Islam

Ejo #14 (Part I) – Invited To An Emirati Wedding; An Inside Look At What Happens Behind The Curtains

Emirati Info, Islam, Learning About Dubai, View all 2 comments

So, it’s 2011.  Happy New Year!  This year, I didn’t make any New Year’s Resolutions.  Nope.  Inspired by a friend, I sat down instead and came up with 11 goals that I wanted to achieve by year’s end.  11 for ’11 (see what I did there?).  One of these goals was to publish an ejo a month for the entire year, so you’ll be hearing a little more from me in 2011 than you have the last couple of years.  But that’s a good thing, right??

So, Australia has the Logie Awards.  The USA ups the glamour quotient significantly with the Oscars.  But let me tell you folks, both of these events pale in comparison beside the extravaganza known as an Emirati Wedding.

In the Middle East, families have been known to go bankrupt in order to put on the most lavish, the most flamboyant, the most grandiose wedding.  Bank loans are common and prices around the 1,000,000 dirham mark are not unheard of, with some escalating to 10,000,000 dirhams and beyond.  It isn’t just about creating a memorable day for the bride and groom.  It becomes a matter of family pride to put on the best wedding of the year.

As an expat, an invitation to one of these things is as common as hen’s teeth (i.e. not very common at all), so if you do get invited to an Emirati wedding, make sure you go.  It doesn’t really matter if you have open heart surgery scheduled for that day, postpone it.  If you are being knighted by the Queen, send someone else to get tapped by a sword.  And if you’re on your deathbed, well, what can I say?  Toughen up princess!  Get out of bed, shake yourself off, put on your Sunday best and get to that wedding – sandstorm, smog or shine!

What I’m trying to say, in case I’m not making myself clear, is that you should go.  It’s an amazing experience.  One which I was lucky enough to be a part of last week when my Emirati manager Omran invited me to his wife’s niece’s wedding.  In fact he invited all the women that work here in the Air Traffic Control tower – I think he did it as an opportunity for us to learn more about the local culture and traditions, and as always I was a willing student.  So, last Wednesday night I donned by best dress (a knee length, silk, Kate Sylvester shift in case you were wondering), slipped on my highest heels (elevating me to a formidable 6’3”), put on my party face and headed off to the Mina A ‘Salam, a five star resort hotel on the beach.

Now, an Emirati wedding reception is just like any other reception in several regards.  In others it is completely different.  The biggest difference is that the couple has usually already been married for the last couple of months.  The marriage ceremony itself is basically the signing of the wedding contract to make the union legal in the eyes of the law (the bride and groom sign separately as they are never in the same room as one another).  After the contract is signed, they are officially married, however they are not permitted to consummate the marriage (wink wink, nudge nudge) until after they hold the reception.  So usually they want to hold it as soon as possible, but convention dictates that they wait a couple of months. 

Just like at the contract signing, at the reception the sexes are kept apart; the men party in one place and the women party in a completely different place and never the twain shall meet.  OK, fair enough; I get the whole Muslim tenet of keeping women’s modesty protected from the hungry eyes of men.  The other major difference (for me anyway) is that of course alcohol is not permitted.  One of my colleagues sweetly suggested that perhaps they would serve booze on the expat table, “out of consideration”.  Yeah, I’m guessing that our needs don’t feature too highly on their list of priorities, and as I suspected there was no liquor at the party.   Not to worry, a few of us got together an hour before the reception at one of the hotel bars to socially lubricate ourselves, the expat way!  So, when we got to the Johara Ballroom, we were by no means raucous (after all, there’d only been time for two cocktails), but we were certainly far more relaxed and receptive to the evening that lay ahead.

OK, allow me to set the scene: At the door, we handed our invitations to the female security detail and were granted entry into another world.  Thousands upon thousands of white rose petals were strewn along the red carpet (yes, red carpet – and the Oscar’s don’t have rose petals do they!) leading into the main room.  Ah, how do I describe the ballroom?  Well, first of all, it’s big.  Very big.  Probably the size of a football field, with cathedral ceilings.  There were 60 tables, each seating 10 – though we were early so the room was empty.  Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING was white.  The chairs were covered in white silk fabric with big bows tied into the back.  Each table had a candlelit mini-chandelier with a large, basketball sized bouquet consisting of white hydrangeas, roses and peonies in the centre.  Two more similar bouquets adorned each side of this.  There was a white catwalk winding through the tables from the centre of the ballroom to the front stage on which was placed a white leather chaise lounge, looking for all the world like a giant throne.  The entire catwalk and stage area was embroidered with a skirt of countless more white flowers.  The overall impression of the room on first entering was like walking into a big, giant, fluffy pavlova.  Yummy!

