Monday night, a few of us girls attended an Omani wedding (زفاف عماني or zifaf o3mani), courtesy of my peer facilitator. It was a really interesting experience, worth being pretty tired the next day in class.
When Ayman came to pick us up, she was wearing a glitzy veil and abaya, black as usual but smothered in sequins, over a red prom dress. I could also see that she had on several layers of makeup, including heavy white foundation and red lipstick. Ayman told us in the car that it was forbidden to photograph the bride, or photograph in general, at the wedding (hence this post without pictures). You could take pictures of yourself, but only against the wall so that no one else was in the shot. About twenty minutes later, we arrived at the reception hall. The room was massive - and it looked basically like prom. There was a gazebo over the entryway and lots of large round tables sheathed in linens. At the opposite end of the room there was a massive silver and blue backdrop with a throne on it (again, think prom and you're on the right track).
Once we were in the hall, all the women took off their abayas and veils to reveal the (prom) dresses underneath: lots of ruffles, sequins, glitter, and layers. The hair was high and the makeup thick. Omani weddings are gender-segregated affairs: there are no men present, except the groom, so women can show off their dresses and they do not need to cover. It was the first time I've seen skin since being in Oman. That's why you're not allowed to take pictures - the women are uncovered, and don't want their pictures circulating on the internet. Fair enough: if you go all that effort to veil, it would be lame to have that ruined by some snap-happy wedding guest.
We found a table and sat down, and watched the small group of women dancing to Arabic music in the center aisle. A rather stout young lady had squeezed herself into a gold sequined fishtail gown, with a huge black bouffant and incredibly heavy eye makeup. She was dancing in the center of the group (to be honest, she kind of looked like a drag queen, which made me immediately like her). She made eye contact with Julia and I, and motioned for us to come join. When we laughed and shook our heads, she sashayed over to us and cajoled us onto the dance floor. The dancing was pretty tame, but lots of fun. We only recognized one song (Pitbull!) as the rest were Arabic pop music. After a few songs, we sat down so the bride could enter. She walked slowly up the center aisle by herself - no bridesmaids, no parents, etc. When she got up to the throne, she sat down. It was rather anti-climactic - after that, there was no ceremony or speech or anything. Instead, she was photographed copiously by her official wedding photographer (the only one allowed to take pictures of her). The announcer called out that the buffet was open, and 300 women in prom dresses waddled over to get food, tripping over trains and tails to get at the hummus and kebabs.
At the end of dinner, the announcer came on again - this time to announce the arrival of the groom. Immediately everyone pulled on their abayas and veils - except the bride, and except for the groom's female family members. The groom entered, and a group of his family and kids swarmed him. He was wearing a dishdash and a khanjar, the curved dagger so popular here but worn only for ceremony, and he walked slowly up the center aisle towards the bride (it must have been pretty strange for him to be the only man in the entire massive ballroom!). He sat down next to her, and the photographer returned.
...and that was basically it. The wedding officially started at 8:30pm, and we were out the door at 11:15pm. When I asked how they estimated the number of guests, since it's very common to just bring lots of friends with you, Ayman told me that each invited guest gets a number of "entry tickets" (literally), so she could bring 5 guests. In many ways, to me, the wedding felt pretty anonymous - I feel like it would be awkward to have strangers at your wedding. For me, wedding guests should be people who are supportive of your choice to marry someone, which means they need to know you - and know your spouse. But here, it's common. Weddings are social and political events that publicly announce the couple's new status in society. And the focus isn't on the couple - just the bride. Since there are only women at the wedding party, it felt to me kind of like a bachelorette party (minus the scandalous bits)...at least until the groom came in. This is the first wedding I've been to without men or alcohol.
Also, there are no toasts, no vows, no cake-cutting, and no first dance. But this makes sense - if your marriage is arranged, and you don't know your fiance before you marry him, there are no stories about the couple. There is no couple - this is where it starts. And arranged marriages are highly contingent on social and economic status, and so hinge on political arrangements and liaisons between families. The vows don't exist except in the form of a marriage contract - the couple's families negotiate the marriage contract, including whether she is allowed to work, whether she will veil and in what fashion, where the couple will live, whether the husband is allowed to take other wives, and rights or conditions under which it is permissible to request divorce (if any). So, the wedding isn't really about romance - it's a social, economic, and political negotiation and performance. We use the term wedding, but I don't think the concept translates accurately cross-culturally. This is not to say that these couples do not experience love - just that the concept of wedding is vastly different in American and Omani cultures, and play very different roles in these communities.
I never met the bride or groom, but I am grateful to have had the experience of attending an Omani wedding. And because I am American (and a sappy romantic one at that), and we toast at weddings: Sultan and Ruqaya, I wish you happiness, love, and every good thing! Mabrouk alayk!
