more food and another wedding

I just returned home, totally worn out, from a long day with the neighborhood women. They invited me to their house this morning to cook lunch, which was then to be fed to the men. So I went over, but wasn't too much help cooking but did my best to keep them entertained with photos of our wedding, house, and family. The photos were a big hit and they kept most of the wedding pictures, in addition to requesting that I print out multiple copies of each so they could have more copies.

After the men had been served, the ladies and I sat around the kitchen floor to dig into the feast (typical lunch for them). Food included: rice with saffron; lamb (although they kept pointing to it and saying excitedly, in English, "Chicken!"; spaghetti noodles, small, thin noodles with chicken flavoring, flat bread with salsa, flat bread with mystery mint-colored sauce, bread rolls, salad, potatoes, water, and tea. Good lord, so much food! I think the best part of the meal, however, was that every other bite, the matron of the family would grab me and shove huge spoonfuls of food into my mouth. As far as I could tell, she was worried that my own spoonfuls were generally too small, and I wasn't eating fast enough.

After the feast we headed up to the ladies mafraj, where I assumed we'd sit for a minute and then I would return home. Apparently they had other plans, as we sat down and they demanded to know what I was wearing under my baltoo. They weren't impressed so they brought me a whole new outfit, did my lips with red lipstick, bathed me in perfume, then told me we were heading to a wedding. So off we went. To the brides house. Where we sat on her bed and had tea with sesame seeds. Apparently today was the "pre-wedding" and tomorrow we're headed back for some other party.

Today's wedding outfit. I'm definitely down with these new clothes and plan to only wear outfits such as this upon my return to America.

After settling in, the ladies began the requisite baby talk and inquest into why I don't have a baby. Apparently not satisfied with my answer "in the future, god willing," they proceeded to ask what was wrong with me and have I seen a doctor about my infertility. A bit frustrated with their questions and accusations, I finally broke down and said that we cannot have a baby until Nate is done with school and return home to America and so I therefore take "medicine" to prevent getting pregnant. Although I expected them to respond with horror and a lecture about god, they instead asked me the name of the medicine and if I could have some sent to them from America. Sigh. I wanted so badly to tell them that I believed in freedom of having the choice, and that I would absolutely be willing to have the pill mailed from America. But I think birth control is highly frowned upon here, if not illegal, and I can't imagine how the husbands would react if they found out their wives were on birth control, and that I provided it. So instead I had to say that I could try to have it mailed, but the police might take it away, and maybe their husbands would not be happy. Following the awkward conversation about birth control, during which, I should add, the grandmother kept nudging me in the ribs and happily pantomiming the act of copulation, the ladies then got on to shaving and wanted the full detail of what and how I shave. Ya Allah.

Some 8 hours after my day began at their house, our ride finally came to take us home, all 10 of us, in an Echo. To be fair, 4 of the passengers were children, but still. It was pretty crammed. And al-HumdulAllah, I'm so glad to be back.