Last month one of my friends from work invited me to travel with her one weekend overnight to another town to go to her friend's henna night. A henna night is the party the night before a wedding when they put a spot of henna on the bride's (and sometimes the groom's) hands. Why do they do this you ask? Because it's tradition. And no one I ask knows why the tradition started. But in this country tradition is reason enough to do something, even if you don't want to.
While the town was only 3-4 hours away by bus, it was enough to be considered in a different region complete with its own culture. On top of that, my work friend mentioned that the family was from a different sub-ethnicity that used to live in the mountains as nomadic goat-herders. This ethnic group was forced to settle down over a century ago, and they now don't look much different from my other friends, but they still keep this ethnic identity.
When we arrived, the 2-story house was buzzing with family and close friends. We sat and chatted with some of the family for a while. One very old woman said she used to live in Germany, and then said something to me in German I didn't understand, but she obviously thought I would. After we met several people coming in and out of the sitting room, we headed back outside where the parking area had been converted into a feast. Long tables were filled with guests, women in one group, men in the other. In front of the little house several old women sat in a row with huge pots full of food that they were doling out to men carrying trays. Opposite them sat several women on continual dish washing duty. The old woman who had lived in Germany pointed to her pot and say "zuppa," which I could only assume was the German word for soup since it wasn't Turkish. Another woman took charge, inviting me to look at all the goods, directing someone to give me a chair at the end of the food line, and offering me samples of what they had made. The woman next to me taught me how to properly fold their paper-thin homemade tortilla-like bread into an all-purpose spoon used to eat everything in the meal.
After I had eaten my fill and then some of soup, rice, beans, okra, stuffed grape leaves, and the cold grapes-in-grape-sugar-water soup (I like anything sweet), they cleared out the tables and the party started. Dancing is necessary to any real celebration here. A one-man band with keyboard, lute, and mic provided the music. There was lots of typical Turkish dancing, as well as a local dance with small wooden spoons used like
castanets. They even let me try at the spoons (they were a lot of fun, but I wasn't very good). Men and women of all ages danced. One young man and one middle-aged woman were particularly good at the spoons, and they danced together in the center for a while in an almost playful competition facing each other. A time was also set aside for all the young men about to go into military service to have the dance floor. We danced for probably 2 hours before they brought the henna out!
When I get the rest of the pictures from my friend, I'll continue the story :)
