KABUL | Fifty couples gathered in a huge building in Kabul on Monday, an increasingly common practice aimed at cutting the astronomical costs of traditional weddings in Afghanistan.
The imposing backdrop of Kabul's dozen wedding halls lends itself to the new austerity of these ceremonies in the Central Asian country amid an economic recession and under the tutelage of the Taliban.
Since his return to power in August 2021, the bride and groom and their families haven't celebrated much anymore: music is de facto forbidden. Monday's ceremony took place in the presence of numerous guards and Taliban armed with automatic rifles.
In front of the City Star, an imposing, natural-colored building with pillars and excessive gilding near Kabul airport, around a hundred turbaned men in their finest traditional clothing, the shalwar kameez, converse in groups in the absence of the smaller woman.
Photo AFP
Photo AFP
Young people decorate the cars with long fluorescent green ribbons and red plastic roses forming hearts.
Roohullah Rezayi, 18, who will be leaving with his wife in a few hours, tells AFP that he had “no choice” because “it would have been difficult to cover the costs.”
“A traditional wedding would have cost us at least 200,000 to 250,000 Afghanis ($3,800 to $4,680), but here it will be between 10,000 and 15,000 Afghanis” ($190 to $285), says the young man with his hair. with an embroidered gray “Kandahar hat”.
The Hazara minority Afghan from Ghor Province (central west) barely earns 350 Afghani per day (US$7) from odd jobs.
Photo AFP
“Here we invited 35 members of both our families, otherwise there would have been 300 to 400,” says the groom-to-be, carrying plastic flowers in the breast pocket of his elegant sleeveless checked vest, which he wears over a pristine white tunic.
Invisible brides-to-be
At the start of married life, the couples receive gifts: a huge cake, a set of toothpaste, shampoo and moisturizer. But most of all a carpet, a blanket and household appliances.
Donations from the Selab Foundation, the event's organizer, to each couple amount to the equivalent of $2,195 – an amount in one of the poorest countries in the world.
Hundreds of men, wrapped in a “patou,” that large ecru or taupe woolen cloth, attended the ceremony in the huge garlanded but freezing room.
Photo AFP
After the Quran recitations, the speech of a Taliban official from the Ministry of Virtue Promotion and Prevention of Vice was interrupted by shouts of “Allah akbar” (God is the greatest) from the audience, apparently a novelty at these marriages.
During the entire ceremony, the brides-to-be remained invisible and were locked in a wing of the City Star with the women of their family – as they were before the return of the Taliban.
But unlike previous collective marriages, journalists were unable to see, photograph or film the young women after the wedding, whose faces are traditionally covered with a green and gold veil.
“For 13 years, the Selab Foundation has been fighting against the culture of dowry, which leads to bankruptcy and competition (between families) in spending,” Sayed Ahmad Selab, its president, told reporters.
It's still not uncommon for weddings in Afghanistan to bring together more than 1,000 guests and cost $29,250. A practice that shocks many Afghans in this very religious country.
Photo AFP
600 couples applied for the mass wedding on Monday.
“We set 14 conditions,” explained the head of the Selab Foundation: “In particular, that the fiancé is not a drug addict, mentally ill or unemployed and that he earns at least between 300 and 500 Afghani per day.”
Wait three years
For some lucky people, this Monday took years of patience.
As for Samiullah Zamani, a 23-year-old farmer from Kabul province.
“I've been waiting for this day for three years! » says the young man, whose palm is decorated with henna.
“God bless Haji Selab, we had no money to celebrate. It’s one of the happiest days of my life!”
Haji Badam, who is approaching 70, had new clothes made for the wedding of his grandson Sajid, who teaches in a madrassa.
In these wedding halls we have neither “the attan (editor’s note: traditional Afghan dance) nor the music, but in the villages we have them anyway,” says the Afghan with the long white beard and bursts into laughter.