We got up and dressed. I was going to a religious judge to make the declaration of Islam to show that I had converted. I would have to do this in order to marry my young Muslim Palestinian lover. The chambers were in Ramallah so it would mean getting a ride in a produce truck and passing through an Israeli checkpoint. My American passport gave me easy pass but my lover and his male relatives had to wait and be inspected and detained for a half an hour; a short time made so by my presence. because typically it would take more than an hour.
We stopped in front of a typical Ramallah building and went up a couple flights of stairs. We waited our turn and then I was to step up to a judge in a room filled with wooden floors, wooden furniture and a wooden desk-like table the judge sat behind. It was a bit raised like many judge benches are. The judge, Esam and I were the only ones in the room; our voices echoed in the quiet. The judge was dressed in some robes with a wrapped thing around his head that I had seen on other Arabs. He spoke to Esam for a moment and then turned to me and said in English; "Are you prepared to renounce your faith and become a Muslim?" I replied "I have no organized faith; yes I am ready." He then explained that Islam is not a religion that seeks converts; people must only choose it out of their own free will. He asked me if I was I being forced, bribed, pressured or coerced and I said I wasn't. He asked if I was converting out of my own free will. I replied that I was. He asked me if I understood the basic tenets of Islam. I said I did. He asked me what those were and I said in English that there is only one merciful God and Muhammad is His prophet. He asked if I could say that in Arabic and, having rehearsed with Esam, I said I could. "Please state the Shahada for me then" he said. He was a wise and kindly man and I felt it in the tone of his words with me. I took a breath and, in perfect pronunciation I said, "Ash hadu, la illaha, il Allah w ana Muhammad rasool Allah." He was surprised that I sounded like I had been speaking Arabic my whole life. He complimented me on that and then stamped a small paper with a beautiful Arabic symbol and handed this to me. I was now officially Muslim and free to marry Esam.
We left the building and walked to a jewelry store where Esam and his father bought us our wedding bands. They were 22 karat gold bands etched with beautiful patterns.
We got into another produce truck and began the drive to Kalendia where the actual legal ceremony would take place. After going through another checkpoint, we arrived at the Imam's home. We were shown inside a shadowed room where there were couch-seats all around the room and a table in the center. The room was small and the tiles on the floor echoed our steps.
The Imam greeted us and Esam's father, older brother, paternal Uncle Mahmoud, and maternal Uncle Ali all joined us. The Imam's wife served tea to everyone and some cakes and then left. The Imam discussed with the men the marriage contract. Ami Mahmoud represented me (because my father was not there) and though I didn't understand what they said, I realized they were working the marriage contract out and that I was at least being represented. Then the Imam turned to me and asked me in English how old I was. I told him I was 19. Then he asked me if I was coming to this marriage of my own free will. I said I was. Then he turned to Esam and in English ( for my benefit) asked him the same questions. Then after some more discussion, Esam and I signed the contract and the Imam told Esam to explain to me what it said. Esam agreed to do so. The the Imam said a prayer and when it was done, everyone placed their hands on their faces as though wiping them clean and they all said "Ameen" which means "it is done" or "so be it." We all got up and the men said their good-byes. I had been told to be quiet through most of it so I remained quiet and the Imam didn't shake my hand (nor did I offer it).
The whole time I was sitting there the feeling I had was that this was another life, another place, another time. When the prayer was over I could feel a sense of the gravity of the day, the momentousness of my words as I said I was coming of my own free will to this marriage. Wasn't marriage forever? I barely knew this young man; I felt a connection with him but would that connection withstand our cultural differences?
Esam got into the back seat of the produce truck and as we waited for the other members of his relatives to climb into the back truck bed (now empty of produce) he turned to me, took my hand, and his eyes were shining. He placed the wedding ring on my finger then put his on. He kept holding my hand as he said, "Carrie, my heart will break; I love you this day and I wish I could run free in the fields with you." I didn't know what he meant by that but much later I would come to understand his heartfelt words
He kept my hand in his as we returned to his home in the village. His mother welcomed me home, calling me "daughter" in Arabic and hugged me. Fareedah also called me "sister" and hugged me. I felt so welcomed! These people knew I was from another culture, another religion and another land but they treated me as though I was a well loved daughter and sister of the family. There was food and then the preparations began. For three days there would be celebrating, feasting and dancing to culminate with my "wedding" day. Through out the merriment and celebrating, I never forgot his quiet and soulful words on our legal marriage day.
