Engagement Party Emirati Style

The party took place not too far from where we live, in Al Buraimi, Oman. It is just across the street from my apartment complex. Buraimi was once part of the UAE but to eliminate problems with illegal immigration the UAE government put up a border fence and checkpoint. So now it's officially in Oman. It was only a fifteen minute drive to our destination but it took us about forty-five minutes to get there because my host, Aysha, had forgotten her passport at home and we had to wait for her driver to bring it to us. (I think one day I'll write a brief posting about Emirati domestic help.) After that delay, it took us no time at all to get to our destination. The engagement party is, I think, a scaled down version of the wedding. From what others who have attended Emirati weddings have told me, I can only surmise that the wedding is the engagment party on steroids. The betrothed couple are relatives of Aysha's grandmother. I could not take pictures because I am neither a member of the bride's or groom's family. So you'll have to use your powers of imagination for my descriptions.


There were only women and children present in the hall - a large room similar to wedding halls found in the States. Boys present were no older than seven. The guests are all Arabs (with the exception of us three) but if you did not know that, you'd think they were African and Asian Indian. In the front of the room there was a stage with a catwalk and on the stage, an elaborate setting of a gilded couch enshrined in what looked like a huge seashell with pearls dangling from the top and all of this was bathed in colored lights. Music was blaring and it actually sounded like Caribbean music, calypso or soca, but it wasn't. I asked Aysha if it was Arab music and she said that it was. Hard to believe because it had a driving drumbeat that was very African-like in origin. It did not sound anything like the pop Arab or Khaleeji music one usually hears. As for the women and girls present, however modest they may dress daily, on an occassion such as this, modesty is out the window. Sexy dresses were everywhere - plunging necklines, sleeveless, backless, spaghetti straps, sheer, form-fitting and almost all are custom-made so they are like one-of-a-kind creations. Still, there were some women in their abayas and shaylas, as well as those with the masks. Of course this freedom in dress was because no men were there.

Oud, fragranced oil, was brought to the table for us to apply. I love oud so I did but the girls declined. The courses of the meal were unique in that they followed that saying, "Life is short; eat dessert first." We were served tea and then Arab sweets. On the table were appetizers so to speak - hummous, pita, vines (grape leaves stuffed with rice), and fatouche (a type of salad). We were not served the main course for some time. But it didn't matter because I was so intrigued by the dancing the women were doing. As mentioned, the music had a familiar rhythm and beat and guess what? The dancing looked damned familiar too. In fact, anyone from any and I mean any Caribbean nation would have said, "Those women whinin'! " They were movin' those hips like any Bajan or Jamaican. In fact, you could even throw Brazil in there for the samba. Those women were shakin' their groove things. Part of the dress for this dance is to tie a sash just below their butt. This accentuated the movements.They would get up on the catwalk and wind those bottoms to the beat and then just cause their derrieres to tremble. The girls and I stared in amazement. Even some little girls had the hang of it but many were still trying to master it. I'm sure by the time they are in their teens, they will have it down pat. Women of all ages were doing this particular dance. One young woman took it to a "whole notha level". After going up and down the catwalk doing that dance, she turns her back and gets on the floor of the catwalk and begins to move her hips to the music but in a prone position. It eventually ends up looking like an intimate act and Imani says to me, "That's really inappropriate." But it seems to be part of the celebration and all were amused by it. In fact she received applause when finished. (If you want to know what the dance looks like, You Tube digni.)

The loud music was then turned off and softer more traditional Arab music was played. That's when the main course of rice and lamb was served. During dinner, the bride-to-be arrived to fanfare. She arrived at the back of the hall and was wearing a gown but not a wedding gown and carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. She walked ever so slowly to the stage; it must have taken her thirty minutes. Her dress was gorgeous, a tan color with a pattern I'm hard pressed to describe. Her makeup like the majority of the women there was dramatic. Arab women take their makeup seriously. They wear foundation that is shades lighter than their actual skin tone and eye makeup is nowhere near subtle . . . and that's for everyday wear. For an event such as this, makeup gets amped up to the max. But I must say she was beautiful. While making her way to the stage, there were two women coaching her along the way - stop, turn, pose this way, show off the dress. I surmised this because whenever they'd say something to her, she'd do one of those actions. Interesting thing though is she never smiled the entire time. Instead she had a demure look on her face. You know an American bride would have been grinning from ear to ear and chatting with her guests along the route but this woman never did anything like that. She either looked with downcast eyes or straight ahead as she walked to the couch on the stage.

Then the procession of well-wishers began starting with her future sister-in-law. Women animatedly said things to her but she didn't register any emotion in her face. After this there was more dancing and then the dj (female) made an announcement and next thing I know abayas and shaylas were hurriedly being retrieved. Imani asked if people were leaving but I figured a man was coming. Sure enough, the groom-to-be and his family arrived. His entrance was one for the memory books. When he came up the aisle, some of his male relatives were dancing a traditional dance and some were making it "rain" on him. Yes, that's right, they were throwing actual dirhams (money) on him while the women, I assume relatives of his fiancee, were throwing rose petals. Since it was real money falling on the floor, the children ran and picked up all that they could and it was theirs to keep. Imani wanted to join them but I had to nix that.

