Two weeks had passed since I had first landed in Sana’a, the capital of Yemen. I was making progress in my language studies, but was still finding it hard to blend in the culture. Mostly, I missed women. In the street, at school, in the market, anywhere, there were but black shapes moving about as ghosts would, without faces or personalities, or even voices, so it was with great excitement that I accepted my friend Ana Sofia’s invitation to go to a women-only wedding party and meet some of her friends.

Ana Sofia was an American married to a Yemeni, and she had lived in Sana’a for many years. We made plans to meet that same afternoon, and she said "wear the dressiest thing you have, and don't worry, you will still be severely under-dressed". I spent all afternoon in small stores along Gamal Street looking for something dressier than my baggy pants and oversized shirts, but to no avail. I finally settled on travel pants and a black tee shirt. I was under-dressed even for an American party, but figured I was just going to observe and probably wouldn’t be included in the festivities.

We left Ana Sofia’s house at 5 pm and drove through an infinity of little crooked streets to her friend's house. There, we picked up five black shapes. Ana Sofia introduced us, but they all looked the same to me - I had not yet developed the ability to recognize women by the way they move and the expression in their eyes. We again drove through little streets and found a quiet cul-the-sac where a sign said "Weddings" in both Arabic and English. Waves of black fabric, holding hands by two or three flowed into the building. We joined the flow and started up steep stairs. Ana Sofia's friend was in front of me. While talking, laughing and climbing the stairs, she began to remove her niqab (the one that covers the face) and her hijab (the one that covers the hair) and finally her balta (the long black cloak). By the time we got to the door, all five black shapes had metamorphosed into brightly colored women, and beautiful too.

We stood in a little area in front of the wedding room and applied the finishing touches. Ana Sofia's friend brushed the dark mass of her sister's hair into stylish curls, and liberally applied perfume over her dress, Ana Sofia's blouse and my tee shirt. While she was at it, she also fluffed my hair and applied a bit of powder on my nose. Then we entered. There was a large carpeted room with no windows. In the middle, there was a dance floor in front of what looked like a stage with a throne on it. There were red pillow seats placed all around the walls and in disorganized rows around the dance floor. There were two separate rooms with large opening towards the dance floor and a kitchen tucked near the entrance. After two weeks without seeing a woman, I had a shock. The room was packed. Every seat was taken. There was color everywhere.

The bride was half Ethiopian, half Yemeni, and both Arab and African influences could be seen in the incredible dresses. Most of the women wore brightly colored and completely transparent dresses over a bra and short skirt. The dresses themselves were long, made of thin natural silk fabric, which flowed gracefully about as they danced and walked. Others wore tight western style dresses with no straps, like the kind we'd wear to a formal New Year party. The younger girls wore tight pants and cropped tops in a Britney Spears fashion. The older women wore the brightest colors. Sun-yellow and fire truck-red seemed to be big favorites. I finally could see how Yemeni women looked like, and some half Ethiopian too, and some all Ethiopian. They were not as beautiful as I had imagined from the eyes I see in the streets, but then again, most had striking dark eyes - by far their best features. Their skin tone ranged from milk to dark chocolate and their nose from classic Arabic to small African. Unfortunately, many of the older women had broken and darken teeth, probably from lack of good dental hygiene but also from years of chewing qat. But, they smiled gracefully and welcomingly, and I though that they were all very beautiful.

