I walked in the door and my host aunts jumped up to kiss my cheeks. They offered me a warm welcome back after six days living in a rural Moroccan village, but all I could think about was rinsing off a week of dirt and sweat. As I exited the shower a little while later my aunt asked, “have you picked out an outfit for the wedding?” I didn’t know about any wedding but apparently plans had been made to attend a family friend’s wedding. I was tired and still felt kind of dirty but agreed enthusiastically not wanting to miss such special event.
We squished seven people into a grand taxi and arrived in a city on the suburbs of Rabat. A short walk brought us to an unfamiliar house but we were welcomed like family. I donned the beautiful borrowed pink caftan, or formal Moroccan dress, in the middle of a stranger’s salon. I was nervous about crashing a wedding. I hadn’t been directly invited and now was going to attend a very intimate marriage ceremony. My aunts lead me to the tent, which was set up in the middle of a street, and we took seats by the band. A few people looked at me curiously but my discomfort quickly dissolved as my aunts and their friends from university made me feel like part of the community. They practiced their English and helped me with my Moroccan Arabic.
The bride and groom did not arrive until nearly two hours into the festivities. In a traditional Moroccan wedding, the bride changes dresses three times. The first time the couple entered the bride was carried in a large white chair, or Amariya, above the heads of four men as they danced around the room. Each time the couple entered there were lots of pictures and the bride would be wearing a different jewel and sequin-adorned dress. Then they would leave again and everyone would go back to the center of the tent and dance. Every generation of women was represented. Young girls copied the moves of older women. From young to old, women wrapped scarves around their hips and danced freely to the heavy beat of drums. I was unable to keep up with the dance full of shoulder bouncing, foot taping, and hip swishing moves performed in perfect coordination and with great subtlety.
It was a long evening and when the party finally wound down I didn’t really want to leave. Everyone welcomed me with open arms, smiles, and such generosity that I really can’t say I “crashed” a wedding. It was an incredible celebration and a unique look into Moroccan culture, but the best part was the sense of community. For me study abroad has been defined by the incredible generosity, kindness, and curiosity of people in Morocco. Despite how my differences make me stand out, everyone from my host family to shopkeepers constantly make me feel welcome. While I was tired and could have stayed home that night, I am so glad that I choose to ignore the fatigue and join in the party.
