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Published: August 4th 2006
Surprise! Two years ago, in August of 2004, Levent and I went to his hometown of Denizli, Turkey, to get married. I had very little knowledge of how Turkish weddings worked. I tried to search on the internet, but found very little information on modern, city weddings like the one we would have. I had been to a few weddings in the US and Canada, all of which had involved bridesmaids and groomsmen, a rehearsal dinner, wedding party photographs, a wedding, and a reception. I had essentially no idea of what to expect at my own wedding, and it didn't occur to Levent to explain it to me - or for me to ask. I didn't know where to begin, and I am not sure he knew how little
I knew about what was to come. Once we got to Turkey, I heard his mother mention numerous times that she wanted to have a henna night for me. I had heard of this from Indian weddings, but had never been to one, and really didn't know many details about it except that there would likely be henna involved. Fortunately, at least I knew what henna was! It was about the only
thing I knew, and attending my own henna night and wedding was like watching a new movie for the first time. I had no idea what to expect, and that made me both excited and anxious.
What is henna night? Traditionally (in Turkey, at least), henna night, or
kina gecesi (kuh-NAH GE-je-see) is a women's party that usually takes place the night before the wedding. The bride's closest friends and female family members gather to eat, dance, and sing. They put
henna on their hands. The stains it leaves on their hands for weeks afterwards tell everyone that they are a new bride, or have been to a close friend or family-member's wedding. Traditionally, and still for many brides, it is a melancholic evening. The following day, the bride will leave her father's house, where she has lived all her life, to live in her new husband's house. It can be both sad and scary for the brides, and at the very least is the end of an era. There is a song that is sung especially at henna nights which demonstrates the melancholy. It is called "Yuksek Tepelere". You can hear the music
here. (you will have to
find the song by doing a search on the page for "yuksek").
YÜKSEK YÜKSEK TEPELERE - HIGH HIGH MOUNTAIN TOPS
Yüksek yüksek tepelere ev kurmasınlar - They shouldn't build homes high up on the mountain tops
Aşrı aşrı memlekete kız vermesinler - They shouldn't give girls to faraway lands
Annesinin bir tanesini hor görmesinler - They shouldn't neglect the mother's one and only
Uçan da kuşlara malum olsun - May the birds carry the message
Ben annemi özledim - I miss my mother
Hem annemi hem babamı - Both my mother and father
Ben köyümü özledim - I miss my village
Babamın bir atı olsa binse de gelse - If my father had a horse, he could jump on it and come
Annemin yelkeni olsa açsa da gelse - If my mother had a sail, she could open it and come
Kardeşlerim yollarımı bilse de gelse - If my siblings knew the way, they could come
Uçan da kuşlara malum olsun - May the birds carry the message
Ben annemi özledim - I miss my mother
Hem annemi hem babamı - Both my mother and father
Ben köyümü özledim - I miss my village
It's quite a sad song, and, living so far away from my own parents and siblings now, it is definitely meaningful to me. The writer of the song probably didn't have the internet, though, or cheap international phone rates, so I consider myself very lucky. My father doesn't have a horse nor my mother a sail, but thank goodness for airplanes! Both my mother-in-law and my mother lived far away from their own families, so this song is likely meaningful to them, too.
What to wear? I didn't really think about what to wear to my henna night primarily because it somehow didn't occur to me that it might be a dress-up occasion. I should mention here that at the time Levent and I got married, I knew just enough Turkish for everyone to assume (incorrectly) that I knew what was going on and picked up on the wedding-planning conversations. In fact, it was exhausting to listen to Turkish all the time and focus on understanding everything, so I often tuned out the conversations going on around me when they got too confusing (ok, I still do it now). I didn't ask Levent to translate for me because, well,
Dance
The groom (damat) is not really supposed to see his bride (gelin) on the henna night, but this lucky bride got to see her handsome groom before the wedding :)he already had enough to do, and I figured that I would somehow, eventually be told what I needed to know. This was not always an effective form of communication. While I am sure it is common among language learners, I do not recommend it, particularly when wedding plans are involved! When I was asked what I would wear, I was at a loss. I had brought a red silk dress to wear at a close friend's wedding (also in Turkey - unfortunately, Levent and I both got extremely sick the week before our friend's wedding, and were unable to go). I suggested the dress, and Levent's mother was pleased. Whew!
