My First Khaleeji Wedding

Tonight I crashed a local wedding with my friend Hissa. “How is that different from a western wedding” you ask? Well, for one thing the prevailing opinion is that adequate decorations require a team of set constructors; in this case, they were going for a lavish high school production of Mid-Summer Night’s Dream look (you know, all whimsical trees and flowery bowers). The other main difference is that they’re segregated by gender. I’d like to imagine that the men have epic limbo contests or something but I really don’t know what they do. However, I do now know what the women do… they jiggle around in preposterously awesome dresses.

Seriously, these things are a wonder. I’ve never seen anything like them in the west. It’s as if every dress must have 5 dresses’ worth of stuff on it. Lace? Check. Satin? Check? Rhinestones? Check. Emroidery? Appliques? Sequins? Check, check, and extra-check (the more sequins the better). Velvet? Mesh? Pearls? Attached 3-quarter lengths sleaves? At least 3 conflicting neon colors and an asymmetrical neckline? Check! More than anything else, they resemble figure skating costumes made into full length ballgowns.
These are some extremely restrained examples:





Adding to the peculiarity of it is that, whilst all the women are dressed like this, not all of them will show it. Some are sashaying their magenta be-ribboned asses around, cleavage everywhere and eyes so heavily made-up that they sink to slits. Others wear the abeya (floor length black gown) but with their perfect coifs uncovered. Others keep the head scarf and the abeya on. Others, usually only a few older women, wear the headpiece that extends over the nose and covers the mouth with a triange of metal (the shape of these always reminds me of a beak and so when I see their wrinkled faces with pointed metal beaks I see some sort of half-hag / half-hawk creature of Greek mythology). Anyway, all this is in the same room, so as you look around, you see a lot of black, a few bird monsters, and pockets of intense color and cleavage.

I wish I could share pictures, but of course cameras are forbidden because no man can see them dressed that way unless he’s the hubby. Sorry! Girls only!

Disproportionate is hardly the word

This is a picture taken Monday of Israeli girls signing shells to be fired into Lebanon.
What kind of world is this? These girls should be scribbling cutsy flirtations in ballpoint pen on the soles of boys' converse all-stars. Instead, they're drafting messages of hate on notepaper that does this:

and this:

These are innocent civilians, and they're being killed by the hundreds. The Israeli girls' "notes" are supplemented by internationally prohibited chemical weapons (a fact that seems curiously absent from the american news coverage).

More pictures, petitions, donations links etc. on www.fromisraeltolebanon.info

Speechless

What does one say to someone whose hometown is under attack? I don’t know, and feel a lesser girlfriend for it.

I’m scared by the recent activity in Lebanon and Israel and don't know what to do about it. Life here in Dubai is just the same as normal, spinning by at a pace I can’t afford to step away from. But an airport runway I’ve actually landed on now lays in smoking ruins and a suburb I’ve driven through is about to be flattened by Israeli tanks. It’s surreal and terrifying, and that's just the reaction of a girl who's visited once.

I can scarcely imagine how people in Beirut are reacting. When I was there, I was struck by the prominence of the scars left on the public psyche by the civil wars. Years of relative peace have ticked by, but still “in the war” “during the war” “because of the war” is in every sentence and on every brick in the city. It didn’t seem to me to be a negative preoccupation, just an acknowledgment of the centrality of the war in their city identity. I even felt something positive in it, in that there seemed to be a palpable sense of relief, still, in the termination of that danger and chaos. My heart goes out to them now – it must feel like relapsing into a nightmare.