The fiance made his way to the stage accompanied by his great grandfather and stood by his bethrothed. She by this time has had a black lace veil pulled over her face. He lifted the veil and supposedly sees his beloved for the first time. But this wasn't the case because they are actually cousins who have known each other since they were young. Aysha told me they are in love. I guess it is an arranged marriage but one where love had developed along the way to getting there. Then the fiance placed a watch, diamond earrings, a diamond bracelet, a tiered diamond necklace, and a diamond ring on his fiancee. (I know what they are because earlier in the evening the gift was paraded around to all the tables for the guests to see what he had bought to give her.) Well-wishers came up to congratulate them. After that his family walked down the aisle to offer their congratulations. Photos were taken of the whole extended family to be (by female photographer of course). When all of that was concluded, the great grandfather lead the procession off the stage by doing a traditional dance movement. That was the first time I saw the bride-to-be smile during the entire event. The groom-to-be on the other hand was smiling from the time he started down the aisle. I say this only as an observation that this may be part of the ritual for the woman. Before the men left the hall, they danced with some of the women but in a group dance. Once the men left, many of the guests began to leave. The couple remained on the stage. Maybe they were going to have more photos taken. I don't know because we left soon thereafter. The fiance's relatives were outside the hall entrance like in a receiving line and guests thanked them when they left.

The girls and I thanked Aysha and her family for a wonderful and interesting evening and drove back to the UAE. On our way back, we observed that we look across that fence everyday never knowing just how different it really looks inside. The girls also commented that it might be fun to have a bachelorette party like that, where one could dance the way she wants because no men would be around and then have them join later. It was a memorable evening and I hope to have a few more experiences like these because exploring other cultures is something I want the girls to appreciate.

"Thanks; I Needed That!"

Thank God for friends and thank God, period. Last week, as previously noted, was a week from Hades. I was seriously contemplating chucking it all. But a comment from a dear, wise friend who is also in (as another friend puts it) this "ministry called education" gave me a much needed pause. That pause coupled with some serious prayer (Tablet of Ahmad and the Fire Tablet amongst them) helped me put the experiences in perspective. As Dot, my wise friend, advised, this is the nature of teaching. Children are "following a whole different drummer and then we step in and tell them the beat has changed!" And let me tell you, in the UAE, they definitely follow a beat that is not of my culture - neither American or of my Bahamian roots.

Rude behavior and challenges to authority were not tolerated. Additionally, how my brother and I behaved outside of our home was not only a reflection on us but also our family (and in my mother's view, our religion as well). We darn sure had better not bring any shame or disgrace upon our mother, grandparents, or the Baha'i Faith! But then I was raised by a parent and not a nanny with no vested interest in developing my character. Because soooo many of them are not raised by their parents but instead managed by them, they tend to treat us teachers with the same lack of respect that they show their hadamas (nannies). So they want to juke to one rhythm and I to another - it is a battle of the bands.

Additionally, I came back with the template of my students at last school term's end in mind, i.e. my new students would behave just as my former students did by the term's end. Ridiculous thought. I truly had forgotten just how bad it was in the beginning of the school year and all that it took to get them to that level of behavior and academic achievement. As Dot eloquently stated, "Every year it is a new set to set straight and yes, it sucks." I'd just forgotten how much it could. (May my sense memory never fail me so completely AGAIN!) But just knowing that I'm not alone (and I don't mean just in the UAE because this is life as Licensed Teachers know it here) in having such experiences made me realize it's the profession. Now it may not be as hard as this in the States (believe me, no inner city school can compare . . . well maybe the ones where they carry weapons and attack the teachers) but the sense of frustration is shared. Knowing that helped me to not take it so personally, I guess. Once I let go of that, I found this week to be a whole lot better than the last. I realize that it will take some time. I'll pick and choose the battles which are worth fighting but in the end there will be one victor and she'll be the one standing in the front of the class.

And guess what? One of the Emirati teachers who has always been open and kind, invited me back into the local teachers' room to eat lunch. When I explained my reason in response to her inquiry for not eating there anymore, she gave a look of, "Don't listen to that," and said to come anyway. So I did and it feels good because I did not like the separation of locals and Westerners. I end the week much more hopeful than I did before and am a bit more optimistic about this year. I'll keep you posted. :)

Wassa Matta You? (Marx Brothers)

A question I keep asking myself since I've returned to work. It has been four weeks back on the job (the first week really doesn't count because there weren't any students). The second week went smoothly. However, last week was, and I mean this with all sincerity, the pits. For some reason, the beginning of last year's school term was completely obliterated from my memory. Vivid images of little girls blatantly ignoring me or chatting loudly non-stop while I'm teaching or getting up out of their seats to just, oh lemme see, go chat with my buddy over there and then get some more of our friends to come and join us, and while we're doing that, let's play hair saloon and do each other's hair, well for some unknown reason all of that just completely vanished from my mind. Must be how women describe childbirth and how they can get pregnant again after experiencing such intense pain: after the baby comes and that whirlwind of activity begins, all drama of the delivery room is buried deep within the recesses of the brain. (I can't claim that because I was totally knocked out during my delivery, but I DO remember when the doctor began to separate my muscle walls after the incision and that is the reason I was put to sleep . . . so to speak, but I digress .)