Even though most of the guests had not yet arrived, there were a great many female servers, divided into two groups.  The Filipina servers were decked out in white shirts and pants, with cute little sequin vests which sparkled under the light.  The Arabic servers on the other hand were all wearing the traditional abaya but these were no ordinary abayas.  They were disco abayas – a brilliant, bright white, and the shelas (headscarves) were all a shimmer from the silver thread and sequins sewed into them.  They dazzled.  Before long my eyes started to hurt and I wished I’d brought my sunglasses to protect them from the glare, but only a moment later the lights were dimmed and the fluffy pavlova turned into a twinkling winter wonderland.

The Filipinas job was to clear the tables and the Arabic ladies poured the tea.  It became increasingly apparent to me that tea serves a very important role in Emirati life.  Gallons of it were being poured all around the room (into cups of course!).  Mint tea poured into beautiful, embellished Moroccan-style teacups.  Tea, sweetened with condensed milk, (a local favourite) served in tiny, porcelain cups and saucers gilded with silver leaf.  And another local traditional tea, the slightly bitter but still delicious za’atar tea poured into tiny crystal-cut goblets.  Of course Arabic coffee spiced with cardamom was also available.  There was no shortage of refreshments (of the non-alcoholic variety that is), and I availed myself of every single offer whilst we waited for the rest of the guests to arrive.

And this, people, is when the show really started.  Let me explain it this way.  When I put on my $400 dress that evening, I got dressed knowing that the wedding was going to be a glamorous affair.  What I didn’t expect was that my little outfit by a New Zealand designer would be put to shame by the sophisticated confections of sartorial giants.  Chanel, Versace, Dior, Gucci, Armani, Dolce & Gabbana, Lanvin, Louis Vuitton, Balmain, Givenchy, Prada.  Every single person that walked through that door looked like they belonged on some Hollywood best dressed list.  They looked better than movie stars.  They looked amazing.  I might as well have turned up in overalls.  And guess what?  I couldn’t exactly hide or blend in, as when I stood up I was at least half a foot taller than anyone else in the room.  Damn those 5” heels!

What I’m attempting to say is that these women weren’t wearing dresses or frocks.  They were wearing gowns.  Stunning, drop-dead-gorgeous, worth-thousands-of-dollars, gowns.  They had all, without doubt, spent their afternoons reclining for hours while someone had tended to their hair and make up.  And I’m not even going to talk about the diamonds.  Suffice to say that the contents of that room were worth millions of dirhams – I don’t even want to try to calculate how many.  Let’s just call it LOTS!

So this red carpet parade took a couple of hours, and by 10.30pm, 550 perfectly groomed women had sat down at their tables, the room now a sea of jewel-coloured dresses.  Emerald, sapphire, ruby, amethyst.  A rainbow of couture.  It was beautiful to behold.  But no sooner had I started to admire all the colours than a veritable Mexican wave of black spread over the room from back to front.  The ladies were all throwing their black abayas back on and covering their up-do’s with their shelas.  This could mean only one thing – a man was about to enter the room!

And that dear friends, is where I shall leave it for this month!  To find out what happened next, tune in to February’s ejo.

Bye til then

Chryss

Ejo #12 – Emirati National Dress: The Dishdash and The Abaya explained

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I’m lucky enough to work with an Emirati who is extremely open and more than happy to answer pretty well any question about his country, culture and religion.  His name is Omran and over the last six months I’ve discussed many, many interesting things with him.  I’d really like to share some of what I’ve learnt with you.  Let me tell you about the national dress of Emirati men and women.  I’ll start with the men as there’s a lot less controversy about what they wear.

