The table was enormous, and I was tiny. Sitting on my own, with a lonely beer in my hand. After a while, that brown bottle warmed up and did not mind my squeezing. Memorizing everything on the label took a depressingly short time. All to avoid the staring. How had I ended up here?
I had been invited to a wedding. In Laos, that means a gathering of around 400 of your closest friends and relatives. The bridegroom, who no longer worked in our office, had left me the invitation a few weeks ago. I gave it a glance. “Ah, I know where that is.” And put it in my drawer.
The weekend of the wedding arrived. On Friday night I realised I had forgotten to find out who else in the office had been invited. I could not call them. Making someone admit they had not received an invitation would not go down well. The risk of losing face is not something you expose people to. I praised myself for my deep cultural understanding. “Good girl.”
Hence, I decided to go to the wedding, unaccompanied. “Plenty of people I know will be there.” Both the groom and the bride are internationally oriented. Thus, I decided, for once, not to put on the traditional Lao outfit, but an ordinary cocktail dress.
I climbed the stairs of the reception hall with light steps. And I was met by the traditional collection box, guarded by two bright and beautiful young ladies. I had put some US dollar notes in an envelope together with the invitation, to track the giver. All according to customs. So was the amount. If you do not like the couple = 10 USD. And from there upwards depending on your fondness.
Then I saw the long line. Two long rows of relatives, I had to process between. 50 meters of tailor-made, expensive silk. After the 100th “sabaidee!” (the ubiquitous greeting phrase) waves of panic vibrated in my torso.
When the defiling was over, I took a deep breath and tried to look a little less silly. I drifted around the enormous hall desperately searching for familiar faces. “Where is my office’s table?” – Nowhere. “People from other UN offices?” –Nowhere. “People from other international organisations?”– Nowhere. More waves of panic. “Somebody working for the government? Nope. “My hairdresser? – The shopkeeper??? “
Finally, it dawned on me: I was the only white person in the whole assembly. On top of that: a woman. Alone. In a cocktail dress.
Panic was replaced by bewilderment. What was going on? Pictures of some Hollywood movie where the lead character find himself in a bizarre parallel reality popped up. Should I leave? Come back later hoping that some person from my real world had emerged? No, I was already late. The couple could arrive at any minute.
I sat down, alone, at that big table, with room for no less than thirty people. And I started noticing the stare. What I had so far been able to ignore. In Lao culture, it is perfectly okay to stare. And so they did. All 400 of them. At least that is what it felt like. “What is that woman doing here?” Not hostile, just curious. I tried to stare back. It did not make the least difference. I wish I had been tinier.
That was when a good Samaritan placed a bottle of beer in front of me. I hope I thanked him with a pathetic grin. I do not remember, because never in the time of history has a beer label been scrutinised more thoroughly by a consumer. Every letter, though I do not know the Lao alphabet. Every tone and brightness of each colour. In between, casting hopeful glances at the entrance, while taking microscopic sips. That beer bottle was my lifeline. When Neptune had orbited the sun, the newlyweds arrived.
Wrong couple. I was in the right place, at the right time, on a wrong day. After three years, I had forgotten that Lao weddings can take place any day of the week. Not just Saturdays. My couple got married the day after.
I fleeted out, without caring to say goodbye to my supportive bottle. I was punished for that. When I hurried through the car park, I tramped in a massive pile of dog poo. I did not realise until I was on my way and started to wonder where that horrible smell came from.
Before I fell asleep, I had a sudden realisation: I had given 50 dollars to god knows who.
