Weddings

I have not been to many weddings in my life, but Moroccan ones are something else.  The first wedding I ever went to was for a third cousin I was so young the only thing I cared about was running around with my little cousin Emma and not being the next one to be tagged. The next wedding I went to was for my cousin Louisa and well it as a party from landing France till we left, it was really an amazing time.

Weddings here in Morocco have no ceremony it is all just one big event. Women get dressed up in the dresses called Caftans and the men were everything from suits to jeans. The bride wares as many different dresses as she can during the event to show of wealth. These dresses are bright and bedazzled, but what confuses me most is that most of the time they are made out of really cheap material and generally not really pretty.

The first Moroccan wedding I went to was in Fez and it was horrible. My friend N came along for this crazy night. We went over to her host families house around three o’clock the caftan I got made me look like a leprechaun and N was a great looking red flying carpet, and I have never worn that much makeup in my life as her host sister Z put on us. The wedding started at 5 and went until 4:30 the next morning. I have never seen people look so unhappy as the couple that was getting married. This was the first wedding I ever cried at, and not because I was happy. I was so over stressed from CBT, a heat stroke was coming on, and when I asked to go out and get some air the ball of horrible that was my host mom started to yell at me. Basically it was a night of horrible dresses, unhappy people, and getting yelled at for no reason.

The second wedding was a lot better. It was here in Oued Zem. It lasted just as long but I had a nice time chatting with people, and there was some lovely food. The dresses were just as bad, but the people were nice. One of the things that I found odd was that men and women were separated. It was one big venue but all the women were to sit on the left and all the men on the right, and they were separated by some odd looking decorations.

Today I got to go to another wedding in Jamaa it is a really rural area, and the wedding was really traditional.  This family was really wonderful; they are the most welcoming people and have a lovely farm. The mother of the family officially adopted me when she yelled for one of the kids to get some water. I was the first one at the well. Everyone was shocked that I could work it, never thought anyone would think it as complicated. Once I got the water from the well I got to go with uncle to get honey from the beehives and then put bread in the clay stoves outside.  Once the family decided I earned my keep off to the wedding we went. Their front yard had two tents the tent for the men and the family tent.

The bride had 4 dresses the first one white, second red and yellow, third orange, forth blue. The colors were a little bright but they were all well made. I got the chance to peak into the guys tent all the men sat around the outside with tables set up with tea, there was a band and three women in black caftans and sparkly scarf’s wrapped around their waist. The family tent was much more fun, the bride and groom walked in and out with their many different outfits. Four guys preformed traditional dances and lifted the bride and groom in the air.  Family and friends sat round the outside of the tent as everyone danced in the middle. All around it was a fun and exhausting time and it was from 3 in the afternoon to 6:30 at night.

I still don’t understand quite how this is a wedding because the couple are never declared as married. The whole event is outrageous and makes no sense (much like a marriage). Anyway I don’t understand any of the traditions I have come across in Morocco and weddings can go right to the top of the list. 

Rain and Covering Up

            I got really lucky with my Peace Corps placement when it comes to dress code. Yes, I still have to ware way more clothing than I would like in this 120-degree weather, but I can ware short sleeves and don’t have to ware a hijab. This was something I was willing to do when asked in my interview back in NYC, but being here of course changes everything. Every little piece of over confidence goes away once you get here and have that first stone throne at you just for being well you. I have so many friends that did not get quite as lucky when it comes to the dress code in their sites.

            Today it rained for the first time in my site. Of course this was right after I did laundry.  After pulling in all of my clothing from the rain J and I walked to the Dar Chabab. Just because it is raining does not mean that it cools the town down unfortunately, but it was nice to walk in this light drizzle. One the way home it was raining just slightly harder. J and I parted ways because I needed to run to the hanut and pick up some milk. As I was saying goodbye to everyone at the hanut, which can sometimes take forever, it started to rain harder. Nothing that would ever keep me from walking the two blocks home.  As I prepared for the short sprint I began felling the eyes of the little old ladies behind me. This was when I realized that they were waiting to see if the scarf around my neck would make its way over my head before I took a step out into the rain.

            Granny always told me to put a sweater on because she was cold. This is no different than not going out with wet hair in the winter, but sometimes here in Morocco the little things like that go a little to far. “You can’t sit where there is a breeze because the cold will hit you and seal your health. You can sit on the floor because you will never be able to have babies”, and I guess you can add this to the list. Even though it is 120 degrees outside, don’t step out in the rain without your head covered.

            I don’t know why it bothered me this time. I guess it was because even after the conversation I just had with these women their entire perception of me would be altered by me taking one step out from under the awning.

As my covered little head made its way home I began to ponder about how funny it is that rain can make you home sick. Actually anybody from South Carolina would laugh at this being called rain. It is the lightest drizzle, but it come with some thunder, no lightning, but for the last week you can smell the rain everyday from 4:30-6. It is generally insignificant but still enough to make me homesick.