A few weeks ago I received my first invitation to an Omani wedding. Not knowing the bride, I planned to not attend. After finding out that every guest gets a number of tickets to distribute to others (and after Austin telling me I needed to go), I put on the only long formal dress I still own (thanks Megan for making your bridesmaids’ dresses long!) and experienced my first Omani wedding!
The evening began at 8pm on a Monday night…. Work night…. Dreadful… gosh, I am getting old. I drove down into the garage where I waited for my host to arrive and watched hundreds of Omani women walk into the elevator swiftly passing the security guard-- all with glamorous beaded dresses and many with an entire counter of MAC makeup professionally caked on their face. When the time came for me to go in, of course, I had to show my invitation to the guard, unlike the Arabic speaking. What would an underdressed American (sometimes mistaken for Dutch… but nonetheless) woman possibly be doing at this wedding? Upon the invite approval, I walked into the banquet room. AMAZING. Beautiful (expensive) decorations everywhere. Huge fruit sculptures towered the tables, 7 buffet lines around the room, white linen cloths, balloons hanging in large balls, waiting for the bride to leave with her groom (the only man invited to the party) at the end of the night…. Stunning. After greeting the bride and groom’s mothers and sisters with three kisses on the cheeks and a “Salam Alakam”, I instantly got out my camera to take pictures. However, many women were not wearing their abayas… which meant no photos for Liz. However, I managed to snap a few, upon request.
Now, surrounded by all Arabic women, being the only blonde with English as a native tongue, and sitting right beside the aisle… I stood out and began to feel uncomfortable about the dress I had chosen. Not glamorous enough and possibly showing a little too much cleavage, I shyly placed my wrap back on (which I even had to borrow!) where it stayed as a security blanket the rest of the evening. Also, not being much of a dancer but a master people watcher, I starred in awe as the women danced with each other like sixth graders to NSYNC. Many women tied scarves around their lower waist when dancing and let me tell you in the words of Shikara, “Their hips don’t lie”. They effortlessly moved their thin bodies to every beat. Which, by the way, I hate to say; if I had to wear an abaya everyday, I am pretty sure my body would not stay thin. After another hour of dancing, the bride finally arrived. Her entrance, a bit melodramatic- long, and picture-less, the bride took one slow step at a time down the aisle, smiling showing no teeth. Though beautiful, it was the longest 15 minutes of my life with only a bit of excitement when the women yelled loudly “iiiyyyy yiiiiii yiiiiii yiiiiii yiiiiii” when they wanted to show that they thought she was beautiful. When the bride was finally on stage, her grand entrance ended with a grand plop on a chair… where she stayed the rest of the evening and watched others have fun dancing and eating the food her new husband’s family paid for. Seriously, she didn’t move all night… which could have been because the dress weighed 100 pounds more than her own boney body.
After the seating of the bride, Arabic came over the speakers from the hidden male DJ. Women then started RUNNING towards the buffet… I guess that meant it was time to eat! I followed the crowd and got in line where I put a salad, wonton, chicken kabobs, and of course, cheesecake on my plate. Typical East Texan plate… and after being here a couple months, I am sad to say my taste buds aren’t budging on the new food thing. The next hour consisted of eating. Then trays of mountain dew twirled the room… not champagne, not juice, not water…. Lime green MOUNTAIN DEW- the Red Bull of the Middle East, poured into crystal glasses- extremely posh. A little later after all the other women had their caffeine fix and were ready to dance the night away, this women who had to work the next morning with 4 year olds, headed home. After introducing myself to the bride, of course, and being rejected when asked to take a photo I snuck out of the room. So…. This is my condensed story of being an official wedding crasher. I don’t think I fit in as well as Owen Wilson, but I did have a wonderful experience. Below are the few pictures I snapped. Thanks for reading!
Ready for the wedding! My only long dress!
Beautiful fruit displays
Sweet girls
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