When Ayman came to pick us up, she was wearing a glitzy veil and abaya, black as usual but smothered in sequins, over a red prom dress. I could also see that she had on several layers of makeup, including heavy white foundation and red lipstick. Ayman told us in the car that it was forbidden to photograph the bride, or photograph in general, at the wedding (hence this post without pictures). You could take pictures of yourself, but only against the wall so that no one else was in the shot. About twenty minutes later, we arrived at the reception hall. The room was massive - and it looked basically like prom. There was a gazebo over the entryway and lots of large round tables sheathed in linens. At the opposite end of the room there was a massive silver and blue backdrop with a throne on it (again, think prom and you're on the right track).
Once we were in the hall, all the women took off their abayas and veils to reveal the (prom) dresses underneath: lots of ruffles, sequins, glitter, and layers. The hair was high and the makeup thick. Omani weddings are gender-segregated affairs: there are no men present, except the groom, so women can show off their dresses and they do not need to cover. It was the first time I've seen skin since being in Oman. That's why you're not allowed to take pictures - the women are uncovered, and don't want their pictures circulating on the internet. Fair enough: if you go all that effort to veil, it would be lame to have that ruined by some snap-happy wedding guest.
We found a table and sat down, and watched the small group of women dancing to Arabic music in the center aisle. A rather stout young lady had squeezed herself into a gold sequined fishtail gown, with a huge black bouffant and incredibly heavy eye makeup. She was dancing in the center of the group (to be honest, she kind of looked like a drag queen, which made me immediately like her). She made eye contact with Julia and I, and motioned for us to come join. When we laughed and shook our heads, she sashayed over to us and cajoled us onto the dance floor. The dancing was pretty tame, but lots of fun. We only recognized one song (Pitbull!) as the rest were Arabic pop music. After a few songs, we sat down so the bride could enter. She walked slowly up the center aisle by herself - no bridesmaids, no parents, etc. When she got up to the throne, she sat down. It was rather anti-climactic - after that, there was no ceremony or speech or anything. Instead, she was photographed copiously by her official wedding photographer (the only one allowed to take pictures of her). The announcer called out that the buffet was open, and 300 women in prom dresses waddled over to get food, tripping over trains and tails to get at the hummus and kebabs.
At the end of dinner, the announcer came on again - this time to announce the arrival of the groom. Immediately everyone pulled on their abayas and veils - except the bride, and except for the groom's female family members. The groom entered, and a group of his family and kids swarmed him. He was wearing a dishdash and a khanjar, the curved dagger so popular here but worn only for ceremony, and he walked slowly up the center aisle towards the bride (it must have been pretty strange for him to be the only man in the entire massive ballroom!). He sat down next to her, and the photographer returned.
...and that was basically it. The wedding officially started at 8:30pm, and we were out the door at 11:15pm. When I asked how they estimated the number of guests, since it's very common to just bring lots of friends with you, Ayman told me that each invited guest gets a number of "entry tickets" (literally), so she could bring 5 guests. In many ways, to me, the wedding felt pretty anonymous - I feel like it would be awkward to have strangers at your wedding. For me, wedding guests should be people who are supportive of your choice to marry someone, which means they need to know you - and know your spouse. But here, it's common. Weddings are social and political events that publicly announce the couple's new status in society. And the focus isn't on the couple - just the bride. Since there are only women at the wedding party, it felt to me kind of like a bachelorette party (minus the scandalous bits)...at least until the groom came in. This is the first wedding I've been to without men or alcohol.
Also, there are no toasts, no vows, no cake-cutting, and no first dance. But this makes sense - if your marriage is arranged, and you don't know your fiance before you marry him, there are no stories about the couple. There is no couple - this is where it starts. And arranged marriages are highly contingent on social and economic status, and so hinge on political arrangements and liaisons between families. The vows don't exist except in the form of a marriage contract - the couple's families negotiate the marriage contract, including whether she is allowed to work, whether she will veil and in what fashion, where the couple will live, whether the husband is allowed to take other wives, and rights or conditions under which it is permissible to request divorce (if any). So, the wedding isn't really about romance - it's a social, economic, and political negotiation and performance. We use the term wedding, but I don't think the concept translates accurately cross-culturally. This is not to say that these couples do not experience love - just that the concept of wedding is vastly different in American and Omani cultures, and play very different roles in these communities.
I never met the bride or groom, but I am grateful to have had the experience of attending an Omani wedding. And because I am American (and a sappy romantic one at that), and we toast at weddings: Sultan and Ruqaya, I wish you happiness, love, and every good thing! Mabrouk alayk!
