June 5th...
Birthdays in this country start late in the evening and end around midnight... or later. The party we were invited to was for a 5-year-old and started around 8:30PM. Emma's tradition is to fall apart in fusses around 8PM, so we knew this would not be a great idea, but wanted to get her warmed up to doing things in the evening since things happen during evenings here. Our plan was to step in, make our appearances, get some phone numbers of new buddies, and scram once Emma began to cry.
Emma cried in her car seat all the way to the party. When we arrived at the hall where the party was to be hosted, I changed her and calmed her. Matt then called the host to make sure we were at the correct hall. The host then told Matt that he would come to our van and direct us to his house. Uh-oh.
While directing us to his home, he explained that there were many crazy and festive things going on at the house and that after the festivities, we would return to the hall to eat (around 10:30PM/11PM). Keep in mind this is a 5-year-old's birthday party.
When we arrived at his house, there was a gilded horse-drawn carriage outside the front of the house... think really blingy Cinderella-ish carriage with two white horses at the front and preschoolers teeming inside the carriage. Wow. Also, a band was setting up next to the horses and neighbors and guests were beginning to arrive. Emma was whimper-gasping from having screamed the whole way in the car and only recently had gained composure.
I covered my head with my scarf/dopatta and adjusted my South Asian dress/frock, then he escorted us into his house. In the front room, two old men were sitting Indian-style on a bed with only their sweat pants on (that were a size too small). Creepy. I covered my face with the dopatta and covered Emma's head, too, to show without my needing to saying it that their dress-code was embarrassing for mixed company. Emma began to cry.
Matt stayed in that room as Emma and I were directed to the women's sector of the house. I met the host's wife and introduced her to Emma, who was full-on crying. As the host's wife began to introduce me to the other women, the music started. No, not music... more like a decibel full-on assault happened just outside the front door that was open. I wanted to run for cover like we were in an air raid.
Upon hearing the crazy noise, Emma bucked and didn't stop screaming from this point until we left. I couldn't hear her screaming, but knew that she was screaming from her shaking body and purple face. I mouthed to the host in Urdu 'can I use your back room to nurse my baby?' After three attempts to read my lips, she got the message and took me to a room full of brightly adorned old ladies.
I attempted to nurse Emma, who was still bucking and crazily screaming (I could hear her screaming now). "WHY IS SHE CRYING AND NOT ENJOYING?!" was the question that the ladies constantly had for me. This turned into "SHE IS CRYING SO LOUDLY NOW, MADAM." ...Um, thanks for noticing, maybe if you would turn down the music, ya think?... The old ladies began snapping their fingers in Emma's face and clapping their hands in her face. When this didn't work, they imitated sounds of dying woodland creatures (at least that is what the sound was reminiscent of). Emma was not impressed and continue screaming.
At this point, I tried to ask where my husband and purse had gone to. No one wanted to take the time to read my lips or listen. I left the room and went to the main hall where one of the old men was standing... finally with a shirt.
Man: "SHE IS CRYING SO MUCH NOW, MADAM. SHE IS NOT ENJOYING."
Me: [Ya think?!] "Yes, she is tired and used to sleeping in silence. Where is my husband, please?"
Man: "HE IS DANCING WITH SWORDS OUTSIDE. GO LOOK. YOU SEE? SWORD!"
Me: "WHAT?!"
At this point, I discover my husband holding a sword next to the loud speakers and men with heads cocked to the side as he attempts to fulfill their request for him to dance with a sword. This stunt was so that the host could have Matt on camera as having attended his son's birthday. It is considered status to have white people at your parties.
Matt passed off the sword, awkwardly making his escape, and came to see me in the house with the host quick on his heels.
Host: "SHE IS CRYING SO LOUDLY NOW. I THINK YOU SHOULD TAKE FOOD THEN TAKE HER AND LEAVE. LET'S GO NOW TO THE HALL. I'M SORRY."
Praise the Lord... he read my mind!
We left at that point. I wrapped Emma in my arms and held her screaming body tightly to protect her from the children and adults playing/dancing with swords outside. In all my vigilance to protect her, I forgot about the horse-drawn carriage and one of the horses reared his face right next to mine as I walked past. I SCREAMED like in a horror film because I've never been that close to a horse in my life and thought it was going to bite my cheek. I ran to the van and we began to drive away.
As we were driving, we discovered that the only exit from this alley on which they lived had been blocked by construction. So, we had to drive through the party that was happening on the street behind us. After turning around, we approached the crowd and an auto rickshaw was on the opposite side bullying its way through. We allowed them the right of way through the crowd and then began driving (inching) through the crowd. The band had to move their cart and some drivers had to move their scooters and motorcycles aside for us to make it through.
We arrived at the hall and ate our biriyani, cucumbers, and pasty sweet. Then, drove home promising the host to return to see him some less-crazy time of day. Emma cried most of the way home.
When we arrived home, the stress was high from all the shock of the past three hours... but it wasn't over. We entered the elevator and got stuck there. Thankfully for only a couple of minutes. Our banging on the doors railed Emma into another bout of crying, though.
By the time we got home, we both wanted to fall on the floor and sigh a breath of relief that we were back in our little safe haven. Your mind just begs "WHY?!" to cultural things like a lack of noise ordinance, horse drawn carriages that will never be pulled down the street due to the crowd, and the five-year-old dancing crazily with a real sword whose dad is putting money in his mouth.
We pledged to not bring Emma to these parties until she is much older.
