Somali Weddings : a delightful circus!
Picture a large hall; it could be based in a grand old hotel or a local community centre. There is red carpet all over the floors, the tables are nicely clothed and have small vases with plastic flowers in all of them. There are helium balloons hanging in every corner of the hall (they have the names of the bride and groom written on them). On a prominent corner of this hall, there are large speakers and massive lengths of cable. A solitary keyboard is lying on the floor! On the far centre of the hall, there are two stylish chairs (the type usually found in the sitting rooms of posh old style villas in 40’s Hollywood movies).
A group of young girls with rolled up hair; manicured hands, half done makeup and casual clothes are running all over the hall. They stop to talk to each other while trying to hold two other conversations on the two mobile phones they’re carrying. There is panic in their eyes! The wedding cake has not arrived, the food is late and the bride has phoned them for the umpteenth time to check if everything is under control!
The bride’s brother and a couple of his friends arrive carrying huge pots full of food from the morning’s lunch! They claim that the older ladies back home had thought it a good idea to make use of this food. The girls panic! This was supposed to be a classy wedding; the rice and meat will only lower the tone!
The brother and his friend’s attempt to fish in murky waters by flirting with these panicky girls! He receives a phone call. His mother wants him to visit a distant relative on the other side of town to fetch a golden belt; the belt would look really nice on her daughter’s white dress, she thinks. The brother claims not to know the address and persuades his mother to ask one of the girls (the one he likes) to accompany him on this task. The delighted girl fakes shyness and moans about all the preparations she still has to do, but, reluctantly agrees to join the brother on this pointless trip.
The groom arrives with a couple of his friends, his stressed wife to be, had phoned him crying and told him that all her wedding plans were falling apart. He came to assess the damage and see what he could salvage. He speaks to the girls, finds out what the problems are then phones his own mother for advice! The girls faint, his friends heroically try to comfort them.
The bride’s mother arrives on the scene. One of the girls had phoned her and told her about the little conversation the groom had had with his mother! This old lady is not going to be upstaged; it’s traditionally known that the bride’s family are in charge of such events, what does that old woman think she’s playing at by sticking her oar in where it’s not wanted?
The groom receives a call from his elder and very religious brother. He’s ordered to present himself at this brother’s house immediately! The groaning groom wonders if it’s going to be another lecture about the sinfulness and waywardness of mixed weddings! The poor unsuspecting man is unaware of what’s about to hit him. His brother, in addition to the usual lecture about mixed weddings, is planning to lecture him on the birds and the bees tonight. Our happy groom is going to be instructed to, erm, deflower his wife as soon as possible; it’s Sunna!
Meanwhile, the bride is at home being fussed over by a crowd of women. Her best friends are not there to comfort her; they’re all in the hall trying to recreate her vision of a great wedding (one that they spoke about all their lives). She’s got her hair done already; she’s got her henna on. An old lady that’s been staring at her for the past five minutes walks over and declares, in a loud voice, that the bride is looking pale (or rather dark). Everyone panics! Some suggest she puts on the usual skin whitening chemicals (apply it one more time, they say. It’s your wedding day, dear). Others suggest she uses the traditional Somali skin products (which she already used, but one more time will not hurt). She refuses and tells them that this will ruin her hair and she herself will have to reapply her makeup (she knows she can’t do as good a job as the woman in the saloon did earlier). Faced with such rejection, the old lady decides to utilise an old traditional trick, she starts pinching the bride’s cheeks to make them look redder and livelier! The makeup is ruined!
Back in the wedding hall, the guests are starting to arrive. Young girls with dollops of what looks like Vaseline in their hair, teasingly saunter in; young boys with varying styles of dress, raucously stroll in; old ladies with obscenely colourful dresses, casually amble in!
A group of men, dressed in identical and ill-fitting suits arrive carrying more cables, a guitar and a tiny speaker. They place themselves in the corner and start testing the musical equipment. This wedding is in full swing. Among the chatter of the people, the laughs of the girls and the posturing of the boys, a man is heard shouting into the microphone the words “testing, testing, 123”.
A sudden panic sets in amongst our original group of girls. They’re now fully dressed and looking a million dollars. They’ve just been informed that the groom’s family has arrived! One rushes over to welcome them and guide them to their table, they ignore her and sit on another table instead. The groom’s two sisters disdainfully look around and make biting comments about the hall, the tables, the position of the band and everything to do with the setup of this wedding. The groom’s mother shares their sentiment but regally refuses to sully her royal tongue with such base utterances!
