A Very Long Engagement, or Day 111 in Doha

My wonderful, lovely roommate (who sometimes might not clean up all her dishes, and sometimes might not take out the trash, and sometimes might leave all the lights and her stuff everywhere) redeemed herself by inviting me to her uncle's engagement party tonight.

I was scrambling around for a dress, and never did end up getting a fancier one than the one I already had. I knew that these things were pretty lavish and pretty glittery, which is not me at all... but I made do.

So the deal around here is that first, a marriage is arranged by the parents; often the mother goes and proposes to the other mother, then the men get involved, and then the potential bride and groom are (usually) given veto rights.

This happens before the couple really knows each other, however. I've heard that the couple can "go on dates", but sometimes chaperoned (that part is unclear and dependent on the family), sometimes after the engagement, sometimes after signing the wedding papers.

Around here, again according to some, the papers are signed before the wedding so that the couple can get to know each other, and then possibly divorce before the wedding if they aren't compatible.

Well, what I went to was the engagement party (the wedding is sometime in July), and basically everything you see in an American wedding reception happened at this engagement party - with a twist.

First, the people gathered. I think people had been trickling in for at least two hours when I got there at 8:00, and people continued coming in until 9 or later.

At about 9, the bride came in. There was much pomp and circumstance, and the doors opened, and there she was, with her long, intricate, pink dress, her hair that must have taken hours and weighed a ton from all the hairspray, and her make-up that, again, must have taken quite a while.

She looked like she was going to cry, though. A bit of an overwhelming day, I would think. She had to walk very slowly, since at each three steps, her long dress would start catching under her heels, and the attendants would have to rearrange it for her.

Another different thing: these attendants were like the maids or the staff of the banquet hall. In the U.S., they would be the bridesmaids or her sisters or something.

She got up on the long, platform, then up on the throne-couch after it, and sat a looked pretty for quite a while as the cameras were rolling and the photographer was snapping away.

I began seeing women starting to cover up. An abaya here, a shayla there, until I went into the back room (off to one side was actually a bedroom!) to put on the abaya I borrowed from Sara.

If I hadn't have been wearing a dress that bared my shoulders and knees, I probably wouldn't have bothered, but since I would wear this dress out in public, I decided to join in on the modesty.

Seconds before Sara's uncle (the groom) entered the room, all of Sara's immediate family unveiled. Since it was just him, and he was a close family member, they uncovered to take better pictures with him.

He walked in, got up on the dancing platform, then joined his wife-to-be on the couch-throne.

Now, all the traditions started. First was the ring... and the necklace, and the bracelet, and the earrings. Not just one piece of jewelry, but a whole set!

Next they drank out of separate goblets of apple juice, then stuck both their straws into one of them, possibly symbolizing the unity of marriage.

Cutting and eating the cake was next. Cutting was easy, but I didn't get to see how the feeding went. There was not cake over their faces, so I would guess that this part is more tame than its America counterpart.

Then Sara and I and her family covered so that the bride's father and brother could come in as well. Sara's grandfather accompanied them in, and more pictures were taken.

Off to the side, a portable photography studio was set up. Sara and I got a portrait of the two of us (which I basically can't show anyone, because she's not covered). All of the highly-dressed up women would go over and vamp it up for a few minutes to show off all the hard work.

Once the groom and men left, it was a mad rush for the buffet. The food disappeared basically before I got my hands on a plate, and there was no queuing involved. I managed to grab some chicken (which tasted exactly like barbecue-sauce-soaked chicken), as well as different salads, pita (bread) and rice.

It was a good thing I got up to dance quite a few times over the course of the night. First off, I was nibbling at the desserts all night, so it was a good calorie burner. It also was an activity that didn't require a shared language: everyone could laugh at my strange attempt at an Arab dance. It was also one of the few entertainment activities (with the others being eating, being photographed,or people-watching).

Close to the end of the night, Sara's older sister (who had also been "taking care" of me throughout the night) requested English songs from the DJ. This had started when the DJ randomly played Shakkira's "Hips Don't Lie" then spun out from there.

We continued dancing until half past midnight, when Sara's father came to pick us all up (and return me to EC).

Well, we stuck around, asked for a few more pictures, and generally were just late getting to the car. We were some of the last ones to leave at 1:00am. I was pretty physically exhausted from dancing (especially since they were teaching me how to use my hips a bunch! It felt like Latin American dancing sometimes, with all the pelvic movements...) but very mentally happy. Another cultural experience that I won't forget!