Tony is on time. We're all impressed. It must be a special occasion.
Despite Don's sheaf of documentation, there aren't enough photocopies. Luckily, this being Egypt, the photocopy shop is next door. Sami fixes it. Meanwhile, Diana attends the wedding breakfast, courtesy of the stall across the road.
The Hall of Weddings, a dusty hole, is flanked by a dentist and a car repair shop. We go up four flights of filthy stairs to find the registrars' offices, with other couples also waiting - they don't look very festive. The mood of our party is mildly hilarious, except Linda is now feeling sick. A cigarette to calm the nerves.
Ed can't be witness, as it has to be two Egyptians. The registrar is regretful when he realises the alternative is Tony, whose Armenian name is as much of a mystery to him as the foreigners'. We discover later that Don is transformed into "Donald, son of Nigel, son of Laing".
Back at the house, transported in the old green Mitsubishi Peugeot that Don used to drive, we are met by Attiyat and the girls, all ululating. Feminine tears all round. We are comforted by champagne and smoked salmon in the garden. Mrs. Laing looks pleased with herself, and Mr. Pratt-Laing has a cheerful grin too.
The bride and her attendants - Diana, me, and Cetra to do our hair, gather at our place to get ready. Ed pops in to get changed and try and rewrite his speech, which he's written earlier and lost. But he gets hustled out to go and give Don moral support, so he ends up composing key points in the car.
Linda resists our efforts to alter her make-up and ends up looking herself, which is probably the best thing for a bride to look. We all fuss round the dressing process. Linda isn't sure about the knickers, but they certainly don't make a panty line under the dress, which is lovely, and makes Linda look lovely, and her Mum look watery eyed, as she should.
Driving down Gameat al Dowal Arabeyya, the car bedecked with white ribbon, me trying to get the right rhythm on the horn, lights flashing, Cetra leaning out of the window ululating, and the bride having a cigarette, nodding and smiling at the horns, lights and smiles of the other traffic. Who do these howaggas think they are? I don't quite know, but it's a lot of fun.
"Where's my bloody zafyr?" Irate bride to single lad in pink satin shirt. Soon there are twenty of them, and Don, and Attiyat ululating to the drumbeat and music of the band, and a man with a video camera focussed firmly down the bride's cleavage, and we are led round the corner, amongst the gathered guests, and into the garden. What a raucous racket, and no nurses to join in - they're working late, and we're only doing it to please them. Never mind. Don and Linda are made to circle each other seven times, I suspect this ensures fertility; it'll take a good few more times than seven in their circumstances.
Exchange of rings under the arch. Don wants his on his right hand. Correct fingers eventually located.
Ed makes his speech - I try not to listen, because we mean all the things he's saying, and I don't want to cry. He's nervous, but does it well, of course. Relief as he finishes for both of us.
The cake; why crossed guitars on the top? Shelley also wants to know why no fruit inside, as ordered, but these are mysteries as yet unanswered. It tasted good, as I expect the person I saw take a slice weighing about half a kilo could testify.
Ed, Tony and David posing for a photo. Why is David looking so mischievous? He's two steps higher than Ed, and taller than him!
Soheir takes off her outer garment and is revealed in skimpy skirt ant orange vest to match her lipstick, and proceeds to belly dance. We are all enjoyably scandalised, and the official cameraman switches focus from bosom to crotch. I take picture of my friends, who are impeccably turned out!
The feast; Attiyat triumphant, even the most rapacious gannets can't finish off this spread. The kitchen is a hell-hole, full of sweating daughters heaving steaming pans around, but they emerge later, to accept their due plaudits, and have their babies and aged matriarch admired and photographed.
Tony has forgotten his camera, and is distributing film to those who haven't, urging them to let him have copies.
The nurses arrive and tears are shed. "Where were you when I needed you?" "Don't you look lovely?"
The guest book goes around. "What shall I write?" "It doesn't matter, whatever you think of, someone else will have written it already, just say what you want."
Two babies, fast asleep on the floor in the back porch. Why plastic pants over their pyjamas?
Linda and Don dancing for the Zafyr. Later she does the twist with Lionel - oops, there goes the back seam of the dress. Trust a dressmaker to bring his needle and thread with him; Hafizz soon has her decent again. Hope the drycleaners can work a similar miracle on the fishtail, which is in a sorry state by the end of the evening, after half the guests have walked over it.
It must be getting late, an honoured few are being offered reviving mugs of coffee.
Some people will never take a hint and go home. The band left at midnight, here it is nearly 3 a.m. and the stragglers are still lingering. Maybe if we go, they'll all leave. What a wonderful day.
Michigan Wedding Liz's Homepage Te Kore 2001 Voyage