That was only one aspect to my lovely re-entry to reality. Additionally, we, the Licensed Teachers, were ever so politely asked to leave the local teachers’ gathering room during lunch. In effect, find another place to eat because, and we mean this in all kindness, you are too loud and it’s too crowded with the five of you in here. Now, to be honest I know I can be loud but when I say I wasn’t loud this year, believe me, I wasn’t. 1. It was too early in the year to be laughing and having a grand ole time, and 2. I was too busy trying to get my bearings in my class and during my lunch break, I’d sit there and try to figure out, “What the H am I going to do when I return to that class to establish learning?” So I now eat in my classroom and the other LTs join me there so we can have some comraderie. I have done my best to not let the room change become a wedge between the local teachers and me. Still there is an emotional distance now because when we would eat together, we would socialize and get to know each other a little better, or so I thought. Now I see them only in passing or when I go to their room to get my lunch from the refrigerator and we smile and greet one another, but we all know that it’s not the same.

So, I’m thinking that acculturation may take more than a year, at least for me. I thought I had gotten accustomed to working here. Actually, I had but that was after a year of training students to the standard I wanted. Now, I feel like Sidney Poitier in “To Sir With Love” at the end of the movie when his first year class has graduated and some of his students for the upcoming year wander into his classroom and taunt him with their surliness. That was then; this is now. So I am keeping in mind that their behavior can and eventually will change but I was hoping I didn’t have to go through the blood, sweat, and tears route again, and maybe it’s the latter that has thrown me. As a colleague said, “I thought this year would be easier because we had gone through the first year which is usually the toughest. But this year it seems just as hard.”

So I see that my last post was in May. Well, much has transpired since then of course and I'm just too lazy to go there. However, I am making a concerted effort to be more timely in my postings. This time, though, something funny has happened. Where I was trying to keep family and friends informed of my life here, now it's a need for me to process my experiences, more like a journal of my observations about them. Still I am Alice Haxton which means that truly private thoughts remain in my handwritten journal but I am more willing to be more open about my views on what all of this (living/working/raising a family) is to me.

Now having said that, know that this is being written on a friend's notebook because my computer had to be sent to the service center. My battery died and because my friend had the wisdom to remind me that it should still be under warranty, I took it to get it replaced. Don't know if it's done like this in the US but had to submit my entire computer with the battery for them to verify that IT is the battery that's the culprit. Thus I am without a computer until 9/21. I may post again before then but don't want to impose on anyone. As some of you know, I returned to work yesterday and the girls went back to school. I was experiencing serious angst about this because my two ring circus was about to resume: work and parenting. Some serious self-talk has been going on along with meal planning and scheduling and running errands related to this major household event. In the midst of making the lunches for the girls the night before I heard my friend Dot say, "You have to be organized, Alice" in that managerial tone of hers. To top it off, while sharing this whole set of worries with another friend, she wrote back, "You can do it . . . organization is key." There it was. A truth that I knew but was fearful of being inconsistent in its implementation.

It has only been day 2 and I have been consistent in my organization, but who can't be consistent for two days? Yet there is a way to go to achieve the goals I have set for this year. (As a teacher, I don't look at years beginning in January. My year begins when school begins.) Part of my problem is trying to do it all PERFECTLY, an attitude I'm struggling to release practically everyday since I have returned. This is my self-talk: living my organized life may not fit the standard that I hold in my head but it may work. Somethings, (ha!) somedays may be great, some good, others just good enough. Still if three of my major objectives are met everyday, then it will be a good day. And what are my major objectives? Healthy and balanced meals (which means preparing meals with more thought and cooking has never been a passion of mine); working with mindfulness but then leaving it behind once I'm home; assisting M&I with their studies, and just being with them without outside thoughts constantly intruding; having family exercise time, and enjoying "me" time: time that is for prayer/meditation, reading, reflection.

As I re-read the last paragraph I take a deep breath. I will not and cannot end with a major pronouncement about where I know this is going to lead, because God knows I don't. I truly am learning to take it a day at a time, and in some cases, it's moment by moment. I guess that's what happens when one is out of her comfort zone. Or maybe, as I age and reflect on how I have been in the past, I am just too tired to continue in the same old patterns. I just don't have the energy anymore, either physically or spiritually. My body and spirit are requiring a new way of living. My friend, Kia, has a poster with a saying of the Buddha:

The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, worry about the future, or anticipate troubles, but to live in the present moment wisely and earnestly.

Buddha certainly knew my inner life because I surely act out the former. It is my struggle to attempt to live the latter.