Hello Folks

From the mail I received, it seems a lot of you enjoyed my last Cairo adventure. well, you lucky people, I have lots more.  

On this occasion, my driver, Khalid invited me to his pre marriage ceremony.  I was still alone, living in the Sofitel on the Nile so, especially with nothing else to do, it seemed rude not to go along. It proved top be something of an experience.

Cairo June 2005

I’ve just got back from a wedding!

I didn’t realise I was going to a wedding, not really. I mean, I knew I was going to something to do with getting married, but I wasn’t expecting what actually happened.  Let me explain.

On Tuesday, Khalid, my driver asked if I would be needing him on Friday, and if so, could it wait until after 3.00 pm. At the moment, I’m not sure what I’ll be doing in the next hour, let alone 3 days hence, so I couldn’t really answer him, but was curious as to why he asked. “Oh its just because I’m going to sign my wedding contract, Sir” he said.

The Wedding Invite

I was intrigued. Khalids impending wedding has been mentioned several times since I met him, but always as some distant, tenuous possibility, so

this was new and rather immediate. I also didn’t have a clue what he was on about when he talked about signing a wedding contract. Was he getting a wedding planner? Outside caterers?? Seemed unlikely, so I asked what was involved in this wedding contract. He explained that he had to formally ask his fiancee’s father for permission to marry her, then sign a contract that basically gave her ownership of all his stuff.  Once signed, he would go to the Mosque for a quick prayer and a blessing on the contract and thats it. Then he had a brainwave. I could see his eyes brighten as the idea took shape.  “In fact why don’t you come with me sir?” He asked innocently.

My first instinct was to say no thanks. Always go with your first instinct.  However, in that increasingly irritating British curse of not wishing to cause offence, I instead said, yes. Why not. After all, I was just a little curious.

Nothing more was mentioned until Thursday evening when Khalid said he would collect me first thing from the hotel the next day. My enthusiasm for the wedding contract had waned a bit and  I had fancied a relaxing Friday after a hard, difficult week, so a long lie and lounge by the pool would be pleasant. Still, a promise is a promise, so I had an early night in anticipation of an early start.

Hotel Breakfasts

Friday morning and I was expecting a call from Khalid to say he was on his way. I thought I would lie in until he called as I usually get a 30 minute warning, long enough to shower and change.  As it was by 07.45 no word from him and I was wide awake. 07.45 is actually quite late for me. I’m sure Wifey will be horrified that that represents a long lie, but it still beats getting up at 06.00 every day and when you’re awake you’re awake. Anyhow,  I was starving and I’ve discovered the joy of breakfast.

For  years, in fact for ever, my breakfast has consisted of a glass of OJ or possibly a quick coffee as I run out the door. Wifey has influenced me here, especially when staying in a hotel. There is no way my darling is going to miss a meal if it is included in the room bill. Oh no, she is going to make the most of it and hotel breakfasts are her speciality.  It’s amazing how much she can put away as I stare on, slightly open mouthed in a mix of awe and horror.  Personally, I usually just don’t feel hungry first thing on a morning, but of late, I’ve started to change my mind.

My usual eating habits were to have no breakfast, a quick sarny at lunch and then have a gargantuan dinner late in the evening. So I probably always woke up still stuffed from the night before. I know that’s supposed to be the worst possible regime to follow if you don’t want to grow to the size of a house and have a massive coronary. Deciding thats not a farce I fancy,  I’ve tried doing without dinner, either just having a snack early evening or nothing at all. I still have just the sandwich for lunch, but that means I am waking up ravenous. Hence, its down to the hotel breakfast buffet.

The brekkies in the Sofitel is rather good. Freshly squeezed fruit juice, cereal, fresh fruit with yogurt, a pot of tea, scrambled eggs with sausages, some cheese, a little cold meat, fresh bread and a fruit danish to help the last of the tea down and I’m set for the day. I think the secret is to absolutely pig out at breakfast so you are stuffed for the rest of the day and don’t feel like eating. At home, if I have a bowl of cornflakes or perhaps a bacon roll, I always end up feeling even more hungry by mid morning. With the current breakfast regime, I’m not even remotely interested in food til mid afternoon when I nibble my sandwich. Then a bowl of soup or my toasted cheese around 6.30 or 7.00 pm and I’m fine. Anyway I digress. I had my king size breakfast of champions, then retired to my room to digest and do a little work whilst I waited for Khalid to arrive.

