Marriage in Morocco

Although we’ve only been here for two months, Vincent and I have been invited to around half a dozen weddings, sometimes by people that we’ve only met for five minutes. Apparently this is normal – Moroccan weddings are drawn out events and not many people stay for the duration except family members. Mostly guests arrive, pay their respects, have a bit of a dance and then leave after a couple of hours. My ex-pat friends have also told me that Moroccan weddings can be very boring, with the women and men segregated in separate rooms and that a lot of sitting around and waiting is involved.

We hadn’t taken up any of these invitations until recently, mostly because we felt awkward turning up and some random stranger’s wedding. However an Australian friend of ours just married a local woman so I took the opportunity to attend my first Moroccan wedding to see what goes on and of course support the union. Vince was unfortunately working, so I went solo.

Weddings here are alcohol-free as drinking is against the Islamic religion, but of course with a bunch of ‘gauries’ in attendance and an Aussie getting hitched, we felt that we couldn’t celebrate properly without a few drinks. So we all met up at a friends place beforehand for a cocktail party and then decided to sneak in pre-mixed vodka and tonics in water bottles. We felt like naughty kids again, trying to spike the fruit punch at the school disco or hiding in the loos swigging from a hidden hip-flask but it was actually quite fun! There was some discussion about whether this was disrespectful but we agreed that as long as we were discreet it was ok. Besides, in our culture having a drink at someone’s wedding is the way we celebrate the occasion, so we felt justified.

The other issue was (as always for a woman but especially here) what to wear? Apart from the fact that all my dressier clothes are still on route via ship, I wanted to acknowledge their traditions and wear something appropriate. A lot of women dress very conservatively here, especially in the medina, and although I balk at wearing a headscarf I do try to avoid revealing clothes. I had also seen some very fancy djellabas in the shops here and figured these were for weddings, so was keen to give them a try. I hadn’t had time to buy one however, but at the last minute a friend lent me one of hers which was gorgeous – pale pink and gold with embroidery and a vintage look to it. Perfect. I accessorized it with a gold pashmina from India (Hindu and Muslim in one outfit!) and was set to go. The bonus of these ‘dresses’ is that you can wear any comfy clothes underneath and as it was winter I happily layered up with my favourite jeans and several jumpers. [Some women in the medina go out still wearing their pyjamas underneath their djellaba, if you look at their ankles you can sometimes spot an inch of pink flannel decorated with ice-skating penguins peeking out!]

However when we arrived at the wedding and I proudly stepped out wearing my local garb I quickly realised I had missed one crucial element – all the women had wide, fancy belts matching their dresses that cinched them in at the waist. Apparently the one time these outfits are allowed to be form-fitting is at weddings! I had seen little shops full of these gaudy, mostly gold belts but hadn’t known what they were for until now – they actually resemble wrestling trophy belts and we’d been hazarding random guesses at their purpose…now I knew. Typical that whenever you try to blend in you end up standing out even more by getting it wrong!

Anyway, we had arrived at the right moment because after a few minutes of waiting the big procession started. All the women gathered around and the bride was lifted in a glittering, silver wedding chair (called an ‘amariya’) onto the shoulders of the men and carried along the street. She was followed by a group of musicians playing long horns and drums and preceded by her new husband and us – all the women – clapping and dancing. We slowly made our way into the hall, the bride was lowered to the floor and then escorted to a throne, where she sat beside her husband for the next couple of hours. People made their way up to them to pay respects and have their pictures taken and then got back to dancing. Basically the bride and groom have to sit unmoving while all their guests have fun. Although, considering the bridal gown it was probably more comfortable for her not to move! It was covered in so much bling that it must have weighed a ton. Add to that a diamante-encrusted tiara, huge necklace and ear-cuff things, rings and bracelets galore, and it’s a miracle she could even stand up…Plus this outfit was only the first of seven she would change into throughout the evening, each one more bling-tastic than the last. Apparently it took a team of women to dress her each time.

There was also an overly enthusiastic videographer who kept doing sweeping shots of the couple – far away, swooping in scarily close to their faces and then back again, and this live-feed was projected onto a large screen for us to watch while we danced. Personally I would have found this very annoying!

Another bummer about being a Moroccan bride is that you’re not supposed to smile. At all. Ever. The whole night. Apparently one reason is that as the woman is leaving her family home to live with her husband she is supposed to look sad. Another reason I heard is that it’s based on a superstition that smiling on your wedding day will bring bad luck to the marriage. And one cheeky commentator suggested she couldn’t smile because it would have cracked her heavy make-up. Whatever the reason, surely it’s rather depressing for both the bride and groom not to be able to express their happiness?

Apart from the bridal couple, the rest of us had a ball. We started off with about two hours of dancing, to a mix of traditional and modern Moroccan and Western music. Apparently the music played at this wedding was quite progressive comparatively and the inclusion of a few clubbing tunes later in the night led to vast amusement as the gauries demonstrated their best nightclub moves while the locals looked on. They then retaliated by breaking out their best belly-dancing routines – which were amazing – and a bit of a dance-off ensued!

Dinner was served at about 11pm and consisted of a succession of large dishes placed in the centre of the table which everyone ate from with their hands. There were no plates or cutlery, everyone just dug in to whole chickens, ripping pieces off and munching away. As all the dishes were meat I ended up eating bread and mandarins for dinner – thankfully we’d eaten pizza at the cocktail party earlier. Dinner was over fairly quickly, and the tables and chairs cleared away. A fancy hand-washing contraption appeared – called a bakrage – which was a silver metal basin on a tall stand topped by a large silver kettle. A waiter poured the warm water over your hands which then drained into the stand below, and then you dried your hands on a tea-towel.

We got back to dancing, but this time the women grabbed myself and a female friend of mine and invited us to join them in their corner of the room.

The women were absolutely lovely, very friendly, warm and open and I think decided to include the two of us because we’d come dressed in djellabas. Dancing with them mostly consisted of moving around in a big circle, formed by joining hands with the person next to you but one. Turning slowly with these women, linking hands and listening to them sing in Arabic was a highlight of the night for me. I felt that my presence as a foreigner in their community was not only accepted but welcomed. Then the little girls took over our dance instruction and niftily tied our scarves around our hips to affect belly-dancing outfits. I spent a very enjoyable hour with the little ones as they tried to get my more rigid moves to flow into fluid hip wiggles and bum shaking. For a supposedly conservative culture, their national dance is really sexy! I was so inspired that I’ve resolved to take belly-dancing classes sometime soon.

When our group finally left at 2.30am, the party was still in full swing, with the bride only on outfit number three (I was thinking about the expense of buying seven wedding dresses but fortunately the gowns are all hired!). The groom told me later that things didn’t wrap up until 6am. All my friends said that it was the best Moroccan wedding they’d ever experienced, very modern (with the men and women mixing) and heaps of fun.

I was just glad I’d had a chance to witness a new side of the local culture in such a warm and welcoming environment, while picking up a few hip-wiggles on the way.