In the RAK mountains, a double wedding celebrated in a way that has changed little for centuries

In the mountains of Ras al Khaimah, two weddings are being celebrated in a way that has changed little over the centuries.

Men perform a traditional Arabic dance called the Razif at a wedding celebration for two grooms of the Shehhi tribe in the village of al Mahboobi in al Rams near Ras al Khaimah. Jeff Topping / The NationalShow less

Forty men climb the hill, rifles on their backs and drums at their sides.

They are heard before they are seen: "We have guns like war; We are coming to help you; We are older now but We are using the gun."

Boys, strong men and aged grandfathers wave thin canes as they advance. Some carry small axes, once used as weapons. A young man leaps ahead of the group, slashing at the ground with a thin sword before jumping again into the air. On a recent Friday in the northern mountains of Ras al Khaimah, hundreds of tribesmen gather to celebrate a double wedding in the traditional manner.

At the top of the hill, they are welcomed by the families of the two grooms and greeted with coffee and drumming. This is a Shehhi wedding, rooted in customs that date back centuries and reflect the austere lifestyle of this mountain tribe. For hundreds of years, the Shehhi lived in stone houses built high in the limestone mountains of the Musandam peninsula. Today, most have migrated to the cities of the UAE, but they come together for the Shehhi wedding ceremony, which remains largely unchanged.

Their ancestors came to these mountains from Yemen in the second century AD and their traditions celebrate a proud history of war, isolation and independence. At the wedding, the Shehhi language, a dialect of Arabic, is spoken and the dancers' movements tell a story of fortitude in an inhospitable homeland. "There was war before but now we sing for identity," says Hamed al Shehhi, a 27-year-old wearing a white kandura, a neatly folded brown turban and matching Ray-Bans.

Hamed has drummed since he was 12, a skill he learnt by accompanying his father and grandfather to family weddings. His drum is custom-made, built from wood he brought from the mountains, and finished with goat leather. His palms and fingertips are calloused from hours of drumming. "I have 14 brothers but not all of them can do it," he says. "But I always went to wedding parties. Some people say, 'Why do this? We don't understand what this means'. Tourists come and say, 'What is this?' But this is our tradition. This is human joy." Shehhi weddings typically last two days.

On the first, family and guests visit the bride's home to offer their blessings. On the second day, the bride is taken to the groom's home early in the morning, where she greets guests and waits to begin her new life. Outside, male and female guests arrive from mid-morning until late at night. At this wedding, near Al Rams, women move between the two houses; outside, there is an enclosed tent for women, alongside an open canopy where they can watch the men dance. In the heat of the day, though, most women prefer the cool of the indoor tent, which is awash with colour - gold on scarlet, lime and aquamarine, shades of orange, yellow and purple. The tent hums with the murmur of soft voices and soft fabrics, the clang of jewellery and the "scrunch" of crinoline from the dresses of the girls.

Elderly women wear the burqa, the bird-like mask that covers their nose, brow and cheekbones, and loose, draping gowns in vivid colours. Their chests are adorned with thick gold jewellery and heavy medallions. Young women in their teens and early twenties wear fashionable black abayas over their gowns but flashes of colour can be seen underneath. The hands and arms of the young women are decorated with intricate flowers of henna, but their elders have opted for traditional henna patterns - dark-brown fingertips and solid circles of dark henna painted across the soles of the feet. Young girls run excitedly through the tent, which sparkles with the sequins on their dresses and the glitter in their black hair. Platters of food are laid out on carpets: harees, a sticky mix of crushed wheat and chicken; the bright orange and yellow of kibez, a sweet dish made from semolina; and, of course, the deep brown of Omani halwa, a viscous brew of starch, eggs, sugar, saffron, ghee, cardamon, rose water and nuts, simmered for hours before serving.

Over the laughter of children and the swish of abayas, another sound enters the tent from outside: the quick thump of drumming and the shouts of the men announcing their arrival. "They used to fire guns," says one woman. "But they stopped. Too many people got killed from bullets dropping." Outside, the families of the bridegrooms stand at the foot of a rocky hill, greeting newcomers with songs. The two young men, tall and handsome in their white kanduras and silver-and-black bullet belts, are welcoming guests. As families arrive, they seat themselves in chairs or in open tents. Some gather in a central carpeted area and begin to play a staccato rhythm on their drums. The men hop lightly on their feet, back and forth in a line as they raise their hands in unison with the tempo. The excitement is palpable. "This Al Shehhi tribe, it's different," says Hamdan al Shehhi, 34, the brother-in-law of one of the bridegrooms.

