![\"Wolfgang](\"http:\/\/diaryofthedesert.files.wordpress.com\/2013\/07\/450px-tell_arab_-_frauen_beim_hennabemalen_3_hand.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n
In short order someone remarks that my palms are currently henna-less. This is an unforgivable sin at the henna evening of the wedding, so even though I missed the actual henna party some henna is procured. After Um Jihad mixes it with some warm water, somebody summons Um Rafiq\u2019s third son, Mohammad, and hands him a toothpick to do my hand. Apparently he is the most talented palm-artist in the family. At first this unnerves me, because Mohammad is roughly my own age and I\u2019m wary of men touching me \u2013 at all, anywhere \u2013 after two years here. But he manages to decorate my hand with a beautiful and intricate design of lines and dots without ever touching me at all, with the sole exception of one nudge to adjust the position of my thumb.<\/p>\n
While he decorates my right hand,\u00a0Asya reenters the room from wherever she\u2019d wandered off to. She laughs and says, \u201cI\u2019m better at this than Mohammad! Let me do your left hand!\u201d So she sits on my other side and begins by slapping a large, flower-shaped blob in the middle of my hand. But soon she begins to work fine details around the outside that really do rival her brother\u2019s.<\/p>\n
As she works, the ladies in the room begin to sing. They sing a wedding song dedicated to Asya, and then, for some reason, one dedicated to me. As they\u2019re singing, a young man walks into the room and sits down about five seats away from us.\u00a0 Asya perks up and points at him with her toothpick. \u201cThis is the man I love,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m puzzled, because I\u2019ve met Rami, and this guy definitely isn\u2019t Rami. So I look back at her curiously. \u201cNo, really,\u201d she says. \u201cAnd he loves me. He wants to marry me.\u201d<\/p>\n
I look around. The women in the room are nodding, and Asya\u2019s brothers are sitting against one wall grinning stupidly. Her brother Bilal says, \u201cShe can\u2019t marry this one because he\u2019s not her cousin. For us, it\u2019s required to marry your cousins.\u201d<\/p>\n
I happen to know this is baloney. Cousins are often preferred as marriage partners because they\u2019re known quantities and require less or no dowry. But they\u2019re certainly not the only eligible candidates. So I look back to\u00a0Asya for clarification.<\/p>\n
Asya\u00a0laughs brightly. \u201cMy father wants me to marry my cousin. I think it\u2019s a shame, because I don\u2019t love my cousin. But my father says so. What do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think it\u2019s awful,\u201d I reply, still half-unsure she\u2019s serious.<\/p>\n
\u201cExactly,\u201d\u00a0Asya says, and nods as she returns to my hand. \u201cTell my mother that.\u201d<\/p>\n
I look at Um Rafiq and say again, \u201cI think it\u2019s awful.\u201d<\/p>\n
Um Rafiq laughs, and hearing us,\u00a0Asya laughs too. \u201cWhat am I going to do?\u201d Um\u00a0Rafiq asks. \u201cMy husband says she has to marry Rami. That\u2019s all there is to it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Bilal\u00a0adds, inanely, \u201cWomen should marry their cousins. It\u2019s best.\u201d<\/p>\n
I am still not sure this is all on the level. But\u00a0Asya laughs again and says, \u201cIn fact, I don\u2019t want to get married at all, but nobody really asked me. Oh well.\u201d Then she puts a final dot on my palm and gets up to wash her own hands.<\/p>\n
Half an hour later, when we have managed to extricate ourselves and are walking home, I turn to Um\u00a0Jihad for clarification. \u201cDoes\u00a0Asya really not want to marry Rami?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, she really wants to marry that other one,\u201d Um\u00a0Jihad says, more or less without emotion.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen… why is she marrying Rami?\u201d I know I\u2019m applying Western logic here, but sometimes I can\u2019t help myself.<\/p>\n
\u201cHer father said she had to. When she cried, he beat her.\u201d Again, more or less emotionless.<\/p>\n
For a fleeting second I think, maybe I can somehow STOP this wedding. Didn\u2019t they tell us at training about embassy assistance if we need to get out of the country fast? Would they help a Jordanian friend of mine? Could I help her get started in the US?<\/p>\n
Then I realize I\u2019m being an idiot. But I can\u2019t hold my tongue. \u201cThat\u2019s horrible,\u201d I say. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t her mother say anything?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, she did,\u201d Um Jihad assures me. \u201cBut when she told Abu\u00a0Rafiq to stop beating Asya, he beat her instead.\u201d<\/p>\n
Again I am speechless. Finally I come up with, \u201cIn America, when husbands beat their wives, we call the police and the police take the husbands away.\u201d<\/p>\n
Um\u00a0Jihad thinks for a minute. Then she says, \u201cI think your way is best. Maybe even the fear of the police will keep men from beating their wives. Here, men can do pretty much what they want. You know Hibba, Um Rafiq\u2019s daughter? Her husband used to beat her. And that other daughter, the one with the little baby? She\u2019s married to the brother of her father\u2019s second wife, and he doesn\u2019t treat her very well either. It\u2019s a shame because all Abu Rafiq\u2019s daughters are so sweet and smart, and all their husbands are donkeys.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sigh. \u201cIt seems like all my friends here have bad husbands,\u201d I say \u2013 something I wouldn\u2019t have said even a year ago.<\/p>\n
\u201cA lot of men are bad,\u201d Um\u00a0Jihad agrees. \u201cBut my husband is good. And your landlord is good. There are some good ones.\u201d<\/p>\n
We walk on in silence. Finally, I say, \u201cI don\u2019t understand one thing. If\u00a0Asya doesn\u2019t want to marry Rami, why is she so happy? She looked happy and she laughed all evening.\u201d<\/p>\n
Without hesitation, Um\u00a0Jihad answers, \u201cShe is<\/em> happy. Once the marriage was a sure thing, she learned to live with it. What else could she do?\u201d<\/p>\n