15 November 04
The Catch-Up Chronicles: Part III
Here is the third and final installment of The Catch-Up Chronicles. It’s now over a month since I’ve been in Strasbourg, and I’ve most likely forgotten some of the things I wanted to share, or some of the details surrounding the topics I have, but I think I recapped enough to fill you in on the major events. As before, I’ll approach things in topical fashion.
The “Engagement” Ceremony
The Saturday following my arrival to Strasbourg, which was four days after (23 October 2004), a very significant event took place at Hanane’s parent’s house. I was informed ahead of time that this event was a customary “engagement” ceremony surrounding Hanane and I’s union with each other, but it turned out to have even more significance. The reason this event was to happen so soon after my arrival to France was because in Islam it is very improper for a man and a woman to be living together if they are not married, and Hanane’s father made it clear the first night I met him that there would be this ceremony the following Saturday. He wanted to make the union between Hanane and I as acceptable as possible as soon as possible. I was informed not to be worried, that it was not too big of deal (they are always telling me this), but regardless I was nervous as hell.
Here is what was to happen as it was described to me ahead of time:
First, Hanane’s father would have several close acquaintances over for the event. I was to arrive early and be there as the guests arrived, meeting and greeting them as they came. There would be a big dinner, and then at some point in the evening I would make an official request to Hanane’s father, in front of all in attendance, for Hanane’s hand in marriage.
Here is what actually went down:
Hanane and I arrived early to her parents house, and then separated to different parts of the house. (I found out later in the evening, when I was finally able to see her again, that Hanane was being adorned in traditional clothes and jewelry for the evening’s event. She was beautiful.) As the evening progressed and people started to arrive, the men joined Hanane’s father, brother and I in the salon (a room in their home decored in Moroccan fashion, quite lovely), and the women joined Hanane, her mother and sisters in the family room off the kitchen. For the rest of the night, that’s where the men and women respectively stayed—separate. (For the most part, I did not meet, nor even see, most of the women, even at the end of the night when people began to leave.) I was introduced to each arriving guest, and then quietly seated again as they took up conversation with Hanane’s father in Arabic. I could tell Hanane’s father was very happy to have these people, whom he was very close with, in his home. With each arriving guest my audience grew larger, and I grew more nervous. When all guests had arrived, there were ten men present, including Hanane’s father and brother, and only two of the men spoke any English, and very limited at that. Occasionally, one of the guys who spoke a little English would try and engage with me, but for the most part it was just me sitting quietly taking it all in.
The socializing took place for what seemed like quite a while as Hanane’s mother finished preparing the evening’s feast. She had been busy preparing most of the day. The main course was lamb, which was purchased live and butchered especially for the event. The day before the dinner, it hung in the basement of the house, skinned, gutted, and bleeding-out.
(I’m still kicking myself for not having my camera with me for all of this, but I just had too much on my mind to be worrying about pictures. Plus, in hindsight, I am not sure it would have been appropriate to be playing photographer when I was really supposed to be paying attention and respecting what was happening to me. It was a rather serious occasion.)
When it was time to eat, we men divided around two tables, one in the dining room and one in the Moroccan salon. I sat in the salon at the round table with Hanane’s father, her brother (to help with translation), and a couple of other gentlemen, one of whom was also the person who would be leading the ceremony later in the evening. Although this man was not an Imam (who generally leads prayer services at a Mosque), he was very learned in the Qur’an, and highly capable of leading the ceremony. He was called Hajj Mohammed; “Hajj” was not part of his birth name, but he was addressed as such because he had made the pilgrimmage to Mecca, which is called Hajj. Adopting this prefix to ones name is characteristic for muslim men and women who have made the pilgrammage.
The dinner was incredible, and came in several courses. Hanane’s sisters, and sometimes her mother, served the men at each course, which mainly involved bringing the platters of food to the table and clearing them away when they were finished. In traditional Moroccan fashion, we all ate with our hands from the same big platter. Bread is a very significant part of the meal; it’s used almost like an edible utensil to sop up juices and grab bits of food. It is customary to finish your bread completely. If you start a new piece, it must be consumed entirely no matter how full you are. Not finishing your bread is considered wasteful and extremely bad form, and you will hear about it if you happen to forget (as I did). The lamb (and I love lamb) was succulent and tender, but it was also still quite hot when served, and I burnt my fingers several times in the beginning while trying to tear into it. I was the only one that seemed to be having this problem, and at one point someone even had a knife and fork brought to the table for me, which I refused to use. However, my efforts to eat were probably quite amusing to the rest of the party, as it was certainly very apparent that I was not used to eating that way. My manner was slow and very conscientious. One of the men next to me had no problem tearing into the lamb, and he did so with gusto, ripping off large chunks of meat as though he hadn’t eaten in three days. After noticing his approach, I tried to become a little more agressive with my own.