Birthdays in this country start late in the evening and end around midnight... or later. The party we were invited to was for a 5-year-old and started around 8:30PM. Emma's tradition is to fall apart in fusses around 8PM, so we knew this would not be a great idea, but wanted to get her warmed up to doing things in the evening since things happen during evenings here. Our plan was to step in, make our appearances, get some phone numbers of new buddies, and scram once Emma began to cry.
Emma cried in her car seat all the way to the party. When we arrived at the hall where the party was to be hosted, I changed her and calmed her. Matt then called the host to make sure we were at the correct hall. The host then told Matt that he would come to our van and direct us to his house. Uh-oh.
While directing us to his home, he explained that there were many crazy and festive things going on at the house and that after the festivities, we would return to the hall to eat (around 10:30PM/11PM). Keep in mind this is a 5-year-old's birthday party.
When we arrived at his house, there was a gilded horse-drawn carriage outside the front of the house... think really blingy Cinderella-ish carriage with two white horses at the front and preschoolers teeming inside the carriage. Wow. Also, a band was setting up next to the horses and neighbors and guests were beginning to arrive. Emma was whimper-gasping from having screamed the whole way in the car and only recently had gained composure.
I covered my head with my scarf/dopatta and adjusted my South Asian dress/frock, then he escorted us into his house. In the front room, two old men were sitting Indian-style on a bed with only their sweat pants on (that were a size too small). Creepy. I covered my face with the dopatta and covered Emma's head, too, to show without my needing to saying it that their dress-code was embarrassing for mixed company. Emma began to cry.
Matt stayed in that room as Emma and I were directed to the women's sector of the house. I met the host's wife and introduced her to Emma, who was full-on crying. As the host's wife began to introduce me to the other women, the music started. No, not music... more like a decibel full-on assault happened just outside the front door that was open. I wanted to run for cover like we were in an air raid.
Upon hearing the crazy noise, Emma bucked and didn't stop screaming from this point until we left. I couldn't hear her screaming, but knew that she was screaming from her shaking body and purple face. I mouthed to the host in Urdu 'can I use your back room to nurse my baby?' After three attempts to read my lips, she got the message and took me to a room full of brightly adorned old ladies.
I attempted to nurse Emma, who was still bucking and crazily screaming (I could hear her screaming now). "WHY IS SHE CRYING AND NOT ENJOYING?!" was the question that the ladies constantly had for me. This turned into "SHE IS CRYING SO LOUDLY NOW, MADAM." ...Um, thanks for noticing, maybe if you would turn down the music, ya think?... The old ladies began snapping their fingers in Emma's face and clapping their hands in her face. When this didn't work, they imitated sounds of dying woodland creatures (at least that is what the sound was reminiscent of). Emma was not impressed and continue screaming.
At this point, I tried to ask where my husband and purse had gone to. No one wanted to take the time to read my lips or listen. I left the room and went to the main hall where one of the old men was standing... finally with a shirt.
Man: "SHE IS CRYING SO MUCH NOW, MADAM. SHE IS NOT ENJOYING."
Me: [Ya think?!] "Yes, she is tired and used to sleeping in silence. Where is my husband, please?"
Man: "HE IS DANCING WITH SWORDS OUTSIDE. GO LOOK. YOU SEE? SWORD!"
Me: "WHAT?!"
At this point, I discover my husband holding a sword next to the loud speakers and men with heads cocked to the side as he attempts to fulfill their request for him to dance with a sword. This stunt was so that the host could have Matt on camera as having attended his son's birthday. It is considered status to have white people at your parties.
the party scene
random sword-dancing man
5-year-old dances as his dad puts money between his teeth
Matt passed off the sword, awkwardly making his escape, and came to see me in the house with the host quick on his heels.
Host: "SHE IS CRYING SO LOUDLY NOW. I THINK YOU SHOULD TAKE FOOD THEN TAKE HER AND LEAVE. LET'S GO NOW TO THE HALL. I'M SORRY."
Praise the Lord... he read my mind!
We left at that point. I wrapped Emma in my arms and held her screaming body tightly to protect her from the children and adults playing/dancing with swords outside. In all my vigilance to protect her, I forgot about the horse-drawn carriage and one of the horses reared his face right next to mine as I walked past. I SCREAMED like in a horror film because I've never been that close to a horse in my life and thought it was going to bite my cheek. I ran to the van and we began to drive away.
As we were driving, we discovered that the only exit from this alley on which they lived had been blocked by construction. So, we had to drive through the party that was happening on the street behind us. After turning around, we approached the crowd and an auto rickshaw was on the opposite side bullying its way through. We allowed them the right of way through the crowd and then began driving (inching) through the crowd. The band had to move their cart and some drivers had to move their scooters and motorcycles aside for us to make it through.
We arrived at the hall and ate our biriyani, cucumbers, and pasty sweet. Then, drove home promising the host to return to see him some less-crazy time of day. Emma cried most of the way home.
When we arrived home, the stress was high from all the shock of the past three hours... but it wasn't over. We entered the elevator and got stuck there. Thankfully for only a couple of minutes. Our banging on the doors railed Emma into another bout of crying, though.
By the time we got home, we both wanted to fall on the floor and sigh a breath of relief that we were back in our little safe haven. Your mind just begs "WHY?!" to cultural things like a lack of noise ordinance, horse drawn carriages that will never be pulled down the street due to the crowd, and the five-year-old dancing crazily with a real sword whose dad is putting money in his mouth.
We pledged to not bring Emma to these parties until she is much older.
No comments:
Post a Comment