The band starts playing, a balding man with a tight suit and retro glasses glides into the dance floor. A couple of girls join him (out of pity perhaps) and start to lazily dance. The band ups the tempo and plays a popular song, whereby all the girls race to the dance floor to join the lazy dance, the shiny bald head of the man can be seen from the distance bobbing away amongst all these fair maidens. A pang of envy goes through all the boys!
The groom, having pacified his brother and promised to consummate his marriage forthwith, and the bride, having reapplied her makeup, fixed her hair and disentangled herself from the clutches of all those women, arrive, sweaty and holding hands.
A line forms at the entrance of the hall to usher the couple in. Envious girls look at the bride’s beauty in awe and absolute wonder; desperate boys hopelessly try to attract her following bridesmaids attention with much winking and rising of eyebrows! The band plays the customary song and the crowd start clapping and singing. The happy couple slowly walk through the parallel lines of cheering guests. A baby in a tuxedo runs across their path, falls and starts crying! A quick-footed girl with a long neck darts in, picks him up and disappears into the crowd.
The bride and groom reach their seats; they’re attacked by our group of girls who start fixing the creases on the man’s suit, the twists on the woman’s dress and the angles of the chairs. A middle-aged man’s voice is heard above all the hubbub. He loudly declares this wedding party, a party that has been running for the past three hours, underway! He invites one of the members of the band to bless this wedding by reading a few verses from the holy book. The band member reads the shortest verse he could think of. A few guests on one side of the hall start clapping, while from the other side of the hall the sound “shush” is loudly heard!
The band start singing a dull song, this is the signal for the bride and groom to begin dancing. They both look uncomfortable and depressed as they tentatively hold hands and start slowly swinging them around while not moving their feet! Each bridesmaid quickly grabs an uncle, cousin, brother or a distant relative and ushers them in into the dance floor. They start whispering encouraging words into the bride and groom’s ears. The bald man glides back into the dance floor with a suitable female partner this time. He grabs hold of the bride and starts energetically dancing with her. Both sets of families wonder who the hell is this man!
An hour later, and while the band is playing a really popular song, someone orders them to stop because the heavyweights are ready to strut their stuff. Everybody groans at the sudden interruption of that great song. A group of old ladies march to the band and one grabs the microphone. Without any instructions, signals or orders the crowd form a circle. The core of that circle is all made of old women and a few daring young girls. It’s ringed by another circle of many young women and a few old ones. That is also surrounded by yet another circle of young women, a couple of old ones and many many leering men. The woman on the microphone loudly (almost savagely) calls out someone’s name. The bride cringes but manages to keep a straight face. Suddenly, a drum is heard! Boom, boom, boom – boom!
The old ladies in the inner circle start bouncing around, sometimes with both feet off the ground! They display an amazing and superhuman level of energy! These ladies, after all, are all registered disabled! They’re the proof, if proof is needed, that joy is a great healer. The baby in the tuxedo is seen jumping amongst the old ladies.
The fun ends and the band starts playing another dull song for the benefit of the bride and groom. Both reluctantly amble back into the dance floor and nonchalantly pretend to dance. The bald man is dancing with a different partner this time. They’re oblivious to the shocked stares as they hold each other closely and slow dance next to the happy couple.
The bride and groom are ushered back into their seats and the band starts playing a fast paced song. All the women stampede into the dance floor, many tying scarves round their waists and shaking their backsides faster than a food blender! The men try but fail to avert their gaze. The baby in the tuxedo stares at all the shaking backsides and heaving bosoms in utter fascination and absolute amazement.
A non-Somali man enters the hall, he sticks out like a sore thumb and one of the bridesmaids is seen in deep conversation with him. He’s the hall manager and he’s there to tell anyone that’ll listen that the party should be over in the next five minutes! An hour later, the band start playing the final song and the bride and groom quickly cut the cake on their way out. As soon as they leave, the streets outside are fully of chattering Somalis and a traffic jam materialises out of thin air. Everyone agrees that it was a good wedding then go on to list all its faults. The boys start circling the crowd and searching for sweet looking single girls in need of a lift home, they get caught by irate old ladies and end up driving them home instead.
Groups of nicely dressed young men and women arrive, late, but coolly slip into the crowds and pretend they’ve been there all along. Two hours later, the streets are empty and the bride’s brother is seen loading empty pots, balloons and various other materials into the boot of his car, the pretty girl is sitting in the passenger seat (could there be another wedding on the horizon?).
A group of young girls with rolled up hair; manicured hands, half done makeup and casual clothes are running all over the hall. They stop to talk to each other while trying to hold two other conversations on the two mobile phones they’re carrying. There is panic in their eyes! The wedding cake has not arrived, the food is late and the bride has phoned them for the umpteenth time to check if everything is under control!