The next morning, we were awakened by his mother. He was in the middle of making love to me as she knocked on the door. He called out "wait!" as we finished. Then he got up and went out; I said I needed time to dress and wash myself so he went out alone. There were buckets of clean cold water in the room and a large, metal round shallow wash pan. I washed myself and I heard several women (who had arrived that morning) calling out the door in loud voices. Later I was to learn they were announcing the wedding ceremony of Esam and I. When I came out of the room, all these women crowded around me and ushered Esam out of the house to go celebrate with the men. More women came and they sat me in the other room off the main front room. They took my hands and washed them. Then they used dough and made some symbols and placed these on my hands. They put this green muddy stuff on both my hands and told me to wait there as they served tea and food and sang and celebrated. After about 45 minutes, they brought a bucket of cool water and another pan to catch the water and had me wash my hands as they poured the water for me. When the mud was washed off, my hands were orange except for where the dough symbols had been. I realized they had hennaed my hands. Then I was served tea and food and fruit. Everyone of the women were dressed in the most beautiful dresses with hand embroidered flowers and geometrical patterns on them.
As the day waned, Esam returned and showed his hands, they were also hennaed. He said it is a custom for married people to have their hands hennaed and to have a month off after they marry. He explained that we would be invited to dinner every night for a month to people's homes in the village. It was not until late that everyone left and I finally had time with him alone. He made love to me again; this was becoming an every night, every morning thing and I was enjoying it when I was able to climax; that was hit or miss so often I felt frustrated.
The next day was similar except for the henna; the women came and the men stayed outside; people celebrated by just hanging around and eating all day. The third day, I was awakened early and Esam and his relatives took me to Ramallah. I was taken to a beauty shop to have my hair fixed and my face made up. The problem was, I had very thin hair and they had trouble getting it to do what they wanted. Also the make up they used was too dark for me; my skin was really pale by then (it being spring) so I looked like a hooker in the dark blue eye shadow, black eye liner, black mascara, dark red rouge and dark red lipstick. Then I was taken to a bridal shop where I tried on a few dresses until they found one that fit me. It had beading and had those hoops beneath that made the whole dress bell out like an dress from the 1800's. The veil came next and then I was taken back to the house.
When we got back to the house, I could smell food (and I was getting hungry) but I was placed in the room I had been sleeping in (which was actually Fareedah & Jemell's room) with a lot of young girls. Meanwhile, the men were outside and the other room was festooned with decorations, a table and two chairs on the table were set up. While I waited, the young teenage girls belly danced for me and their movements were enchanting. They had such innocent yet graceful hip and belly movements but they were not in belly dancing costumes; just long shirts over pants with a long scarf tied around their hips. Someone brought me food and water and I ate while the others sang and danced.
Later, Esam came for me and we went outside to a car. Ami Mahmoud led me to the car (as representing my father) and Esam and I got into the back of the car. Women of the village, dressed in their finest embroidered dresses and scarves danced around the car as it slowly made its way around the village and then came back. When we came back, Esam handed me out and escorted me to the decorated room. This was a symbol of me leaving my father and going to my husband's home.
We got up on the chairs on the table and sat there while the room filled with women and chidlren of all ages. They sang, danced and gave us money. Then Esam took me down and we danced together; not slow dancing close but more like line dancers do and I whirled with my belled skirt and enjoyed the Arabic music and the clapping and stomping of feet. Then Esam left to dance with the men while young girls shyly took my hand and danced with me. This went on long past dark (and Esam joined me several times). Then everyone left and he and I went to bed in his brother's room for the last time. In the darkness, he told me we needed to make a handkerchief of virginity to show the villagers. It was fortunate that I was on my period because I could just put some blood on it in the morning and he would have it if needed.
The next morning, we were awakened at the crack of dawn with several women insisting on seeing me. Again, we were in the middle of making love (with the handkerchief under me) when they knocked and I asked Esam for time to at least wash and brush my hair and don my robe. He inched out the door and told them I was shy and needed a bit of time.
In a few minutes, I opened the door and found several women pinching my cheeks and making comments about me (which I gathered were flattering). There were some questions going on but Esam kept putting them off until he finally disappeared into the room we shared and came back with a handkerchief with some blood and semen on it. This seemed to satisfy the women but I was embarrassed. Then they let me go back and get dressed.
The rest of the day, we had no time alone and this went on for a month. We only had time alone at night. I told Esam that in my culture, newlyweds get time alone called the "honeymoon" to bond and be together without anyone else but he said in his culture people want to see the newlyweds so we had visitors all day, every day for that month and spent every evening in someone's home eating until late. Eventually I got used to that and relaxed but I always wished we could have had more time to ourselves without the cultural constraints.
