Abdulhamid Alawi Jr.
Wedding Songs
Like music trends, maybe we dance to changing customs. Let’s listen to conversations between sisters Aliyah and Aisha and between father and son Amir and Jamil.
Aminah’s Wedding, 1993, Marawi.
Aminah sat quietly, her hands folded on her lap. She tries to gracefully accept the surge of tradition that just defeated her and that none of her siblings, Amir, Aliyah, nor Aisha, fought for her. All rageful emotions dissipated with every tear that dropped. In her fate and of the customs, she tries to find meaning. She sees none. They have rendered her stoic even to the audible chat of her sisters just outside the door.
“How is she?” Aliyah asked the younger Aisha.
“Ate Minah is dressed and resting inside. I locked the door, keys safe in my pocket. The climate is perfect, and I saw so many relatives when I passed by the venue. The music they play is so fitting! Perfect.”
“Do we have a choice?”
“Relatives?”
“Funny, Aish. You’re still bitter about some uncles rejecting your suitor’s marriage proposal. I was referring to the song. Every wedding nowadays plays Kenny G. His are not even songs.”
“Just to clarify, I now hate that suitor too. I realized he did not put much effort into pursuing our family. Our uncles did not accept marriage proposals because I’m the youngest. You and Ate Minah should be sent off first. Is it my fault if I’m the prettiest and in trend? Also, Ate Leah, these saxophone masterpieces are songs. Anyway, thanks to me, it’s the first wedding that plays the new Kenny G song.’
Aisha, always with an ear for the latest fad, tried to infuse the traditional wedding atmosphere with a touch of modernity. Her subtle involvement was her way of pushing against the boundaries set by norms that bored her.
“Many I attended played just ‘Silhouette.’” Aisha continues, “ ‘Breathless’ is such a better match. Everyone’s nervous during weddings.”
At this point, Aliyah bounced in, “They have titles and meanings?! Enough of the music talk. When will the groom’s party arrive?”
“I am not so sure, Ate Leah. Will they fetch her here before or after solemnization?”
“After. You must keep yourself updated with our own culture as you are with the latest showbiz and music. This is how it usually pans out. First, guests wait at the venue. The groom attempts to follow if no male relatives of the bride ask for lantong along the way. If their party satisfies our male cousins and uncles, he may proceed, and the Imam will be there to solemnize by reading the necessary khutba.”
“Then they proceed here?”
“Yes. If he satisfied our demand for luka sa gibbon. If he does, we open her door for him. He then returns to the venue with Ate Minah.”
“How much would you think we’ll receive?”
“Well, male relatives came up with 30,000 for lantong set up at the intersection. We hope to match that.”
“Let me count… 500,000 for dowry given last night, 30,000 for lantong at the road. The most they’ll give us for luka sa gibbon here at her room is 20,000. A fitting total from the groom’s family: 550,000. Just right for our family stature.”
“Here they come.”
“Update. Auntie got to them first at the main door and claimed our luka sa gibbon for us ladies. We will just have to open Minah’s door.”
“Haha, they gave in at the first door. I knew the groom did not want his relatives to wait long at the venue. Let’s all go in and get her.”
“Okay, go! But let’s go in first.”
“Oh my, her eyes are so swollen.”
“What do you expect? It’s her first time to meet her groom. Stupid custom.”
“They say it’s Islam.”
“Not!”
“Well, it’s fate. Isn’t acceptance of Qadr a key to piety?”
“Maybe, but the consent. Far from Islamic rules on consent that I know.”
“Luka sa gibbon isn’t part of our faith, but you’re okay with it?”
“Stop it. Let’s just offer dua and prayers for Minah.”
“May our sister be happy. Ameen.”
“It’s probably her fault too. Why would she reject so many proposals in the last five years when she was almost 30?”
“We have expiry dates?”
“She is even lucky that the handsome groom our uncles picked is from a great lineage and related to the Governor. One uncle even said that her name, Aminah, was fated to be entrusted with our clan through her children. Her children will be okay.”
“May Allah bless our Ate Minah.”
“Ameen, Ate Leah. Let the groom in.”
Jamilah’s Wedding, 2003, Iligan.
“Were it not for Aminah, there would not be any wedding! This event stomps on my pride,” Amir shouted at his son Jamil, who was on guard along the road. “Why were they so in a hurry for all of these?”
Somehow, Amir felt that he was a victim to Aminah’s newfound power in the family. It’s as if Aminah came back in rebellion against her family, and he had to bear the brunt of it. He looks back to his possible role in her wedding. If there was any at all, it was minuscule, he thinks to himself. Aminah should not have crossed him.
