The Queen of Awkward

I have been put in a ridiculous number of special, yet incredibly awkward events in the past week, but before I dive in I thought I’d mention a wonderful meeting I had with the U.S. Ambassador to Bangladesh, James Moriarty. I have (thankfully) never been to a U.S. embassy while traveling abroad before (as this would signal a lost passport, etc.), but given my interest in foreign service and development careers, I persisted and asked for an appointment with the Ambassador. This was apparently uncommon, but the Ambassador liked the idea, so he contacted Grameen Bank and asked that they send all of their interns as well, which meant so long, private meeting, hello press conference! Regardless, it was a wonderful opportunity to ask questions about U.S./Bangladesh relations, his career path as an ambassador in Asian countries, and his insights concerning the future of Bangladesh. They were also nice enough to host us for a lunch with entry-level professionals, and I was beyond elated to have an American lunch (spaghetti!).

The next day I went back to the U.S. embassy because I had questions for USAID, the development agency of the U.S. Government. I am particularly interested in working for them in Latin America, and I enjoyed meeting with their gender expert. Because my project at BRAC centers around adolescent girls I had targeted questions about USAID’s involvement in adolescent development programs in Bangladesh. I was surprised to learn that there are in fact no direct programs for girls, and the assumption is that the girls will be adequately served as a by-product of USAID’s nutrition and other programs. I think this is something all too common. Girls are not necessarily being lifted out of poverty by learning about healthy nutrition. They need targeted, specific interventions, and they cannot be treated under the “womenandchildren” (yes, one word) bubble.

This past week was interesting in that I had experiences at the (cold) institutional level and also in a Bangladeshi home. I was fortunate enough to be invited to my boyfriend’s best friend’s engagement ceremony and party in Dhaka. His friend is Bengali, and they have been friends since grade school. I had been looking forward to this event before I even arrived in Dhaka, and it was nothing less that what I had anticipated. It was a particularly interesting situation for me to be in, for the wedding is quasi-arranged, I don’t know the family terribly well, and it’s quite rare for such a traditional process (i.e. Western Bengali returns to Bangladesh for his bride and has all of his ceremonies here) to take place. His grandmother, nanu, introduced the two of them, about a year ago, and next summer they will marry here in Dhaka. I don’t even know where to begin in explaining my observations because it’s an experience that was completely saturated with rarities, new experiences and extreme awkwardness.

The night before the engagement I was invited to the grandmother’s home for an exchanging of gifts. It’s customary for the groom’s family to send family members to the bride’s house to deliver the sari she will wear for the engagement along with a ridiculous amount of mishti (sweets) for the family. The mishti are fried dough balls soaked in honey/sugar water, and they are the sweetest things I have ever eaten. (I am also not permitted to eat just one.) Additionally, the bride’s family drives over and delivers the man’s outfit (in this case he decided to wear a suit and not a traditional Punjabi tunic) along with more sweets. I arrived and was ushered into a massive amount of people laughing, talking and eating a delicious array of food (with their right hands of course). Something I find very funny here is how people use beds here as additional seating space. There were fewer than ten people on the bed eating dinner.

Zuhair’s family is incredibly fun, and one of his uncles thought that having a quiet family dinner just wouldn’t do, so earlier in the day he went out a hired a Bengali band that apparently is famous in London with the Bengali community. They had beautiful voices and many members of the family also sang (many of the girls are trained), and it was beautiful.

The next day was the ceremony, but given our 3 a.m. bedtime, the stirring didn’t start until noon. I loved how so many people slept over at the grandmother’s house. Aunts, uncle, cousins, etc. all got up and couldn’t get enough of each other. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen so much love under one roof before. They didn’t have to be busy doing activities; they were content to just be with each other, and oftentimes they would all pile onto the family bed and squish to fit everyone. As there were many people and only one dining table (and two cooks), there was an unspoken rule of shifts of eating. As one group finished the other group would form at the table until everyone had eaten.

I don’t think the idea of nuclear family exists in Bangladesh. Both of Zuhair’s parents have multiple brothers and sisters, but I don’t think it would make much difference should someone be an only child. First cousins are seen as being siblings oftentimes, as many families live on separate floors of the same house. Additionally, the Bengali language is very rich in familial terms. There is no general word for “aunt” or “uncle”; instead, relational terms are very specific (i.e. “mother’s sister” or “father’s mother”) so that there is no ambiguity when describing someone.

