to change the subject. "There was another wedding where the two mothers in law came to blows when we went to bring the bride".

Nadia hadn't heard this one either. "I don't know what started it" I continued, "but they were screaming and trying to tear each other's hair out!"

"Whatever did you do?"

"Personally I went out to watch the sunset! I know better than to get mixed up in something like that. Some older women separated them and gave them a lecture. The bride had hysterics" I added, remembering, "and her sister wanted her to call off the wedding. They got a lecture too. Finally everybody redid their makeup and the wedding went on".

However pleasant it was sitting there, duty called. I prepared to get dressed.

Nadia looked uncomfortable. "Ruth, I was wondering if they have any news of Karim?" I sat down again. Karim was (and is) one of Ali's younger brothers, Ali being my neighbour and landlord and the eldest brother of today's bridegroom . A few months ago, Karim had stormed out of the house after a major quarrel, saying that he was "cutting himself off" from a family that was impossible. Now so far, this is almost routine after a family scene. The one offended will stay with a relative for a few days, until either the family sends to ask him to come back or a good reason is found for him to come back with neither side losing face. Karim, however, had gone further. He had disappeared entirely from the village, leaving no word about where he had gone and the family was beginning to be concerned about him.

So much was common knowledge. Nadia saw my problem. "I'm not just prying" she hastened to say. "It's because of Zein".

"Zein?" What had Nadia's young sister in law to do with Karim?

Nadia explained. Apparently Karim, some five or six years older than Zein, had taken her under his wing when they were children and allowed her to follow him around almost everywhere. This had stopped when Karim started to be more interested in older women than a small girl follower, and Zein was in any case no longer allowed to run around wherever she pleased. However they had remained close friends "as cousins" and Zein was now seriously upset by his continued absence and especially at his not returning for his brother's wedding. Nadia was starting to be worried about her.

They were after all of the same tribe. I produced the latest news. A couple of weeks ago somebody from another family in Wadi Mousa had come to see Ali and reported that recently he had seen Karim working in a shop in Sharm al Sheikh in Egypt. When spoken to, Karim had been cordial, but denied any intention of returning to Wadi Mousa in the near future. After a family discussion, Ali's brother in law was dispatched to Sharm to find Karim to a sk him to come home "at least for his brother's wedding", this being an ideal way of bridging the quarrel. The wedding had been put off for a week in the hope that Karim would be there, but the bride's family was restive and it had been judged better not to put it off again. "I spoke to Ali's wife, Fatima, yesterday, but they had no news from Egypt then. Is this affair serious between them?" I asked with interest. I hadn't heard anything about all this before.

"I have no idea!" said Nadia firmly. "I only hope she hasn't set her heart on him, in any case he probably forgot all about her when he was in Egypt"

I was faintly disappointed, it had sounded so romantic! Ah well! This time I managed to stand up. "I'd better go and at least look as if I'm helping. Perhaps I can try to keep the children out from under people's feet".

She cast an involuntary look at her daughters who had already asked a number of times if they couldn't put on their party dresses yet. "I'll be along soon. How many goats were they killing this time?" \

"Thirty five".

She nodded approvingly. Any party is measured at least in part by how much food is supplied and thirty-five goats is a respectable number. I have known fifty to be slaughtered, but that was exceptional. I am convinced that one reason for the party is to get enough men together to do the actual killing and butchering; a few women stay around to supervise the cooking, but on these occasions most of it is done by the men.

I headed back towards the scene of the wedding.

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©Ruth Caswell 2002