“Calm down, Abi. Auntie Minah feared that if Ismael and Jamilah were not wed sooner, there was a higher probability that another suitor from closer relatives might win over your favor. She knows how Jamilah would be devastated if she’s wed to anyone else. M&Ms was fated to happen, they said.”
“M&Ms?”
“Nicknames of the groom and bride. Mael and Mila,” Jamil addressed his father’s confusion.
“How about my Maratabat as a father? Who gave Jamilah that Nokia anyway, Jam? The boy got to her with those texts. I guarded your sister well.”
“Ate Mila needed the phone. It was easier to pick her up at school. We were not giving her load, but the guy gave her load cards even after graduation. He kept calling too.”
No matter how large or little the issues raised by his dad, Jamil tries to patiently respond as a good son trying to comfort a distressed elder. He thinks to himself, how could Jamilah do this to their father? Jamil understood his father’s pain, the sting of perceived dishonor.
“Aminah with these wedding decisions and plans. What has happened to our society? We have Aminah and Jamilah deciding now. I lose face at male relatives noticing that she’s calling the shots. She sure has learned how to leverage her husband’s influence over me. Have you seen her husband?”
“He’s doing well at the venue, welcoming everyone. Guests will be looking for him, the Governor’s first cousin. I’m sorry if things are not going exactly as you want it, Abi. Aunt Aminah told me clan matters are balanced with negotiations and concessions.”
In the years that passed, Aminah, not being able to have her own children, helped take care of Jamilah. She saw Jamilah as her own daughter. “My Milah,” as she calls her, was vibrant and full of life. She also saw a reflection of her own once-dormant hopes.
Aminah was not able to plan her own destiny, but in the weaving of Jamilah’s story, she had altered the pattern of their family’s tapestry. It was a bittersweet victory, the knowledge that her sacrifice had borne fruit in the happiness of another. The negotiations had been delicate, a balancing act of respect and subtle defiance. She thought she was able to put into good use the influence of her husband’s family. Aminah had worked the threads of tradition with a gentle hand, advocating for Jamilah’s right to choose, to love, over her father’s high standards and pride.
“When is the groom’s convoy arriving?” Amir impatiently snaps. “At least I get some recompense after this insult.”
“You should be at the venue, father. The Governor and the Congressman may arrive anytime.”
“They will attend? Alhamdulillah. I can rush down to the venue after this. It’s barely 50 meters away via the footpath. Cars will have to go around the curve. I came up here to check on you, my son. Why would you lead the lantong stakeout?”
“To fortify our stand, father. The groom’s dad relayed they won’t hand in anything more than 20,000.”
“What?! Wait until we show them my baby ArmaLite.”
“Abi, we can’t brandish that here.”
“Because we’re in Iligan! Another stupid decision from Aminah. For all we know, they may not even give any and then be allowed to pass. Custom is dying. It is not about the money. We lose the prestige; we lose proving our worth.
“Here we go again. Abi, she just didn’t want another arranged marriage. She said she cried a bucket during her own wedding. She cried more when both ustad and lawyer friends advised her against backing out.”
“Indeed, at that time then Minah thought her being enrolled in law school could save her, huh? No number of friends can stop fate. How about you, when will the school year start?”
“In a week.”
“Let’s take something from this waiting along the road with my giving some words of wisdom. My dear son, we have cultural weight.”
“By weight, you mean value?” Jamil quickly chances on the favorable change in topic.
“Blood is influence. Your looks count. People’s impression of your religiosity counts. Continue the kind gestures and magnanimity we teach you because those are important. Choose an amiable wife. Your affluence is estimated by our properties and, more importantly, your job or on finishing law school after high school and college. These and many other factors will be the basis for how our clans will weigh you, my dear golden boy.”
“My weight. Lineage, looks, faith, manners, spouse, and whether I become a lawyer?”
“There are no clear-cut rules and basis. Some say there is Hadith on those, and I see practicality in them. For me, patience with relatives and being giving helped me a lot in life. Allah blessed me through my support to them. Relatives give back kindness. Just keep those in mind as you mature. A lot of those you’ll pass to your wife and the children she will bear for you.”
“Yes, I was born for you…”
“Why are you suddenly singing?!”
“And the choice was never ours…”
“Stop this haram song!”
This time, his father’s intensely shrieking voice was harder to appease. His father’s issue now has gone to the level of his act of singing. As he stopped himself, a realization dawned on him. The traditions that held his father captive were the very chains he also probably could break. The thought of his own future, potentially shackled by the same expectations, started a seed of self-determination in his heart.