Engagements are typically a close family affair, but because there were 200 invitees to this event, it closely resembled a wedding to me. In order to prepare for the event I went to a Bengali salon with Zuhair’s little sister and cousin to get our hair done (a.k.a. teased like in the 80’s and cemented with the stickiest hairspray known to man). The best part was wearing a sari for the first time, and one of the ladies at the salon intricately folded the seemingly endless piece of bright pink silk that surrounded me. (I have the most beautiful photos, but there seems to be a problem with my computer, so I hope to have them up soon.)

We got back to the house ready to go, but to my surprise, the majority of the family still wasn’t ready yet. Apparently it is customary for Bengalis to lounge around all day and then act as if a crisis has hit when it’s time to go. I observed the screaming and high tensions as 15+ people tried to get ready, but I smiled, as this happens in most families I think☺

The party was at the Sheraton hotel, and as soon as we arrived I found myself in a beautiful sea of saris and traditional dress. There is yet another exchange of mishti sweets at this event as well, and I was asked to carry a tray of sweets to place before the altar Zuahir and his bride would sit at. As I entered the room I saw the most incredible altar imaginable. It was nothing short of divine. For Bengali wedding ceremonies the bride and groom sit at the front of the room on this stage-like structure (which I think would be quite uncomfortable), and it was decorated with a dizzying array of beautiful white orchids, gladiolas, crysanthemums, etc. There were also soft golden lights hanging behind them and backlighting that lifted the stage into a heavenly glow. I have never seen anything like it, although those around me confirmed that similar arrangements are at most similar ceremonies.

The ceremony was remarkable, and it truly was a coming together of two families like I have never experienced. Both sides gave short speeches (although the grandma was unstoppable once the microphone was put in her hand), and the heartfelt and sincere love floating around was wonderful. Zuhair and his sister also made a hilarious movie/slideshow of the couple coming together in the past year, and it had the invitees in stitches. After the speeches and comments came what I’ve termed the “Parade of Jewelry”. Special friends and family approached the stage one by one and gifted the bride and groom with beautiful gold necklaces, bracelets, watches, etc. I later asked about Islam’s ruling on gold, however, because I thought that Muslims weren’t supposed to wear much gold. It turns out that there is a law or general understanding that you are not supposed to wear more than a certain amount (2.5 grams?), which I find interesting. During this gift ceremony I noticed that Zuhair and Mariam (bride to be) would kneel down to the guest’s feet, touch their shoes, and bring both hands to their chest two times. It was confusing to me because it appeared to be a form of extreme respect, and some guests allowed them to perform the motion, and others nearly wrestled them to the floor while grabbing their arms to disallow it. Apparently some people are very uncomfortable with the practice and think that the couple adequately demonstrate their respect in other ways.

On the way home in the van, one of Zuhair’s 10-year old cousins asked me a question out of the blue that took me aback. He said, “Um, Lauren, don’t you feel, um, well, awkward with all of this stuff?” I indeed had felt incredibly awkward at the event, and appreciated his understanding. Leave it to 10-year olds I suppose. I asked him to explain what he meant and he said, “Well, everyone around you is different, you don’t speak Bangla, the food is different, and you are trying to wear the special clothes but you say you keep tripping”. I laughed. This child was way too perceptive. I found his question really refreshing, and the whole way home we talked about courage to try new things and what he could do to help people feel better when they feel awkward. I had found a new friend by the end of the night. In fact, as he left with his family (3 a.m.), he turned to me and said, “okay, you’re valid” and gave me a hug for the first time. I laughed again.

Zuhair and his family had beat us back to the house, and when I walked into the room, I noticed that he was laying on the bed falling asleep, but the most endearing part was that he was holding his grandmother’s hand. As if the day hadn’t been long enough, the family still sat with each other and chatted until 3 a.m. The prior night I had slept with two other people in the same bed, but that night there were even more people, so we slept five in the same bed! Personal space does not exist in this country. People would rather sleep under the mosquito net together than sleep on the couch by themselves. I don’t quite get it.

This experience made an amazing impression on me, and I feel so honored and thankful to have been included in it at such a personal level. I think my idea of love, togetherness, and family support has been deepened, if not somewhat changed. After seeing a scrapbook Zuhair’s little sister painstakingly made for her future sister in law (complete with personal bios and fun, quirky facts about everyone in the family) I agreed with the final quote she included: “There is only one thing in excess in this family, and that is love.”