Moroccan Wedding
I have come to the conclusion that in general, Moroccans are incredibly friendly and generous people (assuming money isn’t involved which is really a topic for another blog post). After enthusiastically participating in their annual lamb sacrifice, I was invited to see another part important part of Moroccan culture, a traditional wedding.
Words can’t really describe how lucky I am to be able to participate in these activities. Most tourist see the usual buildings and gardens, take photos of other tourists taking photos. Their cultural education seams to be limited to bargaining for junk in the markets (much of it mass produced in China or India). Those who are really risqué might eat barbecued calves head in the plaza, but that is about the extent of it.
As luck would have it, on the day of the Wedding I was having a bit of a mental fart. I really didn’t want to get out of bed. The last thing I felt like doing was socialising with people. Suddenly, the music started. A troop of females with drums and other percussion instruments started playing repetitive but cheerful wedding chants. Shortly after, the extra friendly neighbour was banging on the door with a gift of typical Moroccan biscuits – enough to feed an army. It was too much. An hour or so later, the neighbour insisted that got dressed and attended the wedding.
I rushed to get out of my pyjamas and into something half respectable. This would be the first wedding I have ever attended without having a shower and a shave before hand. My friend was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and some sporty jacket. I thought, I should fit in. However, when I entered, I realised that this was the Brides wedding party. The courtyard of a house over the road was filled with 100 Moroccan women and children, all with much better dress sense than the few men who were there. Dress ranged from traditional Moroccan to European style fasionista.
Being an Islamic country, there are many restrictions on what Moroccan women are allowed to do. They can’t drink or smoke, sexual relations outside of wedlock is definitely off the menu. However, Morocco is a more moderate and women enjoy some freedoms unavailable in other parts of the Arab world. While their legs and arms are generally covered, they are not forced to, nor do they have to cover their hair. It is up to the individual family to determine what is considered appropriate dress. While some women at the wedding didn’t wear make-up, none of them had their face covered. Unlike other parts of the Arab world, there doesn’t seam to be a cultural pressure for women to hide their beautify from everyone except their husbands. Seeing all of these beautiful women having an outrageous time, without indulging in mind altering substances (other than sugar and caffeine) was refreshing, especially when compared to the drunken orgy which is an Australian wedding.
When I arrived at the wedding, the bride, who was quite old was dressing in white and sitting on a silver throne at one end of the courtyard. People were singing and dancing in front of her. Others were just wall flowers and sat while consuming copious amounts of coffee and biscuits. Sadly, the only one without a smile on their face was the Bride. She has to sit there, without smiling to much and watch everyone else have a good time. At one hour intervals, the Bride was paraded off into a room, where she would change dress and then enter the party again. The song and dance would start again each time she entered the room. The bride starts in white, then moves to blue, pink, red and gold. In the gold dress, she is placed into something best described as a gondola and is lifted into the air and paraded on the shoulders of men around the party. It is at this point that the groom arrives.
After 6 hours of singing and dancing, everyone is pretty hungry. We move into my neighbours courtyard for a feast. Being the only westerner there, the mother kindly brings me out a plate, knife and fork. I Laugh and thank her, but tell her I would like to eat Moroccan style – with my fingers – like everyone else. We sat round a table and the waiter dropped down about 8 bread rolls, which everyone started tearing apart and throwing round the table. He then place a dish with 6 roast chickens with preserved lemon in the middle of the table. There are no formalities like cheers or bon appetite here, everyone just dug straight in. For personal hygiene reasons, you are only allowed to handle the meat with your right hand. It is amazing how the Moroccans have mastered the art of tearing apart a chicken carcass with a single hand. Eating what seamed like half a chicken and a bread roll, I was unable to accept that this was only the first course, and that once our chicken was finished, The waiter replaced the dish with a lamb tagine with prunes and almonds. The particular cut of lamb was quite interesting. It is kind of like a pork spare rib (lots of fat)… Mmm delicious. The Moroccan feast finishes with whatever fruit is available.
By the end of the feast, I was quite tired. I smoked a few cigarettes with the naughty boys outside, got offered hash on several occasions by weedy characters before retiring to my bed room. Before I could get comfortable, there was a knock at the door. It was the father from next door. Because my mum was sick and unable to attend the wedding, he had made her up a plate with dinner which consisted of half a chicken, a few pieces of lamb with the prunes and almonds and about six pieces of fruit. For my mum who hardly eats anything, this was way too much. We saved it for later and I ended up eating most of it for lunch the next day.
In previous times, it was traditional for the newly-weds to go off and consummate their marriage while the party was continuing. The bridal party would then go and inspect the sheets to ensure that the bride was a virgin. I always wondered what would happen if the bride was discovered to not be a virgin (probably stoned to death in a previous time and place). Thankfully we were spared having to examine evidence of the breaking of a hymen.
That basically sums up the Moroccan wedding. I can not thank the family enough to allowing me to come along (even though I had no idea who the bride was). Photos of it are online in my photo gallery. I will upload some videos of it as soon as I can get bloody Cinelerra to install on my stupid computer.