“Sorry, I can hear the wedding song from here. This David Pomeranz song reminds us of our culture’s concept on Kuris, makes it easier for arranged spouses to process their situation. Plus, I remember you singing ‘King and Queen of Hearts’ with a guitar years back. I heard that song too played earlier.”
“That was long ago, son. New ulama relatives have guided me to abhor songs that destroy our youth. Maybe going back to instruments and flute songs during Aminah’s wedding can make this wedding less cursed.”
“The lyrics worry you?”
“For most songs, the lyrics are immoral.”
Jamil’s Wedding, 2013, Cagayan de Oro.
“These Maher Zain songs and lyrics are perfect! Baraka Allahu lakuma wa Baraka ‘alaykuma wa Jama’a baynakuma fi…”
“Goodness, stop!” Aliyah interrupted Aisha’s humming.
Aisha’s face quickly turned reddish. Her mood changed from being inspired to being annoyed by the sudden scolding. She was motivated because of her earlier interaction with the venue manager on songs to play. She was drawn to him and found a kindred spirit in him who knew a lot about music too. This wedding seemed to serve as a turning point for Aisha. Her interaction with him was liberating, a realization that while her family’s traditions formed the backdrop of her life, they did not need to dictate her many decisions in life. She is still single after all these years.
Aisha retorts, “Why stop the Islamic song? Are you a haram police now like Kuya Amir?”
“No Nasheed will match this wedding! No Islamic lyrics will fit. Why are we marrying kids who eloped?! People assume zina!” Aliyah fired back.
“Because we’re tired of rido, Ate. We are lucky the girl’s family didn’t tie Jamil to a tree and slaughter him. Those acts can very well fall into acceptable vendetta for running away with a girl. It helped that Ate Aminah’s husband is related to the bride’s family.”
“What do we have to thank Aminah for? She started this! She spoiled Amir’s daughter, Jamilah. Now the son has gone berserk.”
“Jamil will manage. He said he will still pursue his studies in law as his father wished. Minah may have started it for our family, but many clans have the same issues. Times have changed indeed. We can’t control kids nowadays. We just hope Kuya Amir will soon reconcile with his son.”
Jamil, sitting on stage, is on the brink of his own wedding. However, it is one that bore no resemblance to the ones his father could have envisioned for him. Jamil felt the weight of his decision. He had chosen love over tradition, his heart over his family’s honor. The knowledge of his father’s hurt pressed heavily. Jamil wrestled with his guilt and his conviction.
Jamil consoles himself that he has made the right choice. This was not just a union of two hearts; it was a statement of change, a declaration that tradition can give way to the right to choose love at times. He will be assured of himself more every time he will gaze at his lovely bride who is about to sit next to him in a few minutes.
“Who is this girl anyway? I don’t know many of her relatives.” Aliyah, asks Aisha, wanting to investigate the new member of the family. “The narration of lineage has gone from an hour of enumeration in past weddings to just a few lines of speech now. I heard from someone they had Chinese blood.”
“We look more Chinese with her morena skin,” Aisha giggly replies. “Did you know she sent him very private photos of her online? She is so into texts, chats, and meet-ups. Young girls now are exposing themselves too much. Technology is not so much a boon as it is a bane. Fits her stature that her dowry includes everything. Wedding costs, luka sa gibbon, and lantong. I see it as one simple package for her worth. That is a lot less worry for us on being held up along the road and not being able to enter her room when Jamil fetches her after solemnization.”
“There will be no fetching at all. She will be here at the venue a few moments after Jamil, her father, and the solemnizing officer have exchanged words. How convenient.”
“Convenient for us from the groom’s side.”
“But many from our side can’t attend. They are complaining about Cagayan. It seems we get farther away from our hometown in every wedding.”
“Most protests to this wedding are from those based in Marawi. The farther we are, the lesser the issues. We have enough relatives who made it. I know we must have the right mix of clan families as witnesses. I don’t know if it’s really God who blesses the matrimony or the clan presence.”
“Do you know who convinced the bride’s relative that we need not hand to them separate amounts for lantong and luka sa gibbon?”
“Aminah?”
“Nope. The religious cousins of both the bride and groom. One simple Mahr is what they requested. The simplicity of our religion worked to our advantage.”
“All these changes, I hope our practices change for the better.”
“As great as Maher Zain lyrics, Aish?”
“Yes, Ate Leah. Now can I go back to listening to him? I told the cute manager of this venue, who added me on Facebook, to make sure to play ‘For the Rest of My Life’ before the night expires.”