 

Arab men wear an ankle length, dress-like tunic (usually with long sleeves) which is called a khandoura.  It is also known as a dishdash which is a much cuter name, I think.  Contrary to popular belief the dishdash is not required to be worn by men for any religious reason.  It is more a traditional outfit of the region, which has been adopted because of its versatility in the desert climate.  It protects the wearer’s skin from direct sunlight while providing very good ventilation under the ‘skirt’.  And of course the white fabric reflects sunlight, keeping the wearer cooler.

 

But white wasn’t always the traditional colour of the khandoura.  Apparently in the olden days the dishdash used to be a more sandy coloured fabric – for rather obvious reasons.  Now that every household has easy access to dry cleaners and can buy bleach at the local supermarket, it has evolved into a very brilliant white outfit.  I am constantly amazed by how bright and clean their whites are.  I know for sure that if I wore a dishdash, it would have coffee stains on it before I even left the house in the morning.

 

It’s not actually decreed anywhere what colour a dishdash is supposed to be so you often see younger guys being a bit more adventurous.  I’ve seen navy and I’ve seen a kind of pale green.  And I’ve seen several shades of brown, from light cream to dark chocolate and even black (which looks rather smart in my opinion).  So while there is variety, I am yet to see anything too crazy or out there.  No pinks or purples, but they do apparently exist.  I’m also pretty sure that Burberry do a dishdash in their signature check.  I sure would love to see that.

 

Another way the Emirati dudes express themselves sartorially is with the headscarf, which is part of their traditional outfit.  You do occasionally see an Arab guy in a dishdash without the headscarf (known as a ghoutra – no it’s not a tea towel, though, yes, they do sometimes resemble kitchen linens), but more often than not they are worn together.  The black coil holding the ghoutra onto their heads is called an igal, and it’s sole purpose is to hold the scarf in place.

 

The ghoutra, you may have noticed, comes in a range of different colours and styles.  All Arabs can wear the white ghoutra (it’s kind of like wearing blue jeans, it’s a staple but it doesn’t really say anything about you).  But each country in the area also has their very own special check pattern in addition to that.  This can be compared to the Scottish clans each having their own tartan check.  It identifies the wearer as belonging to a certain tribe or place.  The Palestinian national check is a large black and white pattern (as worn by the late Yasser Arafat).  The UAE national ghoutra is a small-sized, red and white check.  Actually you’ve probably seen it.  It seemed to gain prominence last year worn as a scarf around the necks of pretty young things around the world.  I’m pretty sure I saw a picture of Elle Macpherson wearing one once.

 

In addition to the pattern on the ghoutra it may also be worn in several different styles depending on how the wearer feels that day or what image he wants to project.  He can just wear it flat across the head or he may pull one side of it over the top of his head, or even twist it at the back kind of like a loose, long braid.  And when he’s feeling sporty he can wrap it around his head, bedouin style, with all the loose ends tucked in.

 

A few people from back home have expressed interest in what is worn underneath the dishdash.  To be honest, I haven’t actually discussed this with Omran, though I’m pretty sure he’d be more than happy to chat to me about it.  Anyway, from my own observations it would appear that, at the very least, they wear a t-shirt or singlet (‘wifebeater’ for my American friends).  I’m pretty sure the dishdash has some kind of  extra fabric around the nether regions (kind of like a skirt) but as for whether or not they wear underpants, this has not been so easy to determine from my casual and furtive glances.  If I had to say I would probably guess that they go commando.  Which is an interesting though when you consider what would happen should a young man wearing a dishdash become unexpectedly aroused (as young men are wont to do).  I’ve never seen it happen so perhaps there is some form of undergarment being worn.  Who knows??  It’s fun to think about anyway.

 

OK, so onto the women.  As opposed to the men, who are wearing the dishdash because of where they’re from, the women wear their national dress because of the religion they believe in.  They are required by the Qur’an to cover up with a loose cloth (in the Middle East, this covering is known as an abaya, and the headscarf is known as a shela).  According to the good book, women are required to hide their ‘ornaments’ in public.  ‘Ornaments’ has been interpreted to mean a woman’s body and hair which is why they cover them up.  Unfortunately, the more extreme Muslims of the world have a tendency to take what the Qur’an says and then try to amplify it in the belief that Allah will think they are better Muslims.  In this case they have decreed that a woman’s ‘ornaments’ means the entire woman, thus forcing her to also cover her face and hands.  From what little I know, this is not actually correct in the eyes of Islam but it is what is sensationally distributed around the world, leading to misinformation.