The Wedding Journey

I had planned on seeing what happened with Khalid and his wedding contract, which I didn’t think would take that long.  Then afterwards, perhaps I’d pop into Carrefour to pick up some bits and pieces. Or potter around Zamalec and the bigger shops in Cairo centre. In the end all that went out the window.

At 2.00pm Khalid phoned to say he was ready to collect me and would see me about 2.30.pm .  This struck me as late so I took it to mean he had done the contract stuff on his own and was coming to take me where ever I wanted to go. By this stage, I’d spent all morning working and didn’t really fancy doing anything now other than sitting in front of the TV and watching crap B movies.  I rang him back to ask if he had finished his business, with a view to giving him the day off if he had, so I could stay in the hotel and doss about. “Oh no Sir, I’ve been waiting to get you before I do my contract – oh and wear a tie sir” Oh well, so much for that plan.

I threw a clean shirt and tie on and for some strange reason, decided to wear a jacket too. Suitably attired, I waited for him to arrive. I was a little surprised when he did arrive to find his fiancee was in the car. I suppose I shouldn’t have been, but I just wasn’t expecting her. I offered my hello’s, although she doesn’t speak English and jumped in the car. I was curious to see Khalids wife to be. She works as a cook and is a rather, short, dumpy little woman, but with a very charming giggle and a bright, beaming smile. She was wearing traditional dress with bright coloured robe and veil which covered her head but didn’t cover all her face. She seemed very nice if a little shy, but who could blame her with this strange British bloke in the car.  

Khalid explained that we had over an hours drive which caught me by surprise as I had assumed it would be somewhere closer to Cairo.

Apparently we had to go to see his wife’s parents. They live in a little village around 50 kms along the Alexandria Road, outside of Cairo. Pausing only to get his fiancee to buy a 35mm film and some water,  we set off. We passed through parts of Cairo I had never see before and I’m not sure I want to see them again. It was heavily industrial, with lots of big engineering plants, lots of pollution, a large power station that looked like Battersea power station but without the pigs floating over it, (any Pink Floyd fans will know what I mean), and lots of crap coming out of the 4 chimneys. Eventually we left the urban sprawl and were in country side.

The change was impressive and I was surprised by how green it all was. From the routes I had travelled out of Cairo so far, I was used to Cairo ending and desert starting, but I had forgotten, we were heading north into the Nile delta.  A good hour after leaving Cairo, we turned off the main road, passing through a bustling little town centre with an un-pronouncible name. It was fascinating.  No shiny new cars here. Lots of donkey carts being driven by little old men. The odd horse and camel and what cars there were all looked like relics form the 50’s and 60’s. We carried on driving, getting further into the green fields leaving the town behind. The roads got gradually worse and worse until it was literally a dirt track we were driving along.  Fringed by fields on one side and an irrigation stream on the other, there was nothing else in site.  Eventually we came to a village and this, it appears was home. Driving through narrow side streets with houses crowding up on one another was a tad disconcerting and I began to realise just how far I was from relative civilisation. Moreover,  not a soul knew where I was as I hadn’t told anyone and didn’t know where I was going anyway. I checked my mobile . No signal. Oh well. Not much I could do other than go with the flow.

The Brides Home

At last, we pulled up outside a small yard full of goats, chickens and a tiny puppy dog tied to a rather scabby looking bush. A pile of manure the size of a small mountain closed off one side of the yard, whilst the other two sides were enclosed by mud-brick walls around 6 ft high. A lean-too made from dried reeds had smoke drifting lazily out of it and I could just see a couple of shadowy figures sitting in the gloom inside around a small fire. There was a large pot on it producing an interesting aroma that was giving the dung pile a run for its money. Surely this wasn’t home?  Well, no it wasn’t thank goodness. When we  got out of the car, we wandered along the street a little way, until we came to another side street. Turning down it ,we came to an entrance where Khalid and wife-to-be were met by a procession of people . There were hundreds of them. I was introduced to them all with much smiling, shaking of hands and Salam aleh acumm’ing going on. I was led through to a large square room with cushion covered bench seats around the outside and asked to sit. A large, ornate, china cup and saucer in a very tasteful pink colour was offered to me. It was full of steaming hot black tea and was surprisingly strong and sweet.  As I sipped, people started to traipse in and fill the rest of the seating. In the end,  around 20 people were crowded in the room, all beaming at me and at each other.  No one other than Khalid and I spoke any English and He and gone off to say hello to the extended family milling around outside the room. Hence, there was what could best be described as an awkward silence at this point.