When everyone had finished eating, all the men regathered in the salon and began to socialize again over various topics, which seemed primarily about the evening’s main event, Islam, and football (soccer). As it turned out, many of the men in attendance had played on a league team together in Strasbourg many years ago and Hanane’s father was the team’s coordinator. It was funny to hear (via translation) Hajj Mohammed talking about the time he was a forward on the team. After a while, mint tea was served (which is another significant customary practice in Moroccan culture), and Hajj Mohammed personally prepared the tea at the table, two big pots, by portioning out the leaves, adding the water and letting the mix steep, quite a ceremony in itself. Occasionally he would pour a single glass of tea and then add it back to the pot, which I think was to help mix the brew. When enough time had passed, he then poured tea for all of the men. He first poured a glass for me, and I noticed that my glass was a different color than everyone elses; mine was purple while everyone elses was gold. I don’t know if this was intentional, and I did not bother to ask, but it did seem to be the case. As the tea was sipped, there was another bout of socializing, and refills were given to everyone who wanted one until both pots of tea were empty. The whole time, I didn’t have to engage with anyone much, but occasionally someone would nod my way, or look at me directly, which was then usually followed by a question or a general statement my way, which Hanane’s brother dutifully translated.
After what seemed to be quite a long time, and just as I was beginning to let my guard down, Hajj Mohammed, without warning to anyone, suddenly sat upright and loudly started reciting a Surah in the Qur’an. (I don’t know which one, and I haven’t thought to ask until just now as I write this, so perhaps I’ll look into finding out.) All the men immediately fell silent and assumed a state of communion with God; eyes closed, palms up, and attentive. The recital seemed to last for quite a long time. When Hajj Mohammed finished the recital, he spoke to all of us, with particular focus on Hanane’s father and myself, and explained the custom of what was about to happen next, the significance of it, and how it would unfold; however, I was probably the only one in attendance who didn’t already know.
To begin with, I would ask Hanane’s father for Hanane’s hand in marriage in witness of all those present. There was no delay in getting to this stage, because all of a sudden all eyes were on me (Hanane’s father’s gaze was especially intense), and I was informed it was now time for me to ask for Hanane’s hand in marriage. My mind seemed to be working slowly, and I blinked a couple of times as I realized everyone was waiting for me to speak. I looked directly at Hanane’s father and said my piece. I won’t relay what I said exactly, because they were special words for a special moment, but several of the men, including Hanane’s brother, chuckled when I was done, which embarassed me a little and made me realize I probably went a bit over the top. Hanane’s father, however, remained composed; he did not chuckle, nor did he jump up and draw a sword to run me through, he simply looked at me warmly and with encouragement and indicated his acceptance to my request.
The next step, as explained by Hajj Mohammed, was to present to Hanane’s father a dowry which he would hold for Hanane and give to her when she requested it. This is very customary in Moroccan weddings, and not to be taken too lightly. Basically, a dowry is a particular amount of money or valuables given to the bride for her to use however and whenever she wishes without influence from anyone else. The dowry has been a bit of an issue with all of this, because it was very late in the game when I found out I even needed to come up with one, and when I did find out, there was a lot of confusion about what it entailed and, more specifically, how much I would need to present. (In principle, if I could give Hanane a million dollars, I would do so without hesitation, though that is certainly not what is required. In reality, even a respectable amount has been a challenge against all the other financial changes I’ve had to make in light of my transition to France.) Thankfully, perhaps in large part to earlier conversations Hanane had with her parents prior to this night, Hanane’s father indicated to everyone that the matter of the dowry would be handled later in the privacy of the family, and this part of the evening’s event was passed over, much to my great relief.
