Sylvia's Journal

We were both invited to attend the engagement party of a (male) colleague in one of Kabul’s many wedding halls. It was the first time we got to witness a social event that is relatively new and that is encouraged by a whole new mega industry that has flourished on the edges of Kabul. It is an industry that is quite literally banking on the social phenomenon that we call ‘keeping up with the Joneses.’

The groom is 28 and the bride-to-be is 22. He just got her phone number last week and they had not met. The parents had selected the bride and groom for each other and come to an agreement. After the groom was interviewed and checked out by the bride’s family the first step in this union was completed last night.

We arrived at the Mumtaz Mahal wedding extravaganza on the outskirts of Kabul at around 7:30 PM, about two and a half hours after the official start of the event. We had been told by our colleagues that food wouldn’t be served until about 8:30 or later and so we arrived fashionably late.

The place looked like a gaudy Italian Christmas display gone berserk. When we arrived the men were ushered to the left entrance of the gigantic wedding hall and I was directed to the right side entrance. I hoped that two of my female colleagues would be there. I called them both on the cell phone but no one answered.

It was a little daunting to enter this place with hundreds of women, one more dressed up than another, and nobody I knew, not even the bride. I asked where I could put my coat and was ushered to what looked like the bridal party’s dressing room. After some searching a key was found and I left my coat. In the dressing room two young women were fussing over a sari gone loose. I asked if they spoke English and one did. I explained that I did not know anyone, not even the bride, and could they please introduce me. They agreed to do that after the sari was fixed.

I went ahead and entered the enormous ballroom on my own and promptly had everyone’s eyes on me as I was the only foreigner among at least 200 women and children. I slowly entered the room searching for a place to sit down when my two colleagues pulled me swiftly to a table already fully occupied.

Chairs were arranged and my initiation began. I had so many questions: where was the bride? Who were all these people? Could I take pictures? For each answer I had at least 5 more questions but the music was too loud to go beyond yeses and nos.

A band was seated at the back of the room, behind a wide and large screen, shielding the women from the male musicians’ eyes, and, I suppose, protecting the men from baser impulses upon seeing so many beautiful women without scarves, with arms and ankles exposed.

Although no women were seen in the men’s quarters next door in a parallel ballroom divided by a narrow corridor, plenty of men marched through the women’s section. As usual, exceptions are made for men but not for women. These men were either wedding hall staff or male relatives of the couple.

Young children of both sexes were allowed to enter each hall but most stayed with their mothers in the women’s section. I suppose, given how hard and dull the lives of women are here, such an event offers a wonderful distraction and revived dreams, even if for a few hours, of the existence of romance, sexual tension and love. Maybe kids sense that and take advantage: many were totally out of control, especially the little boys

All through the evening the bride stayed on our side; never smiling and, in the presence of her future husband, always with her eyes downcast. It looked as if only her body was in the room, heavily bejeweled and bedecked after the groom’s family had decorated neck, ears and wrists with gold.

All the action took place in the women’s section: before dinner it was dancing, then eating, then more dancing, and then various bride and groom rituals that included lighting candles and then extinguishing them with roses, a dance by a female relative teasing the groom with a dagger which was eventually used to cut one of four cakes on a rotating plateau. The symbolism of all these activities was wonderful to ponder.

I did not stay till the ring exchange as that was probably the least exotic of all the steps in the process. In the meantime Axel was on the men’s side where the action consisted of dancing, singing, eating and smoking; not half as exciting and, after dinner, he confessed, a little boring because most of the men, including my male MSH colleagues, had left. By then he too was the only foreigner among hundreds of Afghan men, waiting for my call that we could go.

We came home late and drove like maniacs through a ghost town inhabited, it seems, only by men in dark and dirty garb with guns – something that stood in rather sharp contracts to the promise of love and happiness accompanied by pastel colors and gauziness that had marked my evening.

Today Steve and I went to interview an 8th grader who has applied for a scholarship at an elite girls school in New England. The school had asked us to check her out and answer some questions that would influence their decision.

We gave a wholehearted thumbs up after listening to the girl’s dreams for herself and her country, checking out her English and verifying her family’s (and especially her mother’s and grandmother’s) support which was breath taking. After a simple but delicious lunch offered to us by the family we left inspired and hopeful for this country, despite today’s sad results of the parliamentary votes and the discouraging news that there is still no minister of health.