After the initial shock, I made my way through the crowd behind Ana Sofia and her friends. Several women, who spoke much too fast for my flabbergasted brain and little Arabic, immediately greeted us. They kissed us, grabbed us, and led us to the main room. I sat next to Ana Sofia in a corner; I was in a bit of a sensory overload. They were playing beautiful folk Ethiopian music, with a lot of drum and a wild rhythm. The dance floor was packed. Women of all ages danced shoulder to shoulder and moved gracefully without seeming to move at all. Most of the dance seemed to be a shoulder-shaking-movement that flowed down to the rest of their body with the music. In the two separate rooms, middle-aged women smoked shisha and chewed qat. I had sat on the window of one of the room so that I was in their line of sight to the dance floor. They called and called, but I didn't know I was addressed, until I turned around and realized all the commotion had been for me. I apologized, and they laughed when they realized I was an ajnabyyah (foreigner). Once they had found this out, I was not left alone one moment. They wanted me to sit by them, they brought me tea, they even kidnapped me and took me into onto an improvised secondary dance floor where they patiently tried to show me how to do the Ethiopian shoulder trick. Despite the fact that we had picked a secluded spot, I soon became the center of attention and the entire room came to see the ajnabyyah dance. Older women made the loud lalallalalala cry and the younger ones showed me the thumbs up to encourage me. I was glad when that song was over as my shoulders were getting pretty sore, and I sat back down in a corner with a tea - delicately fragrant and overwhelming sweet, as most every drink around here is - and tried to make myself forgotten a bit.

The music switched to an entrancing Egyptian belly dance, and the crowd on the dance floor changed from middle-aged Ethiopians to young Yemenis. The loose colorful dresses had a built-in belt that could be dropped to the hip for a true Egyptian dance, and the Britney Spears of the bunch improvised belly-dancing skirts with bright scarves. I can see why men are not allowed in these, they probably could not handle the heat. All over the room, even in the sections where they smoked and chewed, women became seductress, sensuous and voluptuous. Oh, how I wished I had my camera. Of course it was completely not allowed, even the Yemeni women had to leave their cameras at the door. And as for the men, not even little boys were allowed in the room. All around there were loud speakers used to let the women know when their brother, father or husband had arrived to picked them up. Names were called and immediately one or two women metamorphosed themselves back into shapeless colorless ghosts and discretely vanished down the stairs. It was all a bit unreal. I tried my best to fill my eyes with it all, but I know I will forget, or transform, or idealize, because the reality was just too unbelievable.

The music and dancing went on for a few hours and suddenly there was silence. I think it was not meant to be silence; I think they were looking for the next tape. There was some commotion near the door and I heard a woman say that the bride was coming. Some more tea was passed around. I was already on my third, on an empty stomach, and I was starting to be a bit buzzy. Finally they found the tape, which was, if you can imagine, an Ethiopian version of "Here comes the bride". Everybody became very official ,and we all stared at the door for the grand entrance. The song came and went, and there was still no bride. They rewound it and played it again. Still there was no bride. Finally, towards the end of the third pass, some little girls, all dressed in pastel colors, came running in and pushed people aside from the path from the entrance to the throne. Finally the bride appeared. She was completely covered in a pastel green satin dress, except for her hair and face, which were covered with a mesh of diamonds. Maybe they weren't real diamonds, but this is how it looked like. She seemed very sad as she walked past everybody and to her throne. She just sat there like a queen, and everybody stared at her. The women of the family lit candles all around her, and two small trees where put on each side. The music started again and everybody went back to dancing, shisha smoking, tea drinking, qat chewing and general conversation. She sat there alone, still looking sad. I asked a woman near me why the bride was not dancing and she explain that this was not the wedding day - on the wedding day the bride wears white - she said "today is yaum al 'asr, (cleaning day), this is the day when the bride gets waxed and goes to the hammam and her hair is cleaned and perfumed and her hands and feet are painted with henna. She must remain clean for her wedding and if she dances maybe she will get sweaty". "So the bride never dances?", I asked, and she said, "Maybe one or two dances normally, but this is also an Ethiopian wedding, so maybe more".

The music continued for a while without the bride moving at all. We went without transition from Ethiopian folk to Sultry Egyptian to the Back Street Boys, to Shakira, to pop Yemeni, to the Arab cousins of Cool and the Gang. Finally, there was a slower Ethiopian song and the bride got up and walked down from the throne to the dance floor. The women immediately surrounded her and I could no longer see her. She stayed on the dance floor for about 5 dances and then went back up to the throne. She still looked very sad. I asked the woman near me why she looked so sad and she said "She is afraid because she has never met the man that she will marry tomorrow and she is sad because she will have to leave her family when she marries him".
(featured May 2003)