We stopped in front of a typical Ramallah building and went up a couple flights of stairs. We waited our turn and then I was to step up to a judge in a room filled with wooden floors, wooden furniture and a wooden desk-like table the judge sat behind. It was a bit raised like many judge benches are. The judge, Esam and I were the only ones in the room; our voices echoed in the quiet. The judge was dressed in some robes with a wrapped thing around his head that I had seen on other Arabs. He spoke to Esam for a moment and then turned to me and said in English; "Are you prepared to renounce your faith and become a Muslim?" I replied "I have no organized faith; yes I am ready." He then explained that Islam is not a religion that seeks converts; people must only choose it out of their own free will. He asked me if I was I being forced, bribed, pressured or coerced and I said I wasn't. He asked if I was converting out of my own free will. I replied that I was. He asked me if I understood the basic tenets of Islam. I said I did. He asked me what those were and I said in English that there is only one merciful God and Muhammad is His prophet. He asked if I could say that in Arabic and, having rehearsed with Esam, I said I could. "Please state the Shahada for me then" he said. He was a wise and kindly man and I felt it in the tone of his words with me. I took a breath and, in perfect pronunciation I said, "Ash hadu, la illaha, il Allah w ana Muhammad rasool Allah." He was surprised that I sounded like I had been speaking Arabic my whole life. He complimented me on that and then stamped a small paper with a beautiful Arabic symbol and handed this to me. I was now officially Muslim and free to marry Esam.
We left the building and walked to a jewelry store where Esam and his father bought us our wedding bands. They were 22 karat gold bands etched with beautiful patterns.
We got into another produce truck and began the drive to Kalendia where the actual legal ceremony would take place. After going through another checkpoint, we arrived at the Imam's home. We were shown inside a shadowed room where there were couch-seats all around the room and a table in the center. The room was small and the tiles on the floor echoed our steps.
The Imam greeted us and Esam's father, older brother, paternal Uncle Mahmoud, and maternal Uncle Ali all joined us. The Imam's wife served tea to everyone and some cakes and then left. The Imam discussed with the men the marriage contract. Ami Mahmoud represented me (because my father was not there) and though I didn't understand what they said, I realized they were working the marriage contract out and that I was at least being represented. Then the Imam turned to me and asked me in English how old I was. I told him I was 19. Then he asked me if I was coming to this marriage of my own free will. I said I was. Then he turned to Esam and in English ( for my benefit) asked him the same questions. Then after some more discussion, Esam and I signed the contract and the Imam told Esam to explain to me what it said. Esam agreed to do so. The the Imam said a prayer and when it was done, everyone placed their hands on their faces as though wiping them clean and they all said "Ameen" which means "it is done" or "so be it." We all got up and the men said their good-byes. I had been told to be quiet through most of it so I remained quiet and the Imam didn't shake my hand (nor did I offer it).
The whole time I was sitting there the feeling I had was that this was another life, another place, another time. When the prayer was over I could feel a sense of the gravity of the day, the momentousness of my words as I said I was coming of my own free will to this marriage. Wasn't marriage forever? I barely knew this young man; I felt a connection with him but would that connection withstand our cultural differences?
Esam got into the back seat of the produce truck and as we waited for the other members of his relatives to climb into the back truck bed (now empty of produce) he turned to me, took my hand, and his eyes were shining. He placed the wedding ring on my finger then put his on. He kept holding my hand as he said, "Carrie, my heart will break; I love you this day and I wish I could run free in the fields with you." I didn't know what he meant by that but much later I would come to understand his heartfelt words
He kept my hand in his as we returned to his home in the village. His mother welcomed me home, calling me "daughter" in Arabic and hugged me. Fareedah also called me "sister" and hugged me. I felt so welcomed! These people knew I was from another culture, another religion and another land but they treated me as though I was a well loved daughter and sister of the family. There was food and then the preparations began. For three days there would be celebrating, feasting and dancing to culminate with my "wedding" day. Through out the merriment and celebrating, I never forgot his quiet and soulful words on our legal marriage day.