 

Another misconception is that women are forced to wear the abaya in order to prevent Muslim men from being overcome with passion.  This is bollocks.  First of all (in Dubai at least), Muslim men are exposed to women’s body bits every day as most of the women here are expats.  Secondly, no-one forces the women to wear the abaya (again, I speak only for Dubai).  They are actually proud to wear it.  This is worth repeating (and I’m not exaggerating it or making it up).  They are proud to wear the abaya.  I’m telling you, if you saw a group of young Emirati women in the mall walk past you, their black robes swishing around them, you could only describe them as regal.  It actually gives them a power – because only they know what is underneath the robe.  And it’s not a power that only the observer imagines.  You can see that they are more than aware of it themselves.  It was wonderful to realise this when I first came here, because just like everyone else, I assumed that they were being oppressed by having to wear it.  Not so.

 

Plus, in recent years, particularly with younger women, it has become quite the fashion to decorate the abaya with all manner of shiny things – like sequins, glittery thread and even Swarovski crystals.  Funny how the garment that they are wearing to hide their ornaments is now covered in them.  But they are pretty, and it is big business.  Even the major designers are jumping on the bandwagon and designing the black robes.  Christian Dior, Chanel, Gucci.  They all make abayas and charge up to 30,000dhs for them (that’s about AUD$10,000).  So tell me, if you’re wearing a Dolce & Gabbana abaya, are you really being oppressed???

 

The original purpose of the abaya is to protect a woman’s modesty – I suppose this could be interpreted as meaning it is required in order to prevent a man’s uncontrollable lust???  I don’t know.  What I do know is that, according to Islam, only her husband has the right to see a woman’s body.  Perhaps I’m romanticising it but I think that’s kind of cool.  I certainly know that some days I would love to have the option of wrapping an abaya around myself and stepping out in the world with no-one being able to see what I’m wearing underneath.  Admittedly those are either ‘fat’ days when my jeans are a bit tight and I just want to go out in tracksuit pants, or when everything else I own is in the wash.

 

OK, that’s it for now.  I had a funny story to tell you (unrelated to dishdashes and abayas) but this has turned into quite a long ejo so I’ll save it for the next one.  I’m sure by then I’ll have more than just one funny story to tell.  I promise, promise, promise not to take three months before I write to you again.

Ejo #9 – Ramadan In Dubai (What It Means And What To Expect)

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It’s been a while between drinks, hasn’t it?  Fear not, the ejo’s are not drying up, merely gathering steam in order to (hopefully) entertain and inform you.  For those of you new to the ejo, welcome and enjoy.

 

So, what have David and I been up to?  Well we’ve been quite busy, and allowed our itchy feet to take us where they will.  Since the last ejo we’ve been to Thailand and Jordan but what I’d really like to talk to you about in this email is our experience of Ramadan.  Now, before I packed up to move to a Muslim country, I’d certainly heard of Ramadan but I had no real concept of what it meant, or entailed.  Following is what I’ve learnt:

 

Ramadan is the name of the 9th month of the Islamic Calendar in the same way that September is the 9th month of our Gregorian Calendar.  Unlike our calendar though the Islamic one is based on lunar sightings and so is unfixed, changing from year to year (on average it starts 11 days earlier than the year before).  Ramadan is also the month during which the first verses of the Quran are said to have been revealed to the prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him).  This is kinda comparable to Moses bringing the ten commandments down the mountain but in fact much more important because it is considered the birth of Islam.  Exciting stuff huh?

 

Sooooo, to honour this major event (and because Allah told them to), Muslims around the world undertake to fast.  This means no eating, drinking, smoking, chewing gum, singing, dancing, swearing, thinking impure thoughts, playing music or showing affection in public during daylight hours.  (Daylight is deemed to have commenced at the first moment the naked eye can discern a white thread from a black one.)  The purpose of all this restraint is to separate the person’s physical body with their spiritual self.  It’s a time of increased spirituality, more intense praying and an opportunity to commune with Allah.

