On Saturday I was invited to a Roman Catholic baptism. It was a great event. The whole family was out and everyone was dressed nicely. Everyone except me that is, because I forgot my pin-striped shorts. NB: buy a tie. My favourite part was the little boy, who was probably between one and two, wearing a three piece white suit. His parents even managed to keep it white the entire time too. You could tell this was an important event, because the mother had what I would call wedding hair and makeup. She also had a very nice dress on and later had a completely different very nice dress.
I'm not sure if the baptism was done in Arabic or in Latin, either way I didn't understand much. I was surprised with how calm the child was with getting water poured on his head. The whole thing took just over an hour.
On my way home I stopped by the store across the street to buy a glass bottle of coke, some rice and "noodle balls." The local kids were laughing at me, but I'm not sure if it was because of the noodle balls.
At 8pm I was told that we were going to have dinner. I knew it was part of the baptism but I did not realised it would be such a celebration. When I got there it was pretty close to my idea of a wedding reception. Eventually about 80 people showed up. They also had a three piece band.
I sat with the aunts, who I also arrived with. Being an avid family gathering attender since 1989, I know that when you are sitting with the aunts it's best to go on the offensive, less they start asking questions about girlfriends and life direction. So I pulled out my most refined weapon, from years of practice as a Mennonite. I asked how everyone was related to each other. Well, they loved me after that. Even calling me a "polite boy," but they said that one in Arabic first, so they might just have been talking about my stained shirt.
Our appetizer was pita and an assortment of dips - mostly humus - and salads. The waiter walked by with glasses of vodka and ice, I took a round with the ladies. I honestly thought that it was water, because seriously, who walks around with 25 glasses of vodka. If there is one thing I am learning, celebrating is a big deal here. Vodka is not exactly my favourite drink and it didn't go down great. Since there were no churches near by, that was my last drink of the night.
It must have been enough vodka though, because I soon found myself dancing and making a fool of myself like usual. Suddenly and without warning I also found myself in the middle of a circle of people being egged on. Fearing the effects of culture shock, I decided to stray away from my goto move The Butter Churn and instead just sort of wiggled around. I stopped before someone went and got my Epi-pen.
Still on the dancing note, I must say that the generational difference was massive. Most of the people over 40 danced worse than my parents - sorry, but it's true - while almost everyone under 30 was amazing. It was probably some of the best nonprofessional dancing I have ever scene. Even the guys seemed like they had their hips attached by hinges. They tried to teach me a few moves and lyrics, to which they just laughed at me but I did learn the secret. If you can't actually move your hips face enough, you grab the back of your pants and shake them. That's how they make those music videos!
The main course was served at 10:30pm, with three different cakes at 11. The whole evening was covered by the family. The baptised baby feel asleep in his mothers arms. She was dancing with him, her husband and their two daughters when I left.
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