The next morning, we were awakened by his mother. He was in the middle of making love to me as she knocked on the door. He called out "wait!" as we finished. Then he got up and went out; I said I needed time to dress and wash myself so he went out alone. There were buckets of clean cold water in the room and a large, metal round shallow wash pan. I washed myself and I heard several women (who had arrived that morning) calling out the door in loud voices. Later I was to learn they were announcing the wedding ceremony of Esam and I. When I came out of the room, all these women crowded around me and ushered Esam out of the house to go celebrate with the men. More women came and they sat me in the other room off the main front room. They took my hands and washed them. Then they used dough and made some symbols and placed these on my hands. They put this green muddy stuff on both my hands and told me to wait there as they served tea and food and sang and celebrated. After about 45 minutes, they brought a bucket of cool water and another pan to catch the water and had me wash my hands as they poured the water for me. When the mud was washed off, my hands were orange except for where the dough symbols had been. I realized they had hennaed my hands. Then I was served tea and food and fruit. Everyone of the women were dressed in the most beautiful dresses with hand embroidered flowers and geometrical patterns on them.
As the day waned, Esam returned and showed his hands, they were also hennaed. He said it is a custom for married people to have their hands hennaed and to have a month off after they marry. He explained that we would be invited to dinner every night for a month to people's homes in the village. It was not until late that everyone left and I finally had time with him alone. He made love to me again; this was becoming an every night, every morning thing and I was enjoying it when I was able to climax; that was hit or miss so often I felt frustrated.
The next day was similar except for the henna; the women came and the men stayed outside; people celebrated by just hanging around and eating all day. The third day, I was awakened early and Esam and his relatives took me to Ramallah. I was taken to a beauty shop to have my hair fixed and my face made up. The problem was, I had very thin hair and they had trouble getting it to do what they wanted. Also the make up they used was too dark for me; my skin was really pale by then (it being spring) so I looked like a hooker in the dark blue eye shadow, black eye liner, black mascara, dark red rouge and dark red lipstick. Then I was taken to a bridal shop where I tried on a few dresses until they found one that fit me. It had beading and had those hoops beneath that made the whole dress bell out like an dress from the 1800's. The veil came next and then I was taken back to the house.
When we got back to the house, I could smell food (and I was getting hungry) but I was placed in the room I had been sleeping in (which was actually Fareedah & Jemell's room) with a lot of young girls. Meanwhile, the men were outside and the other room was festooned with decorations, a table and two chairs on the table were set up. While I waited, the young teenage girls belly danced for me and their movements were enchanting. They had such innocent yet graceful hip and belly movements but they were not in belly dancing costumes; just long shirts over pants with a long scarf tied around their hips. Someone brought me food and water and I ate while the others sang and danced.
Later, Esam came for me and we went outside to a car. Ami Mahmoud led me to the car (as representing my father) and Esam and I got into the back of the car. Women of the village, dressed in their finest embroidered dresses and scarves danced around the car as it slowly made its way around the village and then came back. When we came back, Esam handed me out and escorted me to the decorated room. This was a symbol of me leaving my father and going to my husband's home.
We got up on the chairs on the table and sat there while the room filled with women and chidlren of all ages. They sang, danced and gave us money. Then Esam took me down and we danced together; not slow dancing close but more like line dancers do and I whirled with my belled skirt and enjoyed the Arabic music and the clapping and stomping of feet. Then Esam left to dance with the men while young girls shyly took my hand and danced with me. This went on long past dark (and Esam joined me several times). Then everyone left and he and I went to bed in his brother's room for the last time. In the darkness, he told me we needed to make a handkerchief of virginity to show the villagers. It was fortunate that I was on my period because I could just put some blood on it in the morning and he would have it if needed.
The next morning, we were awakened at the crack of dawn with several women insisting on seeing me. Again, we were in the middle of making love (with the handkerchief under me) when they knocked and I asked Esam for time to at least wash and brush my hair and don my robe. He inched out the door and told them I was shy and needed a bit of time.
In a few minutes, I opened the door and found several women pinching my cheeks and making comments about me (which I gathered were flattering). There were some questions going on but Esam kept putting them off until he finally disappeared into the room we shared and came back with a handkerchief with some blood and semen on it. This seemed to satisfy the women but I was embarrassed. Then they let me go back and get dressed.
The rest of the day, we had no time alone and this went on for a month. We only had time alone at night. I told Esam that in my culture, newlyweds get time alone called the "honeymoon" to bond and be together without anyone else but he said in his culture people want to see the newlyweds so we had visitors all day, every day for that month and spent every evening in someone's home eating until late. Eventually I got used to that and relaxed but I always wished we could have had more time to ourselves without the cultural constraints.
No comments:
Post a Comment