Sylvia's Journal

We picked up my brand new young colleague, the one who didn’t find out the name of her fiance until 2 weeks after the engagement party, and her 21 year old sister in a part of Kabul I had never been to. It was a crowded popular area of the city. On our way to fetch her we ran into a demonstration of young angry males with so much testosterone that the police had to intervene. Apparently it was an election rally that had gone sour.

In typical motherly fashion I was thinking, “What are all these young men doing on the streets after dark? It is a school night; they should be studying,” a thought I believe many Afghan mothers share with me. It sort of sums up the problem and its solution, two very old ideas: idleness (the devil’s playground or, as the Dutch claim, ‘Satan’s pillow’) and education.

The wedding party invitation, which I took to my Dari teacher for practice, indicated that guests should arrive at 5 PM. We arrived at 8:30 PM and were still over two hours early if the serving of dinner counts as the real start (and end) of the party.

The invitation also said ‘no children and no cameras.’ But that, I learned is not taken seriously by anyone. When we arrived, a gulf of overexcited kids poured out of all nooks and crannies of the large building that contains several wedding halls. They were in various states of dress up: from outfits that would befit a beauty pageant (in mini size) to ordinary t-shirts and dirty pants (mostly the boys). Also, everyone had cameras and clicked away like crazy – so I will have pictures later to post.

Most of the little girls were dressed to the nines, even though at 8:30 most of these outfits were showing the wear and there or the frantic running around. You’d think all the kids had been given speed. Yet there was no sugary drink or food in sight. Nothing is served, except the occasional bottle of water (people brought?) that I could see on some tables.

By the time dinner arrived several kids had collapsed, some of the boys had joined their father in the adjacent but hidden room – I suspect because they knew that the men get served first. I had to suppress some outrage that the women and children were served close to midnight. Who thought of this idea? I was happy that my colleague Fahima plans to reverse things when her son gets married next year. Someone has to knock some sense into the men.

In the meantime the bride, unsmiling as she is supposed to, stood stiffly next to her new husband, posing for dozens of pictures then with this relative or friend, then that one. The father and brother(s?) were allowed to be on our side and posed a lot. One brother even danced with a woman from the bridal party, I presumed his wife. It was odd to see a couple dancing like that in public. It was an elegant dance and fun to watch.

Everyone was bedecked and bejeweled in ways that made even my colleagues unrecognizable. Some had so much make up and and gold jewelry, and without their veils, that I had to look twice before recognizing them.

I pointed at my 1 dollar silver like ear-rings. “You are smart,” said one, “we spent way too much money on jewelry.” After which she showed me her 750 dollar ring. There was more, much more, hanging around her neck and all the necks within a 30 meter radius.

When dinner finally arrived it arrived with a vengeance. It was as if the wait staff wanted to say; ‘What? You want dinner? Here, take this!” The platters of food were practically thrown on the table, dishes piled upon each other with no sense of aesthetics or cook’s pride.

My colleague was whacked in the head by a waiter’s arm thrusting a dish onto our table; another waiter slipped on the wet floor (all waiters were running fast and furiously, on bare feet, with heaped platters between the tables) dumping his dishes unceremoniously on the floor and on some fancy dresses.

Fahima commented, “you see, you have schools were people learn how to serve meals, but here they take just anyone who can carry a platter.” That was certainly true. The table next to us didn’t get served until after we had finished eating. At our table it was hard to get to the saran-wrapped dishes at the bottom of the pile.

The mothers of the bride and groom walked busily between the tables to make sure everyone was served well (well referred to quantity rather than quality of the serving experience). We all said we were full but more dishes arrived and were piled on top of the debris on our table.

I the meantime the bride and groom and their families ate in a separate room downstairs; we went to see them and give Rabia, our colleague, a hug. She was allowed to smile in the intimate setting, but not in public. I hardly recognized her under her heavy makeup and the hairdo that looked more like a sculpture.

We left before the bride and groom changed from their green into white outfits, indicating that the religious ceremony, the Nikah, had been performed. It was way past my bedtime and we skipped whatever next parts of the wedding had yet to be completed.