In the room with me were Khalid’s mum,  two elder brothers and a sister plus several nephews and nieces. One had a very chubby but cute little baby. His fiancee’s parents were also there with a few assorted uncles, aunts, brothers, sisters and, well more nephews and neices I suppose. It seemed to be quite an extended family gathering.  Outside the room, several million extras seemed to be milling around inside the house and also outside in the street in case we ran out.

I made appreciative ‘hmmm’ing’ noises over the tea and that seemed to go down well. A small army of snotty nosed, bare footed urchins kept wandering in and staring with big round eyes and open mouths at this tall foreigner before being chased out again. There was the occasional whispered comment in Arabic which was met with muffled laughter. I was feeling very uncomfortable and wondered what on earth was going on. The room was very warm and stuffy and I could feel beads of perspiration running slowly down the middle of my back as I sweltered in my jacket. There was an electric fan in one corner which Dad very kindly shifted so that it was pointing straight at me. The small window was opened, which was a bad idea as it let more hot air in, together with around 3000 flies. I was slowly melting and had finished my tea when Uncle no 1 decided enough was enough and started speaking to me in Arabic. I hadn’t a clue what he was on about, but it seemed to amuse everyone else. A short intense game of charades followed, which was enthusiastically joined in by the room in general as he struggled to get across what he was saying. I could feel my head start to throb as I concentrated, trying hard to work out what he was asking and then how best to answer. Yet again I found myself speaking French to him. What is it that makes me equate foreign with French? Apart from the obvious that is.

Just when I thought my head would explode or I was going to have to gnaw my arm of as a distraction to escape, Khalid arrived and acted as translater. I think this was a bit of a let down as everyone seemed to be enjoying the charades much more than my mundane answers. Yes I am married. Yes I have kids, Yes I like Egypt. Yes I can drive but, no I wont drive in Egypt cos I have Khalid to do that.

The Guided Tour

At this point Dad decided to say something. It seemed he wanted me to follow him and  we were off on a guided tour of the house. The house is a big sprawling thing on two levels. Made from mud bricks and will power,  it had mud floors with reed matting and the occasional rug. There was an entrance porch and this led to the room I was in. Off that room was a communal area with a large fridge and about 300 kids in it. The room not the fridge. This led to an open courtyard area where the ladies were sat around a fire cooking something and singing some strange song as they worked. There were more rooms coming off the courtyard, but we went up some steps to the next level. A series of partially completed building works were up there and we made our way through empty brick built rooms until we came out into another open area. Here, much to my surprise, was a goat pen. There was also a pen with some ducks and chickens in it. A smaller pen seemed to be empty until I poked my head inside  and was promptly attacked by a large and very angry turkey. Hastily withdrawing, I had a good look around at this mini petting zoo. Why the animals live upstairs and the people live downstairs I don’t know and I didn’t have the vocabulary to ask my host but that’s what they do. Looking further afield, I could see the rooftops over most of the village. There were a fair smattering of TV ariels but no satellite dishes. A few mosque minarettes pierced the sky here and there and there was obviously more livestock living on the surrounding roof tops. This seemed to be a favorite venue for drying washing also as multi coloured clothes and blankets littered the skyline in all directions. This is, I guess, the proper, real, normal life in egypt that most people live. Not the quasi western lifestyle we enjoy in Cairo.

Whilst I had been taking in the scenery, my host had grabbed a kid goat by the ears and pulled it out of the pen and it was now dangling and bleating in a extremely tetchy manner. For one awful moment I thought it was being given to me as a gift. I mean 6 ft wooden giraffes are one thing, but I couldn’t see the hotel allowing a live goat in the room. At this point Khalid, my saviour arrived and explained that this was tea. I was the first foreigner ever to visit the village let alone this house, so in honour of the occasion, ( much more important than the wedding obviously ), junior here was to be made into cutlets. I’ve never been introduced to my tea whilst it was still breathing before and I have to admit what little appetite I had started to evaporate.