Next, Hajj Mohammed indicated that it was now time for Hanane’s father to select two of the men in attendance to go to Hanane and relay my request for her hand in marriage. The two men would essentially indicate to her, in front of the other women, that they had just witnessed my request to her father, and her father’s agreement. They would also then ask Hanane if she too was willing to accept my marriage proposal. After what seemed to be an excessive duration of time, the two men returned and informed everyone of Hanane’s acceptance. (I wish I could have been in that room with the women and witnessed what transpired when all the relaying was taking place.) With that, Hajj Mohammed said something to me, and Hanane’s brother translated, which in effect was you and Hanane are now married, with my father’s blessing, under the eyes of God.
Needless to say, I was quite surprised at this declaration, because up to that moment I thought this was just an engagement ceremony, but it apparently had a lot more significance than that, even if there was no exchange of rings or kiss on the lips. As the realization set in, Hanane’s father and I clasped hands and did the French custom of kissing cheeks. It was a very significant moment, because it put to rest all the fears that Hanane and I had been carrying around with us for so damn long about whether or not her parents, particularly her father, would allow us to marry, for if he had not accepted our desire to marry, it would have devastated Hanane, and our future would have been exceedingly burdoned by her exile from the family (assuming she would have married me at all).
French law requires that any marriage between two people involving an international relationship take place in the Mairie (City Hall) of the city the couple is to reside in, prior to any religious ceremony. Hence, this ceremony had in fact taken place contrarily to French law, but that made no difference, as the marriage was necessary for cultural reasons, and not legal ones. The legal marriage, as I’ve indicated before, takes place 27 November (now just 12 days away).
My First Taste of Professional Footbol (Soccer)
Before I had met Hanane’s brother, Hanane had informed me that one of her brother’s frineds, Cedric Kante, is a professional soccer player, and plays on Strasbourg’s team; he often plays a defender position and is the team’s captain.
When I first met Hanane’s brother, I indicated to him that I would like to go see a Strasbourg soccer match sometime. To my surprise, he didn’t waste any time in arranging this, because the next time I saw him, he indicated that we would go the following Sunday (which happened to be the day after the engagement ceremony). It turns out he informed Cedric of my wishes and Cedric not only provided us with tickets, but provided us with VIP tickets that got us prized box seats, access to the midgame VIP area, and access to the post-game VIP party (with free food and drink, news crews, and scantily clad dancing girls). It was pretty cool. Cedric himself was even interviewed by the media during the post-game event. Strasbourg is having a tough time this year, but on the night I attended, Strasbourg beat Nice 3 to 1, getting them out of last place in their division (press coverage of the match). As I write this, Strasbourg has since climbed the ranks a bit, and is now 13th in a field of 20 teams in their division (at the time of this post), but the season has a long way to go yet.
Naturally, I’m starting to get caught up in the soccer craze a little bit, because I’ve always liked the game and can now watch it without the biased sports coverage of the U.S. Last week there was a two-match series between Marseilles and Paris (Saint Germaine), and Marseilles was humiliatingly defeated in both matches. Paris and Marseilles are extreme rivals. I watched both matches on T.V., it was crazy. The fans are fucking nuts. There are actually guys wearing riot gear and holding riot shields that stand by the players during corner-kicks when they are at the opposing fan’s end of the field. This is necessary because the fans throw anything they have on them at the players as they’re trying to kick the ball. I’m not totally sure, but it looked like disposable cigarette lighters were one of the main projectiles used. The camera at one point even showed the rabid fans, looking possessed with rage, screaming, red-faced and veins popping, as they flipped-off the players and pelted them with anything they could throw. Apparently, after Paris-Marseilles matches their are huge fights, even car burnings. And that’s just the French; it says nothing of when the hooligans arrive from England during the international matches, who apparently come more for the fighting than they do the soccer, and they’re pretty serious about it.
Another sporting event I’m looking forward to witnessing is the Tour de France. The route for the 2005 tour was just announced a couple of weeks ago, and though it will not come through Strasbourg, it will come pretty close, so I’ll be making my way down for that leg if at all possible. I also wouldn’t mind going to Le Mans or Monte Carlo sometime to experience my first Grand Prix, but that would take some doing, as I’m not sure it’s Hanane’s cup of tea. Maybe in a couple years.
OK, so ends the third and final installment of The Catch-Up Chronicles, which were mainly to let people know what has happening in the earlier weeks I was here in Strasbourg. From this point on, posts will cover more timely events, or just be about…well…whatever.
