A Night in the Egyptian Desert, pt 1

Dahab. That's the name of the place my tour cohorts and I found ourselves driving toward in a taxi-van. It was dark. And late. We'd just finished a gorgeous candle-lit meal on the beach by the red sea. The stars were bright overhead and the moon had just begun to rise.

The drive took nearly an hour. A long hour ambling down nearly eerily-deserted roads along the Red Sea Peninsula. Fifteen minutes into the ride something extraordinary happened: the moon came out in all of it's full, silvery splendor over the waters of the Red Sea. It was a giant ball of light, bathing us in glimmering luminance. It seemed to be resting just on the sea bed. I've never in my life seen a moon so near or bright. There were no lights around us anywhere, just open sand dunes, beach, and stretches of road. On the opposite side, the Sahara desert. The light was of such soft intensity that we could see everything around us crisply, perfectly. The driver of our taxi turned off his headlights and just enjoyed the scenery. (Can you do that in the US?! I think not.)

It was one of life's perfect moments. But looking back, the only problem with the situation was that there was no way to capture the moment on film or video. And so we all sat in the cab in hushed reverence, simply basking in it.

Soon enough we reached Dahab. It is a place I'll never be able to find on my own. You see, the taxi driver all of a sudden pulled off the road and onto the desert floor, veering out into a large, entirely unmarked expanse. We drove a few yards and then found our destination: Hundreds of white cars, all with red pinstripes and checks etched in the side ("It is sexy!") sat parked in no particular order. Rocky walls surrounded an open area and in the center, a tent formation decorated with bright carnival lights.

This was a Bedouin Wedding.
Our tour guide, Ghandi accompanied us and soothed our collective nervousnesses as he explained some of the ins and outs of the event. You see, while we were welcomed guests, we were also very aware that we were foreigners amongst some of the world's oldest and most time-honored traditions and cultural happenings. A misstep could cause irreparable offense and quite possibly, a dangerous situation for an outsider.

Truly, it felt as if we were representatives from National Geographic, exploring an exciting new world!

The camp was divided into two tents. The largest was the area for the men. Carpets and cushions were spread out over the floor and at the head of the tent was a large, strangely-high platform for a stage. I would find out the reason behind the odd height later. Adjoining the large tent was a smaller, completely enclosed tent (the walls of the Men's tent were open on all sides). This smaller tent was the Women's tent. As outsiders, the women in my group truly had the greatest amount of freedom (technically) at the Wedding. You see, Men are NEVER allowed in the Women's tent. a local man familiar to the customs of the Bedu would be executed for entering. Ghandi told us of an instance the previous year when a local had gotten lost and wandered into the Women's tent. His punishment? He lost a hand. It was chopped off.

Likewise, Bedouin women didn't go into the Men's tent. It wasn't verboten in the same way as a man entering the Women's tent, just not done. 

These people don't mess around. Which is probably why their culture and traditions are so well preserved.

Foreign men would be severely reprimanded for breaching the confines of the female tent, and asked to leave the party. But, as a foreign woman, I was allowed to enter the Women's tent as well as the Men's.

Molto interessante, no?
To be continued...

(Read Part 2 here:  http://www.departurediaries.com/2010/08/bedouin-wedding-part-2.html )