The pageantry surrounding the wedding always amazes me. The traditions, the colors, the partying – all of these things contribute to an atmosphere that is always detached from reality.
I started to go to the wedding at 3 in the afternoon. The Rays and I went to the bride’s house the day before, so it wasn’t too far away – the next town over. Since it was hot, I decided to wear just my undershirt while walking. I was carrying my camera and a nice shirt, and tea and sugar for gifts. I explained to the Rays that in America, we try to make sure we look as nice as possible, hence me carrying the shirt so it doesn’t get sweaty in the 100 degree heat. We cross the river leading to the town, and as we reach the house, I put on the shirt.
Inside the house, there are two rooms – one with women dancing and singing, and one with men sitting around doing nothing. We obviously have to go to the latter. Let me explain something before I continue – I haven’t cut my hair in a while, and it is getting a bit long. While I’m sitting there, a woman comes in and greets everyone, and comes to me and kisses me. A little confused, I look up at her and her eyes widen and she backs away. She yells out in Tamazight, and the men in the room laugh. She had said that with my hair, she thought I was a woman. The Rays notions for me to leave the room, and we head to the front of the house. That’s sad, I thought, I had always imagined the wedding to be more elaborate than this. As we head out of the house, the Rays asks me if I’m ready.
“I guess,” I said, and we started walking the other way.
“Wait,” I said, “Where are we going?”
“To the wedding.” He said, pointing to the top of a mountain that looked like Mount Crumpet from the Grinch.
Apparently, they had set up a tent ON THE TOP of the mountain. We head out, me in my nice shirt and camera, while still holding the gifts. Let me be clear – there is no elevation in Florida. I haven’t climbed a mountain since I was a child. This mountain was about 2 kilometers high, the path of which wraps around the mountain in a path that is approximately one foot wide and turns the 2 kilometer height into a path of about double the distance. We have picked up a third man on the way.
Walking back and forth, looking over the edge of the mountain into the valley below, I hear the sounds of the kids screaming on the mountainside. I love that sound, I thought to myself, there’s something peaceful about the way they scream that just seems so natural. I don’t know why they use such a misleading word for it, but one would think that a baby goat would have a better name than kid. Anyway, as we travel up the mountain, I have to stop – my legs are burning and I’m at the point where my teeth hurt and my heart is pounding out of my chest.
“Can we stop for a break?” I ask.
“Sure, we can catch our breath.” The man says, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.
A six year old child walks by, leaping from rock to rock. Unless, the Amazigh people have perfected the art of teleportation, I had to assume that he started from where we were. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that I am dragging behind while this older man is able to drag on his cigarette, or a six-year old child is able to walk up this mountain without any problem.
After about an hour and a half, we finally make it to where it is leveling out. I am so proud of myself for having done that and I couldn’t wait to see the wedding party. I reach the top of the mountain – and see a vast stretch of desert before me.
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