A henna party

In my first blog post, I suggested a description of Palestinian henna parties as a more relaxed version of Norwegian bachelor parties. I have now been to one, and I take that back. There is simply nothing resembling henna parties in Norway.

It was my sweet landlady Munira who took me there. The henna was on last Thursday, two days before the wedding. We went to a big hall belonging to one of the churches in Beit Sahour. Munira told me that all churches here have their own halls used for hennas and funerals. Apart from a few men filming and taking photos, there were only women present. Those closest related to the groom were dancing in a crowd in the front. They had beautiful traditional Palestinian dresses, and some had tied colourful scarves around their wrists. One girl was playing a drum, and others were clapping their hands, singing and shouting.
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After a while it was time to make the henna. My boss, Nidal, had told me that in the old days they made patterns on their hands with it. Henna was thought to give strength to the bride and thus prepare her for the hard work lying ahead of her. Nowadays she only sticks her finger into it. The henna was made by mixing henna powder with tea and dough consisting of water and flour. Parts of it were distributed to people who wanted to use it for their hair. The rest was shaped like a cake and decorated with cloves and a candle.
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When the henna was done, it was taken in a procession through the street to the bride’s home. Still there was the drum, the singing and clapping. Torches were lit and two bottles of arak (licker) and a bible were carried in addition to the henna cake. The mother-in-law to be waved the bible cheerfully to the rhythm.
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We walked into a house and a crowded room where the bride was seated at something resembling a throne. She truly looked like a princess, smiling somewhat shy towards all the guests. The women sang her a special song, she put her finger into the henna and was given gold to hang around her neck.
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The night was still young, but for me it was time to leave. Munira’s relatives told me that there was going to be a party now where the groom would get his share of attention, as someone was going to shave him and sing him a special song, too.

Maybe the henna is nothing like a Norwegian bachelor party, but I would change mine for one any time.
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