"In the UAE there are many tribes. Our wedding is also different to other tribes. The way we dance, the drums. When our guests come they create one line and we create another line. In our slang, this is called dakhla." Approaching male guests are expected to perform the nadba, "which means screaming", says Hamdan. "The nadba means a lot of things. One of them is to tell the host they appreciate the invitation. Also it tells us some guests are coming. If they are far away, we can hear them coming. After this they are free to dance and do the drums. Different kinds of dance give poetry about the bride and the people here, all kinds of poetry." Four songs are drummed for four periods of the day. "This is what makes al Shehhi tribe special," says Hamdan. "The Shehhi are known for the drum dance.

It is something everybody has to learn. We still keep our traditions." Not everyone feels the same way. Today, says Hamdan, many families prefer the convenience of a marriage hall, which can provide catering and entertainment to hundreds for a few hours in the evening. "Not all Shehhi have traditional weddings because some people follow the easy way. They follow the comfort. This is the hard way. In the hall you just sit there for two or three hours and say hello to people but our wedding is from 10 in the morning until 11 o'clock at night." The traditional way, he says, "must continue otherwise there will be no Shehhi tribe". As dusk descends, the drumming gives way to song. The men form two lines and begin to sing. In one concession to modernity they sing into microphones.

They raise their slender canes and tilt their heads back and forth. The mountains boom with their voices: "From the kohl of her eyes; Walking like an angel; She puts me inside her heart; Like a beautiful delirium." Men and boys start to circle in dance. In a few minutes, the carpet is a whirl of whites, blues and browns as the men begin to orbit, each spinning to their own speed and movement in different styles of dance. Some balance swords point-down on their hands as they move to the rhythym, others twirl canes between their fingertips or fling into the air the toy rifles in place of the real guns that the cautionary edicts of modern life have done away with. In the centre of the group, young men wield swords in mock fights. These dances can be found at all traditional Emirati weddings, explains Mohammed Saeed al Shehhi, a 28-year-old businessman and a relative of the bridegroom, although usually they are more regulated and subdued. A chaotic medley of these different dances have become a part of modern Shehhi weddings.

"Especially here in RAK, they will not stop," says Mohammed, watching the young boys dancing beside their grandfathers. "After a hundred years it will be the same. It's not only tradition, they like it because it's from the heart. Also," he reflects, "because it's beautiful." As evening nears, metal platters of goat biryani, carried on heads, are brought to the tents of the men and the women. Baskets of fruit and cartons of water are laid beside them. As the sky turns to a muted grey, the wedding pauses for the call to prayer and men and women disappear.

The noisy tents and garden fall quiet but for the call of the imam. When prayers finish, the dancing resumes with renewed energy. Now, all of the women are outside, watching the men. "In the past women danced, except for the bride," says one woman, who married in the mountains nearly 20 years ago. "Women made a line and put their hands like this," she says, clapping her hands together and twisting them in a snaking motion. She doesn't know why, but "10 or 15 years ago we stopped mixing". At least the women can still watch the men dance even if they do not mix.

At modern weddings in halls, there is no interaction at all. Darkness falls. The two houses glow with thousands of white lights strung from the roofs. Inside, the brides await their future husbands. One, a 23-year-old, sits surrounded by her younger cousins and her two sisters. She wears a loose gown of pale green, cream and white and her three shades of eyeshadow match the hues of her dress. Her long black hair, dyed red, is curled in a bun over her head and adorned with gold-coloured balls. On her small frame hang heavy chains of gold, gifts from the bridegroom's family, and she wears a mortasha, a band with long rows of small discs hanging from it. "I'm happy, of course," she says. "Like any girl would be." She was engaged a year ago, when the bridegroom's mother proposed the marriage to her mother.

"I didn't know Mohammed," she says. "I knew his mother and his sisters, that's it. But for one year we've been calling and every week I saw him, for two or three hours. We talk on the phone every day." Her younger sister interrupts: "Every day? No, not every day," she giggles. "Every hour they are talking!" Like many young women today, the bride completed her education before getting married, and graduated in translation from Al Ain University in December. The daughter of goat herders in Wadi al Baih, she is spirited and intelligent, like her sisters. She has spent the past four months preparing for her marriage. After the engagement she stopped coming to Mohammed's family home and, in the past six weeks, she hasn't seen him at all. Now, she has a long evening ahead.

At night, she will change into a white, European-style wedding dress and matching silver jewellery for photographs with her family - and only they will see her in the backless, sleeveless rented dress. The new custom is but a minor departure, she insists, from the ceremony her parents enjoyed 30 years ago. Tonight her future begins, built on the foundations of Shehhi tradition.