An Excursion
honeyandthemona
Originally uploaded by threw_a_spark. Stepping through doors that look like any other doors you would step through, and then realizing that you forget about the possibility that things just might be completely different from what you expected.
It was Saturday, which was turning to look like one of those weekends that elongate themselves in front of me, stretching out hours so I can bounce from place to place and forget which stories I've told to which friends so far. It was a graduation party, she said. So I nodded. Sure, maybe there'll be cake. Something big and white with frosting roses and ballons and maybe the graduate's name scrawled across it in blue icing. That would be nice.
They're devout Muslims, so I scrolled through the multitude of faux-pas I could conceivably commit. I decided remaining quiet would quite possibly be a good bet.
The room we stepped into was the best reimagining of a townhouse style drab living room space that I've ever seen. Shiny silken pillows lined the length of the floor, with large carpets in the middle and embroidered linen curtains draped along the walls and in between where we stood and the kitchen, giving the food preparation a flair of the mysterious. High school age girls clustered in shiny packs throughout the room, pausing from their laughter and chatter intermittently to shout something to one of the other girls milling about. Most were dressed in shalwar kameez and matching hijabs (head scarves), which were quickly unwoven and wrapped around their hips when the music started. The dynamic was hopelessly out of my reach, and I was almost sure that several fights broke out under my nose, but not quite sure enough that they weren't just joking. The bird was flipped across the room several times, and a few girls threw their heads back and laughed after a "fuck you" was tossed as an aside to them. It was a bit overwhelming, really. Sensory overload with the swift swish of fabric, parsed sentences mingling with their original languages bubbling out, the erratic ulalating dance songs, the jittering gyration of their hips with the scarves tightened and twitching with every fluttering beat. Kids ran around laughing, too, ducking under twisting arms and joining in when some of the more traditional dances started, but also hanging back and watching as the older girls demonstrated their remarkable cultural pastiche, cellphones tucked up against flowered silk, bare feet pattering as hips swung, eyes lined dark and squinting with laughter while someone else mimicked a mutual friend. The food finally emerged, slightly cold but sitting firmly on styrofoam trays. A side of lamb, some chicken, small fried finger foods and rice with red potatoes. Our various hostesses drifted in intermittently, smiling and hugging and changing the music every half song or so. An older brother came in and some of the girls scrambled for their head coverings, but he was berated and quickly disappeared upstairs, leaving the girls to shuffle through their cds again and continue dancing.
Of course we wanted photos. It was an incredible evening, brightly colored and laughing, but who wants to be the bystander gawking and asking hey, hey, can I take a picture? You have such pretty dresses. As the night would have it, though, one of the little girls we had befriended earlier through a regiment of fake swing dancing and tickling fits showed a keen interest in playing with the cell phone camera, so she was turned loose among her older sister and friends to click click click to her heart's content, taking a child's eye to all the commotion. Shown to the right is Honey, one of the younger girls who spent a lot of time with us while we were there. We left about 10:30ish, I think, food sitting heavy in our stomach and the room still bright with laughter. Stepping out of the house and into the cool quiet of the night air, it felt like something I had imagined. A sudden break from the norm, a venture into a culture operating alongside what I consider mine yet still only appearing at intervals to catch my eye.