No Burkas At This Party

Recently I went to my first wedding function. Actually, it was not really a wedding. The party we went to was called a “diiqo” and it’s supposed to be like a housewarming/bridal shower party where everyone brings the bride gifts as she and her husband move in together. It is stage three in the marriage ceremony process. First, there is the legal ceremony, which mostly men attend, where the papers are signed and the couple is legally married. Usually it is between the groom and/or his family and the male representatives of the bride. Then there is a wedding party, which is mostly for the bride, where women come and dress up, eat, dance and shower their friend with congratulations. Then there is a diiqo, which is similar to the women’s party, except for at this function everyone brings gifts. The ironic thing was that the bride (who was nineteen) had been married for two years and already had two children! We are friends with the bride’s sister and she explained to us that it was the groom’s family’s fault for having delayed so long because they are the ones who are supposed to organize the diiqo. But such is life. I guess when you have two small children, it’s hard to squeeze a bridal shower in.

So we (Rachel, Kristie and I) were told to come around 9:00 and we arrived about 9:30. We waited with some other women for a while in a neighbor’s home and after an hour or so we got the phone call that the bride was ready! (Even though it wasn’t the normal marriage party, the bride still wore a huge frilly white dress with perfectly coiffed hair and loads of makeup). So we went to pick her up and arrived at the party at probably 11:00 or 11:30 pm (parties start very late here). It was at this little house in Balbala, a generally poor area which encompasses most of the slums in Djibouti. As the bride got out of the car, there were people lining this tiny little dirt path clapping, cheering and ululating. The three of us followed behind with the bride’s sister. We never saw the groom. As soon as we entered this little house, the bride sat on a fancy decorated couch for pictures and the three of us were grabbed and dragged onto the couch with her—my guess is because we were the only white people there. Still, we didn’t even know the bride, so it is weird getting the seat of honor next to her and having the photographer take tons of video of us just because we are white. Actually, the strangest part is that it is normal to not smile and to look completely bored and disinterested—this is what is expected and becoming for the bridal party. Rachel played the part very well. Kristie tried her best to remain calm and stony-faced. I, on the other hand, probably ruined the video with my smiling, laughing, clapping and general happiness. Every time I tried to be serious I started laughing.

After pictures, we were ushered into the bedroom to sit and chat with some of the other women. After a while the music started blaring and there was a local band playing Somali songs that everyone seemed to know. So we went out to see what was happening and got caught up in the dancing and a scenario ensued that I had never imagined myself taking part in in a conservative Muslim country. First of all, we were all wearing “wedding dirahs” which are like the everyday dirahs (what they call big flowy traditional dresses here) except that only young, unmarried women wear the special “wedding dirahs.” There is a reason for that. These particular dresses are very sparkled with lots of sequins and are completely transparent. You might think I’m kidding about this. I’m not. My first reaction when I put on the dress was, “Wow, why don’t I just go in my underwear? It will save me the trouble of tripping over this long dress.” Fortunately, it comes with a thick underskirt, so you are covered from the waist down. I asked if I could at least wear a tank top under it. The answer from my friend was, “Well you can, but you’re not supposed to and the other women might look at you strangely.” “But seeing my bra and my stomach and everything else from the waist up is normal?” “Yep. It’s how all the other young women dress at these things. I was a little freaked out at my first wedding too, but after a while you get used to it.” Strange that the same girls who wear black robes and large head coverings on the street go to wedding functions half-naked, but rather than argue about this hypocrisy, I decided to go with it. I just made sure to wear a nice new bra so none of the other women could make fun of my cruddy old underwear.

So anyway, as we headed into the room with the music and dancing, we got pulled into the middle of the melee. All of us women were smashed up against each other in the main part of the house, having a great time singing along to the music and dancing. And who else was there? A group full of men sitting stony-faced in chairs two feet away watching all of us shaking and dancing in our shimmery and transparent dresses! I had heard that there are very few men at these functions, but we found one where there seemed to be lots of men. In fact young boys and teenagers were hanging around outside the house because they had heard there was going to be a party and wanted to see all the women in their sheer dresses. Usually a scarf around the head and chest is sufficient covering, but my scarf was quite thin and slippery as an eel, so it was a little hard to keep on and quite ineffective in keeping me covered. As I started copying how the other women were dancing, they laughed and took great delight to see me enjoying myself. They pulled me into the middle of the circle and I started spinning and whirling as they laughed and danced around me. What a surreal experience it was to be the center of attention, dancing in the middle of the room as women fawned over me, clapped, laughed, smiled and danced around me, all of us half-naked under the glaring lights, my scarf never staying up and men in the corner boring holes through my thin little dress with their eyes. The room was a blur of colors, perfumes, scarves, jewelry, sparkles and happy faces. I felt a little silly because I kept stepping on my dress, or someone else’s dress or readjusting my clothes, etc, etc. But if any of the other women thought I looked silly, they didn’t show it. Many of them were very warm and complimentary. After a while we started getting tired, went to the back room to have some food and then were the first ones to leave at 1:30 am. All in all, a fun, strange and interesting experience. I just hope that next time, either the men stay home or I can find a dress that doesn’t make me feel like I should be working at a brothel!

P.S. Pictures above are of us. I'm in light green. Kristie is wearing pink. Rachel is in orange. The bride's sister is in dark green. And of course, the bride in white and several layers of henna, makeup, sparkles and jewelry.