Tonight I was invited by Tarous' family (if you don't know, Tarous is the boyfriend, currently in Afghanistan) to celebrate Norouz, the traditional New Year celebration in Afghanistan and various other central Asian and Indian countries. It's based on the Spring equinox, or first day of Spring, and the term means "New Day." For this reason, one of the traditions involves buying and wearing all new clothing. And you know I'm down with that!

Everyone who knows me knows I'm hard to get to parties--especially ones where I don't know anyone. Now, although I've met Tarous' immediate family on one or two occasions, I would hardly say I know them. His mom is a tough sell on non-Afghan girls, but for whatever reason (I think because I'd met and made a good impression on his younger siblings first) has been very nice to me and made some kind gestures that I really appreciate. Because of that, I was really touched by the invitation, and thought it was important that I accept.

I already knew a little bit about what Afghan celebrations are like from Tarous, so I was somewhat prepared. But that didn't stop me from going all cold and clammy when I pulled up in front of the party and saw silhouettes crowding every window. His older sister, Zitilla (Z, for short), came out to meet and "brief" me a bit at my request. She said, "Well, first there's talking, then dinner, then dancing, then tea and dessert, and then fruit. After the fruit we are free to go, haha!"

She took me inside and introduced me to everyone in the room. Well, I should say she introduced me to all the ladies in the room. This is because the men and women don't occupy the same area during a party.

The men are in one room, the women in another, and the children and teens are off on their own. Some men sit outside smoking and surreptitiously drinking, but that's a privilege that women don't enjoy.

So I meet all the ladies, about two dozen. Some smile graciously, some look disinterested, and others seem downright sour-faced. A few of these (really, the sour-faced ones) are strangers to Z, too. Although I chose my outfit carefully, I am concerned that my dress is too revealing. All the women strangers wear head-coverings. The rest of the ladies are dressed in regular eveningwear. One young girl wears an amazing traditional outfit for weddings or celebrations--it is marigold, a sleeveless shift with flowing pants that conceal her feet, covered in gold beadwork and embroidered flowers. I feel like I am going bright red all over, but try to stay calm. Tarous' mom greets me warmly, which makes me feel good--she's the only one I'm really concerned about making a good impression with, which turns out to be pretty important. I didn't know it, but she is also the matriarch of the extended family.

Z sits with me and we get to know each other (after all, I am not there as Tarous' girlfriend, but Z's friend, since my real relationship to the family would be seen as inappropriate ) while the ladies chat and eye each other. And me.

At about 10 the food is served. But even in this regard, women are second-class. Men enter the room where dinner is set up buffet-style first. Once they have retired, it's time for the women to eat (even some of the young women who had been sitting with me and Z commented that they thought it was an unjust arrangement, especially considering that it's the women that work so hard to prepare all the food in the first place). Tarous' mom calls me in ahead (normally I'd be serving myself after the elder women, but she wants to tell me about the dishes). There are various trays with foods that are, for the most part, familiar to me. I'm an international eater that way. In fact, one of my favorites, Saag (a sort of pureed spinach), is there, along with chicken and eggplant dishes, and a saffron rice with nuts and raisins (I liked this one best). She walks me around the table as I fill my plate. When we get back to the first dish (the saffron rice), one of the women is digging up the lamb that had been buried underneath when I first came to it. Tarous' mother looks at my plate, takes the serving spoon, picks a piece of lamb, and puts it on my plate saying, "This is good meat." I felt so happy, I couldn't explain why. Her thoughtfulness made me feel welcome, she smiled and I didn't feel like the only outsider.

After eating, the mood seemed to lighten a little. I went to powder my nose and when I came back there was a girl sitting with Z that said I had a friendly face. I laughed and asked, "Is that a good thing?" I know that too much smiling can be considered strange to some cultures, or even suspect. They understood what I meant and Z said, "Well, maybe not to some. They might think that you are trying to steal their sons, who are already promised to their cousins' sisters' daughter." I was really fascinated by the way that, although everyone participates in these rituals, and is subject to the same beliefs and ways, not everyone sees them positively. I have been raised with every freedom, with every privilege. That includes voicing dissenting opinions when I feel the need to. And it blows my mind that these young women, many born right here in the United States, are able to swallow their own frustrations on such occasions. There isn't much of an option, I understand that. To disagree or refuse to fall in means being an outcast. Although, seeing the various generations in one room, I have the feeling that these traditions will not last long. It was the young women that expressed their discontent, that complained about the way things were. It makes me believe that they will not raise their children in exactly the same way, once the older and more traditional generation is not around to enforce it.

After dinner there was live music, and the women and men danced. In their seperate rooms, not together. Or, at least, they tried to dance. I didn't have much of a comparison to make, but from what the girls told me the music was pretty bad. The bolder ladies pulled other reluctant women onto the living room floor. They moved gracefully, with flourishes of the hands and subtle head and shoulder movements were both seductive and whimsical. At one point even I was pulled into the fray, to good-natured laughs and claps from the ladies encircling us. I did what I could and enjoyed myself, but I could just feel the eyes of the sour-faced ones boring into my back. Another time, in another situation, I'd be happy to learn just what I should do and make a total fool of myself. In fact, I hope I have the chance to again.

After dancing, there was dessert, then presents for the children. At that point it was past one o'clock, the music had reach a new level of badness, and heads were starting to droop. Soon after, the fruit appeared. And, as I was told, this was followed by a slow trickle of guests out the front door. By the time I left, I was returned warm smiles and goodbyes from almost all the women--even if my only communication to them that night had been a little eye contact, clapping along to the songs and grinning. It really made me feel good, that I'd been welcomed into their celebration, and that all I had to do to make them feel comfortable with me was be myself and smile. I admit, I did smile until my damned face hurt, and I probably looked like a simpleton to some, but that's my preference. I'd rather smile too much than not enough, in any situation.

So there you go! I didn't chicken out, and I was rewarded with a lot of new experiences, some great food, and a taste of the traditions that shaped Tarous. More importantly, I gained a small bit of cultural understanding that I didn't have before--and now I realize that the issues surrounding gender inequality are not as black and white for these young women as I'd thought, that there really are women who are going to have to wait a long time to get theirs, and work hard for it. I have really taken my privileges for granted, and more than ever I am glad I was raised in a country and culture that (although it has strides to make, undoubtedly) allows me the pleasures and freedom I enjoy every day.