The bride’s brother and a couple of his friends arrive carrying huge pots full of food from the morning’s lunch! They claim that the older ladies back home had thought it a good idea to make use of this food. The girls panic! This was supposed to be a classy wedding; the rice and meat will only lower the tone!
The brother and his friend’s attempt to fish in murky waters by flirting with these panicky girls! He receives a phone call. His mother wants him to visit a distant relative on the other side of town to fetch a golden belt; the belt would look really nice on her daughter’s white dress, she thinks. The brother claims not to know the address and persuades his mother to ask one of the girls (the one he likes) to accompany him on this task. The delighted girl fakes shyness and moans about all the preparations she still has to do, but, reluctantly agrees to join the brother on this pointless trip.
The groom arrives with a couple of his friends, his stressed wife to be, had phoned him crying and told him that all her wedding plans were falling apart. He came to assess the damage and see what he could salvage. He speaks to the girls, finds out what the problems are then phones his own mother for advice! The girls faint, his friends heroically try to comfort them.
The bride’s mother arrives on the scene. One of the girls had phoned her and told her about the little conversation the groom had had with his mother! This old lady is not going to be upstaged; it’s traditionally known that the bride’s family are in charge of such events, what does that old woman think she’s playing at by sticking her oar in where it’s not wanted?
The groom receives a call from his elder and very religious brother. He’s ordered to present himself at this brother’s house immediately! The groaning groom wonders if it’s going to be another lecture about the sinfulness and waywardness of mixed weddings! The poor unsuspecting man is unaware of what’s about to hit him. His brother, in addition to the usual lecture about mixed weddings, is planning to lecture him on the birds and the bees tonight. Our happy groom is going to be instructed to, erm, deflower his wife as soon as possible; it’s Sunna!
Meanwhile, the bride is at home being fussed over by a crowd of women. Her best friends are not there to comfort her; they’re all in the hall trying to recreate her vision of a great wedding (one that they spoke about all their lives). She’s got her hair done already; she’s got her henna on. An old lady that’s been staring at her for the past five minutes walks over and declares, in a loud voice, that the bride is looking pale (or rather dark). Everyone panics! Some suggest she puts on the usual skin whitening chemicals (apply it one more time, they say. It’s your wedding day, dear). Others suggest she uses the traditional Somali skin products (which she already used, but one more time will not hurt). She refuses and tells them that this will ruin her hair and she herself will have to reapply her makeup (she knows she can’t do as good a job as the woman in the saloon did earlier). Faced with such rejection, the old lady decides to utilise an old traditional trick, she starts pinching the bride’s cheeks to make them look redder and livelier! The makeup is ruined!
Back in the wedding hall, the guests are starting to arrive. Young girls with dollops of what looks like Vaseline in their hair, teasingly saunter in; young boys with varying styles of dress, raucously stroll in; old ladies with obscenely colourful dresses, casually amble in!
A group of men, dressed in identical and ill-fitting suits arrive carrying more cables, a guitar and a tiny speaker. They place themselves in the corner and start testing the musical equipment. This wedding is in full swing. Among the chatter of the people, the laughs of the girls and the posturing of the boys, a man is heard shouting into the microphone the words “testing, testing, 123”.
A sudden panic sets in amongst our original group of girls. They’re now fully dressed and looking a million dollars. They’ve just been informed that the groom’s family has arrived! One rushes over to welcome them and guide them to their table, they ignore her and sit on another table instead. The groom’s two sisters disdainfully look around and make biting comments about the hall, the tables, the position of the band and everything to do with the setup of this wedding. The groom’s mother shares their sentiment but regally refuses to sully her royal tongue with such base utterances!
The band starts playing, a balding man with a tight suit and retro glasses glides into the dance floor. A couple of girls join him (out of pity perhaps) and start to lazily dance. The band ups the tempo and plays a popular song, whereby all the girls race to the dance floor to join the lazy dance, the shiny bald head of the man can be seen from the distance bobbing away amongst all these fair maidens. A pang of envy goes through all the boys!
The groom, having pacified his brother and promised to consummate his marriage forthwith, and the bride, having reapplied her makeup, fixed her hair and disentangled herself from the clutches of all those women, arrive, sweaty and holding hands.
A line forms at the entrance of the hall to usher the couple in. Envious girls look at the bride’s beauty in awe and absolute wonder; desperate boys hopelessly try to attract her following bridesmaids attention with much winking and rising of eyebrows! The band plays the customary song and the crowd start clapping and singing. The happy couple slowly walk through the parallel lines of cheering guests. A baby in a tuxedo runs across their path, falls and starts crying! A quick-footed girl with a long neck darts in, picks him up and disappears into the crowd.