The Contracts

Having met dinner, we all went back downstairs and I regained my throne in the front room. More tea was provided and a trestle table was also carried in. This wasn’t for me however. A rather casually dressed young man had arrived and this it seemed was the lawyer who was to prepare the contract. Ahha.

He sat at the table and was handed an A3 piece of lined notepaper which he folded neatly in half and began to copy from a list that Khalad produced from his pocket. This was the list of his worldly goods that were being transferred to his wife to be. This seemed to take a long time with much asking of questions and discussion. After an hour or so, it all seemed to be done and Khalid was asked to sign the “contract”. The brides father also signed as did one of Khalids brothers who was acting as witness. They did ask if I could also witness the contract, but sadly  the lawyer explained it had to be in Arabic and also, I wasn’t a moslem so no, I couldn’t.

There was much smiling and handshaking again after this and I thought that was that. But no. Now all the chaps had to go to the mosque. I had assumed that it was this financial arrangement that would be taken to the mosque and be blessed, but I was wrong as I was to find out. We were now getting to the meat of the occasion.

The mosque is a male preserve, so only the men were supposed to be going, but the ladies all followed a discrete 100 yds or so behind. Walking to the mosque was like stepping back in time. Dark, narrow streets with houses made off sun baked mud bricks on either side. Goats and scrawny cows tethered to posts in the street, chickens pecking around at whatever they could find to eat. Little barefoot kids playing, people sat in doorways preparing vegetables for the evening meal, men sat on matting smoking shishas or just talking. Guys making reed matting in their doorways. Amazing stuff  – it was easy to imagine similar scenes happening hundreds if not thousands of years ago. This was their life and I got the impression it hasn’t really changed much over the years.

At the Mosque

At the mosque, I tried to follow what the other blokes were doing. I knew to take my shoes off, but no one told me you had to take the right shoe off first. Why? Anyway, it seems its right shoe off first when going in, then left shoe on first when coming out. Go figure?

Inside was cool and quite light. Lots of electric fans whizzing around in the ceiling provided a nice draft. I still had a jacket on and was very grateful to take it off and sit down, out of the way at the back of the room. This allowed my shirt, which was well stuck to my back by now, to slowly dry out. The guys all did the washing of hands, feet and face thing before getting down to a serious bit of praying. Watching, I found this very strange  but reasoned any of these guys observing worship in a Christian church would probably have found that equally bizarre. 

We Christians have it easy. Praying in the mosque here is hard work. I’ve noticed In Egypt, many of the men have big calluses on their foreheads. This is a prayer mark and comes from the rubbing your head against the floor, or even banging it hard on the ground during prayers. It’s a bit of a status symbol I think. My callus is bigger than your callus sort of thing. I am amazed at the dedication it must take to go through this 5 times a day. I think this is one of the reasons why we in the west are so suspicious of the Islamic nations. We are simply too detached from religion to understand how anyone could want to do this each and every day. Lets face it, for the majority of us, just sitting in a church once a week for an hour is much too much of a chore to go through. Me included. I cant understand the dedication required, but I do respect it. Its also reassuring in a strange way. Well, can you ever see Joe public in either Britain or America ever adopting this way of life. Not whilst we have materialism as a religion. All pray to McDonalds and Sony. And long may it continue. So, I believe we’ll never see Islam fully taking over from the worlds religions.

Its worth mentioning here that all of the ordinary moslems I have ever met in Egypt, Tunisa, Jakarta and elsewhere in the middle and Far East have all been thoroughly wonderful people. Generous, friendly, courteous and respectful.  They have tended to be amongst the poorer sections of society and yet they are generous to a fault and don’t appear to be in the least envious of the wealth we enjoy in the Christian West. Also, whilst curious about christianity, they are quite happy to co-exist and respect the differences in belief. Christianity and Judeaism are both mentioned and recognised in the Koran as a means of finding Allah. And Allah is believed to be the one God common to all of these religions. The vast majority of ordinary Muslims couldn’t give a monkies what your religion is and just want to get on and do their own thing, surviving day to day. So where all these nutters get off on both the islamic, christian and also on the the jewish side preaching death and destruction beats me. Its certaily not religion, its just good old fashioned human stupidity.

