Revised May 29 2002
"Come to the wedding"
or "How
they get married in Wadi Mousa"
Page 2 of 3
On the way back to the house I collected a large bag of buns from the bakery and dropped them down on a table beside the tea urn where everybody converged on them eagerly. The entire neighbourhood was present. Several men were erecting a large tent to provide shelter from the sun for the guests. This tent had been discarded by the Bedouin, its original owners, and now was available for general hire. Also hired to use inside it were the chairs and tables being unloaded from a lorry. More men were in charge of the meat which was simmering in yoghurt and the rice that was boiling separately to go with it. There were a number of gas rings scattered around in the area behind the houses, each of them holding a large pot that came nearly up to my waist. Each pot had a huge ladle in it, and was being stirred by some of the younger men who were being ordered around by Bassam, the head cook in one of the biggest (and most expensive) hotels in the village. Ten or twelve women were making the thin bread rounds, rather like French "crepes" or unsweetened pancakes, ("shrarka") that are spread under "mansaff" when it is served on the big trays that several people were collecting from all the neighbouring houses. The bread "ovens", sort of mushroom-shaped metal discs, were heating over wood fires. (See bottom of page for a description of "mansaff") Half a dozen girls were chopping tomatoes and cucumbers for salad and someone was giving instructions to a group of older children. "Six big bunches of parsley, two kilos of roasted almonds and two of pinenuts. Tell them that I'll come and pay later, I can't be bothered to look for money now". The children sprinted off.
The smells of cooking meat, of hot yoghurt, of fresh tomatoes, of new made bread and of wood smoke all combined into a spicy and enticing mixture. Somewhere a drum was beating in a catchy rhythm that encouraged me to do a few dance steps, and in spite of the fact that they had had little or no sleep everybody cheered me on.
"We'll show the bride's family, Ruth! It's not only the Hassanat that know how to dance!"
I looked around at the busy scene with deep contentment. This is one of the things that I appreciate most in Jordan; for any particular event everybody comes and lends a hand to do whatever is necessary, nobody needs to be asked but just attack s whatever task is at hand. It is incredibly satisfying to participate even slightly in the work, which is done in the greatest good humour and good will. [Someday I must recount how we put up the curtains in my house! By the time they were in place I think about a dozen people were helping - excluding of course the ever-present children].
What was being prepared here was the "luncheon" usually known as "the ladies' luncheon". That doesn't mean that the men don't outnumber the ladies, but the main purpose of bringing plenty of women together is to go and "collect the bride" later. There might be up to a thousand people present altogether. I remember one wedding where the road was completely blocked by the guests' cars. A lorry tried to get by but gave up eventually, and the driver joined in the feast. Nobody knew him, but he was welcome! While he was eating, the lorry stayed where it was in the middle of the road.
As usual the men and the women eat separately, just as they had had separate parties the night before. In Wadi Mousa I invariably assert the privilege of a "Western" woman and join in either or both sides as I feel like it! Luckily, everybody seems to find this normal, and they all welcome me happily.
Fatima, my landlord's wife and official hostess at the wedding, was supervising the work, and I managed to draw her aside for a moment. "Nadia was asking about Karim", I began.
"Zein!" she said immediately. "She's been hinting around me as well. I do hope to heaven that she's not going to be very miserable about this. Karim only thinks of her as his little cousin, I am sure, or he would have said something before now". She sighed. "In any case, Ruth, I am sorry, but nothing new. Ali is quite unhappy about it all. But I can't worry about that now".
"Would you like me to keep an eye on the little ones?" I asked, doing my bit.
"Oh, bless you, yes. They all like going to your place".
I collected a few of the younger children and carried them off to my house, where I put on a video of "The Jungle Book" (very popular, this, it is also a series on children's television in Jordan). As the word went round and the strains of "the bare necessities" drifted out through the window, my sitting room filled up. A few men arrived as well, evicted half a dozen children from the sofa with the best view of the television screen, settled themselves with ashtrays nearby and enquired if there was any tea going. I looked pointedly outside, and they assured me that there was nothing more for them to do. I went off to the kitchen and produced tea and a large jug of fruit squash for the children. "Anybody spilling anything will clean it up!" I warned. Everybody nodded; the children, all regular visitors to my house, knew that this was no idle threat however much it contravenes usual Arab hospitality laws. One of the men innocently rubbed his foot over the carpet, cigarette ash I had no doubt.
I peered outside. Guests were arriving now in a steady stream, and Nadia's daughters joined the growing crowd in my sitting room. All these people were from the bridegroom's family; the bride's family was also giving a more restrained luncheon for close family members, probably no more than 30 or 40 people. The evening before she had also had a party for her women friends and relatives. It is the custom for the bridegroom's family to assume the major costs of a wedding, which can be considerable (an average sized goat could cost about 100 dinars or 150USD). The bridegroom personally pays for any gifts he gives to the bride and also for the honeymoon. The bride's family, on the other hand, organises and pays for the betrothal party. This is a much smaller party, say about a hundred or so, mostly women, and the usual food offered consists of cream cakes in quantity with lemonade or other soft drinks - the children tend to prefer betrothal parties!
