A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to get the chance to
attend a traditional Moroccan wedding. And as an added bonus it was back in the
village we visited during our northern excursion. When we were there several
weeks back, one of the girls in the village told us everyone on our program was
invited to attend her wedding on April 12. About 15 of us took her up on the
invitation.
Upon our cold and rainy arrival to the village, we greeted
the bride and her family members and entered a sitting room in their house. Sitting
in the bride’s house on the day of her wedding made me feel as though I was
imposing. But those feelings were quickly forgotten when it appeared it was
just as much of an honor for the bride and her family that the other students
from my program and I went out of our way to come to this wedding. We were
shown the appreciation of our attendance the second we arrived. As soon as we
sat down, a huge plate full of meat along with several loaves of bread were
placed on the table in front of us, and then left the room for us to eat alone.
Preparing and serving meat in Morocco is considered a food of hospitality and
celebration. Little did we know (although all expected in the back of our
minds) this was just the beginning of the demonstrations of hospitality.
Once we finished our meal, the friends and family members
came back in the room, turned on the stereo, and blasted music-- everyone,
including the bride and many little kids, danced along. Charley and I then
snuck out to go visit our beloved village homestay family. We went over to our
house and promptly found Najoua, our host mom, who gave us a surprised and
happy hello. Bissma, our 5-year-old host sister was also home but was still a
little too shy to say hello. Our host dad’s brother was also home, so Charley
and I attempted to converse with him. Najoua then came out with a freshly made omelet,
tea, and fresh bread (a nice surprise for me after a lunch of only bread). We
did our best to communicate why we were back in town and update them on recent
things we had done. Our host-grandmother and grandfather returned while we were
there and seemed equally surprised and pleased we were there, and continually
told us we are always welcome. After a little more “conversing” (maybe more
like miming), we told them we would see them later that night at the wedding.
We returned to the bride’s home and found most of the people
of our program either gone or napping. We hung around for a while, then around
6pm decided to start getting ready since the wedding was supposed to start
around 7pm. All of the members of our group had either been loaned Kaftans from
their homestay families or had previously bought Kaftans. So the group of us
got dressed up, compared Kaftans, and took pictures.
Mine felt especially wizard-like (It was black velvet with
gold embroidery).
The wedding appeared to be a ways away from starting so Charley and I headed upstairs to the terrace where the wedding tent was being set up and kids were playing.
Around 8pm, we were still in the sitting room as Moroccan
guests began to arrive. When the room started filling up, we were brought to
another sitting room. We were told that the women were going to eat and it was
shameful for men (and foreign guests) to watch the women eat. Around an hour
later, we were then served dinner. First came individual spheres of bread. Then
came a large platter full of 5 chickens. Everyone did their best to finish the
plate, commenting on how delicious it was (I stuck to bread and olives). Just
as everyone was feeling stuffed, the plate was taken and replaced with a new
meat-filled plate. This time it appeared to be a sweet beef dish topped with
cinnamon-coated prunes and toasted almonds. That plate was then cleared and
replaced with a bowl full of fruit (a typical Moroccan dessert).
After dinner, we headed upstairs to the tent to take our
seats. All of the women were already seated in their section when we arrived.
Water seemed to be dripping through cracks of the tent so we did our best to
find a non-wet section. After another hour or so of sitting, the men arrived
(from eating their dinner separately) and sat down in their section.
And after a few more hours of waiting in the wet and cold,
in true Moroccan fashion, a wedding that was said to be starting at 7pm
commenced at 12:30pm.
The bride and groom entered together, surrounded by 5 men
dressed in white and purple capes. The bride then sat in a circular type-throne
and was lifted in the air by the men in purple capes. She was danced around and
made hand motions to people in the audience, as if she was flicking water on
them, and they would do it in return. The bride and the groom then sat in the
other throne and a bunch of pictures were taken. Music blasted and many began
to dance. I tried my best to keep dancing for warmth-sake.
Around an hour into the celebration, water started heavily
pouring in through the cracks and the tent was weighed down with water. I,
along with most people, then retreated to one of the sitting rooms. As it was
around 2:00am at this point, many of us took a quick catnap. We were then woken
up and informed that the celebration had been moved downstairs. We went down
and found all of the audience members arranged in their chairs facing the
throne. There was little room left so the caterers arranged some chairs for me
and a few other students in the kitchen just off of the main room. At this
point the bride and groom were gone, for the bride’s first outfit change, and
the music was stopped. Another hour later, the bride returned in a new
extravagant ensemble. The music and dancing then recommenced. I continued to
sit in the kitchen with a few other students, and questioned how much longer I
thought I could make it. A group of us decided we would wait until 4am, when we
were told little cakes were served, before going to bed. Around 3am the
caterers made coffee (and almost set the kitchen on fire in the process), and
poured cups of it with an equal coffee-to-sugar ratio. That helped me make to
4am, when the bride came out in her third outfit and the music and dancing
began again. I found Mohammed, my village homestay-dad sitting in the audience
and we started dancing. It was the highlight of the whole night. 
By that point, we were nearing 5am and I realized I would
not be sleeping. The music and dancing stopped and the bride and groom
disappeared again. A woman with a microphone began reading out names. We asked
what was going on and learned that the woman was holding up gifts, identifying
what it was, and saying the name of the gift-givers. Audience members would
then cheer, especially with the bigger and better gifts. At the end of the gift
announcements, it was 6am and light outside. People began to return to their
homes to sleep. Gnawan musicians played outside, waiting for the bride and
groom to leave together to begin their new life away from the village.
All in all, my first Moroccan wedding was quite an
experience and far different from what I was expecting. The celebration was
extremely lavish and over the top, in a place where life is otherwise very
simple. It appeared that the wedding was less of a celebration/party and much
more a show and an evening to make great pictures. It amazed me how almost this
entire village (babies and all) sat awake in their seats from midnight-6am,
doing nothing but occasionally watching some dancing or picture taking.
The wedding was
also a huge life-changing moment for the bride and groom, but most notably the
bride. Asmae, the bride, is 17 years old, and told us during our excursion that
she is not necessarily ready to get married but it is her way out of the
village. The morning after the wedding, Asmae needed to say goodbye to the only
place she’s known and her family and move into a new town a few hours away with
a new husband. During the last few hours of the wedding Asmae was crying during
all of the dancing and picture taking. It was a hard sight to see, but also
incredibly understandable. And if I had to guess, I would be that is not an
uncommon sight at traditional Moroccan weddings.
As we drove back to Rabat, we asked one another if we would
do it again. My response: maybe. And in a few years.
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