 

For us non-Muslims, it’s an opportunity to experience enforced denial (at least in public) of things you wouldn’t even think twice about before doing.  Things like having a sip of water when you’re thirsty, of going out to grab a bite to eat for lunch, and during this time, even holding hands with your partner is frowned upon.  If you are caught, say drinking water in public, the police may just give you a warning, but it is completely within their rights to throw you in jail for the remainder of the festival (yes, it’s considered a festival, go figure!!).

 

It is a really difficult thing to do (especially refraining from drinking liquid all day long when the temperatures right now are getting up to 42C/107F) and I especially feel sorry for the Indian construction workers who are outdoors for 12 hours a day.  They’re not even Muslim but they still have to deny themselves a drink of water.  It doesn’t exactly seem fair, and I’m not sure what Allah would think of it. But I don’t want to give the wrong impression.  I do admire and respect the basic principle behind it.

 

The daily highlight of Ramadan is, of course, the breaking of the fast after sundown.  This is called ‘iftar’ and the custom is to just eat a couple of dates initially in order to get the digestive system ready for the feast ahead.  And what a feast it is!!  Traditionally, a small animal (goat, sheep) is slaughtered as sacrifice, and then roasted to tender, succulent perfection to reward all those who have fasted during the day.  Occasionally this still occurs.  While driving through Jordan, David saw them slit a lamb’s throat, right out there on the road, and drain the blood in a bucket (halal style).  But it is more common these days for several families to get together each night and for each family to bring several small dishes of food, resulting in a massive and delicious buffet meal.  Yum!  Unfortunately we haven’t been invited to iftar this year but I’ll be angling for an invite next year for sure – especially if there’s a goat or sheep involved.

 

During Ramadan, all the big 5 star hotels make up for not serving food during the day by erecting enormous, air-conditioned Iftar Tents and then put on a huge buffet feast, kind of trying to replicate the traditional family breaking of the feast.  The other big eating time of day (or night, rather) is called Suhoor, and it’s the big feast before sunrise (or before you can tell that white thread from the black).  So people get up at 4am to stuff their faces with what is usually a very heavy, rich meal (to stave off the future hunger for as long as possible), and drink litres of water before going back to bed.  I’m not convinced this is the healthiest thing in the world to do but then again, I’m not the one fasting, so I’ll just shut up.  I’m pretty sure I’d be eating non-stop from iftar to suhoor, so there you go.

 

Being a Muslim country, the city, very thoughtfully, makes it pretty easy for the fasters.  As I’ve said, eating, drinking and chewing in public are basically illegal.  To that effect most cafes, restaurants, bars etc are closed during the day, and those that are open (to cater to non-Muslims) must conceal their dining areas behind screens or by blacking out the windows (alcohol is not permitted to be served anywhere in the city until after sundown).  I’ll tell you what, it’s a strange experience to walk through a mall foodcourt, usually buzzing with hundreds of people munching and slurping away, and to see it completely empty, tumbleweeds blowing past (well, not really but it conjures an image, no?).

 

Of course Islam seems to be a very reasonable religion, so the elderly, physically and mentally ill, children, pregnant and menstruating women are exempt from fasting.  Depending on the reason, a person will either be required to make up the missed fasting days at a later stage, or they must pay enough to feed one poor person for every day that they miss.  How much more reasonable can you get?

 

Anyway, Ramadan segues beautifully into my next ejo (coming out soon) which is about our trip to Jordan.  Funny story actually.  David had some leave from work and we thought, “Wouldn’t it be nice to get out of Dubai during Ramadan?”.  So we looked up the special fares that Emirates Airlines (our preferred airline of course) was offering during the period and we booked an AMAZING deal to Jordan.  About five minutes after we’d booked and paid for the tickets, we looked at each other and one of us (I can’t remember who) said, “Do they follow Ramadan in Jordan?”.  To which the answer turned out to be: DO THEY EVER!!

 

We weren’t going to let a little thing like that stop us enjoying our twelve days in Jordan though (being the bold travellers that we are).  And this is where I’ll leave you.  I hope you’ve enjoyed my little lesson about Ramadan (I do like to share everything that I learn here and I hope I’m not stuffing it down your throats). 

 

Kisses to all
Chryss

 

PS David says hi