Outside the frenzy was growing. I saw Marwan, a cousin who works as a tourist guide in Petra, looking towards me and making attention-getting gestures. I waved back. He headed towards me, towing a blonde tourist. "Ruth this is Sally from Canada", he introduced us. "Hi Sally!" I rejoined.
"Listen Ruth, I was guiding Sally around Petra this morning, and when I told her about the wedding she said that she would like to come. She can eat in the tent with me and the guys, but she would like to go with the people fetching the bride. Can she go with you?"
"Sure. Just come and find me, probably in this house, after eating, OK?" I was a bit relieved. If he had wanted Sally to eat with the women it wouldn't have been much fun for her, among a crowd of people she didn't know and where nobody spoke English. For a tourist it was no problem to sit with the men.
People were starting to take places for lunch. I chased everybody out of my sitting room and made my way up stairs to where the women were gathering in the "diwan" which Ali, Fatima's husband and my landlord, had built recently as an attachment to his house. This is a big room lined with mattresses and cushions, where guests are received formally, where business s is usually transacted and which is used for family reunions or councils. By no means every house has or needs one, only those where the head of the family frequently receives the men of the village. On this occasion, the male guests were eating in the tent outside. Nadia was busy in the kitchen and I settled down with a group of the older women. We exchanged greetings and I asked one of them after her daughter who had married a few months previously.
"Hah!" she exclaimed. "The poor girl came home two weeks ago, she had had enough of that fellow."
Everybody leaned forward. "I don't know exactly what went wrong," she continued, "but I'm not surprised. I said no good would come of that marriage".
"Oh, come!" somebody objected. "You were singing his praises at the wedding!"
"That was then!" she replied. "Anyway, after a few days his mother and sister came to talk to her, and in the end she went back with them, I'm sure I don't know why. I've left them alone since then. As far as I'm concerned, she's made her bed and now she can lie on it. I'm not having anything more to do with it". Everybody nodded politely, but even I could see a certain general scepticism. I made a mental note to keep up with any gossip from that quarter, if only to avoid making another gaffe like the one I had just made.
Fortunately at that moment the trays of food were brought round and everybody moved to sit around one or another of them. The meat, heavily sprinkled with parsley and nuts was served on a bed of rice and great jugs were brought round of the liquid it had been cooked in: the original yoghurt was now full of juice from the meat and tasting faintly of the lemon juice that Fatima likes to add. This was poured over the trays, soaking the rice and the shrarka bread at the bottom. It was also available in glasses if anybody wanted to drink it (I was an immediate taker!). We all ate from the general tray, as usual there were no separate plates. With so many people to be served there was no question of spoons, everybody ate with their (right) hand. With Bassam in general charge of the cooking I wasn't surprised that it was very good mansaff. Everybody seemed to appreciate it, when our particular group finally stopped eating there was very little left on the tray.
One by one we got up to wash our hands and sat down again to wait for the coffee. Coffee by the way is supposed to have the property of "shrinking" the rice in one's stomach, so that one can - if one wishes - start eating all over again! The women in my group settled down to chat or in several cases for a short nap - as older women they were exempt from the chores which occupied the younger ones.
I wandered outside to see what was happening. The answer was nothing very much, except for a mixed team of men and women who were coping with the dirty cooking pots and food trays, assisted by the inevitable children who happily wielded the hose pipe rinsing everything out. The men who had been eating were mostly wandering round like me, smoking and catching up with friends and relations that they might not have seen for some time. An assorted group of the younger men was busy decorating the cars that would be used in the wedding procession. I had already volunteered all the artificial flowers I was willing to part with and hidden the rest - the chances of getting them back again were effectively zero, everybody wants them for souvenirs. A huge bunch of ribbons had been brought in from the nearby shops.
Finally the culminating point of the wedding was on us, and we prepared to go and "bring the bride".
The national dish of Jordan is Mansaff: lamb seasoned with aromatic herbs, sometimes lightly spiced, cooked in yoghurt, and served with huge quantities of rice. Feasting on Mansaf is taken seriously, and hours are spent in its preparations.}
Mansaff is cooked in " jameed" (the Arabic word for dried yoghurt), which is then mixed with water in a tray to produce a creamy sauce. This is poured into a large stewing pot with chunks of lamb meat. The pot is put over an open fire. As the stew begins to warm, it is stirred to prevent the yoghurt from separating.
Large trays are covered with the doughy flat Arabic bread and dampened with yoghurt. On top of this, a layer of rice is heaped. The meat is then piled on top. Almonds, pine-kernels and other nuts may be sprinkled over the dish, which is then ready for serving.
Sarteyn wa arfa! or to put it in another language "bon appétit!"