What I found out much later (as in, on the day of my henna night), was that I was going to change into a very special outfit, indeed - I, like all of Levent's female cousins, would have the privilege to wear a family heirloom - the Traditional Turkish wedding dress of Levent's mother's great aunt. It was over a hundred years old, and in gorgeous condition. Even though I was very pleased with my own wedding dress, getting to wear this wedding dress was so incredibly special
and meaningful and inclusive, I have rarely felt such a connection to history.
Where and when should we have the henna night? From what I understand, henna nights are often held in a home. Levent's mom wanted to have it at their home, but there was a problem: we wanted to have it the night before the wedding so that all of our guests coming from abroad would be able to attend, while his mom wanted it to be a few nights before so she wouldn't have to do the cleaning up the night before the wedding. Hmmm, dilemma. We also thought it might be nice to break tradition and make the henna night co-ed. We mentioned all of this to the event coordinator at the hotel at which the reception would be held, and she thought it would be a great idea to have the henna night by the pool at the hotel. There was already a live band playing there, and it would be interesting for the tourists to watch. They would provide some snacks, and my mother-in-law would bring homemade
yaprak dolmasi stuffed grape leaves. And, it could be held the night before the wedding because the hotel would do the clean up. Perfect!
KINA GECESi When we arrived at the poolside of the hotel
(Polat Thermal Hotel), it seemed like a regular poolside party. Most of Levent's cousins were there, as were his aunts and uncles, close friends, my parents, my brothers, and some of my close friends. We mingled and snacked. I think I was nervous, though not consciously. I didn't know what the plan was, what I was going to have to do and when. We all danced and chatted and I knew there was more to it than this, but didn't think to ask about the schedule... I was still wearing my red dress and had heard something about wearing the family heirloom wedding dress, but didn't know how I would know when I should change into it, or how to put it on, even.
Fortunately, when the time came, I was whisked away by Levent's sister, Neslihan, and his cousin, Ilkay, to my parents' hotel room, where I was dressed in the silk piece of family history. Perhaps I now know what it feels like to be an empress or a queen or a president - they probably don't know the play-by-play plan of every day and every event. They just trust that their entourage does! Before I knew it, I had been transformed from modern American woman to historical Turkish bride. A sparkly red scarf was put over my head (nobody could see me, but I could see out of it). I had been with my mother in law when she bought it. At the time, it had seemed a bit... well, gaudy. But when worn together with the rest of the outfit, it was perfect.
Neslihan held my hand and led me down the hallway toward the poolside terrace. Cousins appeared and joined me as my entourage, and Ilkay was holding a copper bowl piled with henna paste, with a lit candle glimmering in the middle. As I stepped onto the terrace, my parents and brothers, friends and future-family smiled. "Yuksek Tepelere" was being played by the band (you really do have to listen to that song to get a better feeling for the evening) as I was led to my chair. I sat down, and tried to take it all in and remember every second because this is one of those things in life you can only do once, and no picture will capture it because there were no pictures taken from inside my sparkly red veil. My mother-in-law wore rubber gloves and put a spoonful of henna into the palm of each of my hands, and put a gold coin in each pile of henna, then she put red covers over my hands to keep them closed and the henna inside. She then put henna into the hands of the other women who wanted it. Through the chiffon and sparkles, I saw my English mother and my Turkish future mother-in-law dancing around me with giant smiles on their faces. I knew that the music being played was supposed to make me cry, but I couldn't have been happier.
Once the henna was in my hands, the veil was removed, and the whole group danced in a big circle. The dads then danced together, in the Turkish style of holding their hands above their heads and doing low dips to the ground. The mothers later danced together. Then we danced together in a huge line. Step step step step kick kick step step step step. Like a Turkish Can Can. We were moving too fast for anyone to keep up, and everyone was kicking and stepping in a wave rather than to the rhythm. The rhythm didn't matter, though, because we were having a blast!
At the end of the night, my mother said to me, "You should have given me dance lessons before, Saskia, I didn't know what I was doing!" But she didn't need dance lessons - she did great. Nobody knew what they were doing. Everybody was improvising. I admit it, we foreigners were more clueless than anyone else, but the point is that we all had great fun. There was no set schedule, no rehearsal so everything would go just right. We were just a bunch of people from Turkey and the US and England and Spain and Poland and Germany and Russia* celebrating a marriage and love and friendship. There are no dance lessons for that kind of dance.
*I think there were some Russian tourists participating - didn't recognize some of the folks in the photos later!
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Scott Kameron
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