The bride and groom reach their seats; they’re attacked by our group of girls who start fixing the creases on the man’s suit, the twists on the woman’s dress and the angles of the chairs. A middle-aged man’s voice is heard above all the hubbub. He loudly declares this wedding party, a party that has been running for the past three hours, underway! He invites one of the members of the band to bless this wedding by reading a few verses from the holy book. The band member reads the shortest verse he could think of. A few guests on one side of the hall start clapping, while from the other side of the hall the sound “shush” is loudly heard!
The band start singing a dull song, this is the signal for the bride and groom to begin dancing. They both look uncomfortable and depressed as they tentatively hold hands and start slowly swinging them around while not moving their feet! Each bridesmaid quickly grabs an uncle, cousin, brother or a distant relative and ushers them in into the dance floor. They start whispering encouraging words into the bride and groom’s ears. The bald man glides back into the dance floor with a suitable female partner this time. He grabs hold of the bride and starts energetically dancing with her. Both sets of families wonder who the hell is this man!
An hour later, and while the band is playing a really popular song, someone orders them to stop because the heavyweights are ready to strut their stuff. Everybody groans at the sudden interruption of that great song. A group of old ladies march to the band and one grabs the microphone. Without any instructions, signals or orders the crowd form a circle. The core of that circle is all made of old women and a few daring young girls. It’s ringed by another circle of many young women and a few old ones. That is also surrounded by yet another circle of young women, a couple of old ones and many many leering men. The woman on the microphone loudly (almost savagely) calls out someone’s name. The bride cringes but manages to keep a straight face. Suddenly, a drum is heard! Boom, boom, boom – boom!
The old ladies in the inner circle start bouncing around, sometimes with both feet off the ground! They display an amazing and superhuman level of energy! These ladies, after all, are all registered disabled! They’re the proof, if proof is needed, that joy is a great healer. The baby in the tuxedo is seen jumping amongst the old ladies.
The fun ends and the band starts playing another dull song for the benefit of the bride and groom. Both reluctantly amble back into the dance floor and nonchalantly pretend to dance. The bald man is dancing with a different partner this time. They’re oblivious to the shocked stares as they hold each other closely and slow dance next to the happy couple.
The bride and groom are ushered back into their seats and the band starts playing a fast paced song. All the women stampede into the dance floor, many tying scarves round their waists and shaking their backsides faster than a food blender! The men try but fail to avert their gaze. The baby in the tuxedo stares at all the shaking backsides and heaving bosoms in utter fascination and absolute amazement.
A non-Somali man enters the hall, he sticks out like a sore thumb and one of the bridesmaids is seen in deep conversation with him. He’s the hall manager and he’s there to tell anyone that’ll listen that the party should be over in the next five minutes! An hour later, the band start playing the final song and the bride and groom quickly cut the cake on their way out. As soon as they leave, the streets outside are fully of chattering Somalis and a traffic jam materialises out of thin air. Everyone agrees that it was a good wedding then go on to list all its faults. The boys start circling the crowd and searching for sweet looking single girls in need of a lift home, they get caught by irate old ladies and end up driving them home instead.
Groups of nicely dressed young men and women arrive, late, but coolly slip into the crowds and pretend they’ve been there all along. Two hours later, the streets are empty and the bride’s brother is seen loading empty pots, balloons and various other materials into the boot of his car, the pretty girl is sitting in the passenger seat (could there be another wedding on the horizon?).
Salaam Ngonge,
I stumbled across your blog whilst surfing some other blogs!
Seems like you have the whole Somali wedding thing figured out already Mate! Suffice it to say that i have attended to a wedding last Friday in Euston, and could somehow relate it, lock, stock and barrel, to your rather ingenious piece of writing...
Am still reading through your other entries in this blog...
keep it up!
Shafici
Posted by
Shafi Said |
9:27 AM
Great post, an uncannily accurate picture of all the somali weddings I've ever attended, it had me in stitches :)
Posted by
Dahab |
3:54 AM
I "lol"ed throughout the entire read. Its dead on. Its so wierd how Somali weddings are the same everywhere, same issues with the manager of the hall, the hastily cut cake... I have moved to a city where there are few Somalis and even fewer weddings. I find myself pining sometimes for all the weddings I am missing out on in my old town. But reading this post reminded me how I always HATED weddings. Now I shudder at thought of ever attending another. I like your style of writing masha Allah.
Posted by
Idil |
9:29 AM