When the praying was finished the Iman arrived and guess what. There was a wedding ceremony. I was ushered to the front of the scrum to get a good view. The cleric chap prepared 4 copies of a wedding certificate, totally separate to the financial contract that had already been prepare. When it was done, Khalid, the brides father and the witness’ all had to sign the document. They also had to fingerprint the document. When you are married in Islam you aint escaping boy. The bride had very little to do in all this. She just watched from the doorway and was eventually asked to come and stick her thump print next to her picture on the top of each certificate and that was her bit done. Once all the certificates were signed and duly finger printed, Khalid and the brides dad had to hold each others hand which were covered by a white hanky. Each then had to repeat some words, similar I suppose to the vows we take.only with the brides father rather than the bride herself.  

Once the ‘Vows’ were completed the priest, cleric, Imammy person chanted something for 10 mins or so, with everyone chanting some answer every now and again. Well it was all in Arabic so I haven’t a clue what was being said, but it sounded not unlike the way we ‘amen’ at the end of various bits of the service in church. Suddenly  it was all over.  Khalid, it seemed, was a married man.

The Celebration

Bottles of coke and Sprite were passed around, the girls were invited in and there was much back slapping, handshaking, cheek kissing and dancing about. And that was just the men. The girls started that strange, high pitched ullulating thing they do with their voices.  Soon everyone starting singing as the wedding procession made its way back to the house. The sun was getting lower and it was much cooler, but I carried my jacket as we slowly sung and danced and ullulated our way back to the house. Eventually we got back. All the girls went inside as did Khalid whilst some straw matting had appeared for the men who sat around on the floor in the street. Not knowing the form, I sat on the floor but a chair was produced and despite my protestations that I was fine, I got to sit on my throne surrounded by all these blokes sitting in the mud.

At this point, I became the centre of attention for babies. People kept coming up and dumping their tiny offspring on my lap whilst a photograph of said infant with a slightly wild eyed me was taken. I hate photo’s at the best of times, not being the most photogenic person in the world. I’m also not that keen on babies, so there are going to be some real doozey pictures amongst that lot. At least they can use them to scare the kids in later life.  Do as your told or we’ll give you back to HIM.

I was now seriously thirsty so an earthenware mug of water was produced. This gave me another moral dilemma. Did I drink it or not. Having just got over food poisoning from Ras Shukheir, I am very conscious of my weak, feeble constitution when it comes to partaking of food and drink from strange places. I had already been shown the village well were all their water comes from. An old fashioned, hand pumped affair, Khalid had assured me it was the purest water in all Egypt. Yea, right, I could see things squiggling around in the well. Tea made with boiled water is one thing, but straight from the well?  There was some bottled water kicking about, but I had no idea where this stuff had come from. So, I decided to make a big show of waving it around whilst not actually drinking it. I was saved, or so I thought, when Khalid and bride came out and asked me to follow them. I was taken back into the room I had been previously sitting in and given the best seat again and this time the trestle table was put in front of me. A large silver platter was then brought in with much show, containing a whole roast chicken, two plump stuffed pigeon, a large platter of my little goat friend from earlier. A pile of flat bread,  a huge bowl of rice and noodles, a large green salad and a plate of tomato, courgette and mixed peppers. Wow. A feast. At the same time, the hordes began to make their way into the room.I was doing the polite thing of waiting until everyone was in and helping themselves before I started. Eventually, there must have been around 50 people crowded into the room but no one was touching the food. They just sat there smiling at me. Khalid at last came across and insisted that I start to eat. Of course I offered him and his new bride first choice. “Oh no sir, we are not eating, this is all for you.”  WHAT?

The One Man Feast

This feast it seemed was for my own personal consumption. Aaarghh.  Given my earlier comments about food poisoning, ( and I hate to say it, but I had my concerns over the hygiene standards having witnessed the girls cooking earlier, with assorted livestock, poultry and a million flies swarming around the “kitchen” area).  my plan had been to have a tentative nibble on a drumstick, or one of the better cooked sections of the chicken, perhaps a little piece of well done goat meat. After all, given the sacrifice the poor thing had made for me, it would have been rude not too.  Yes, I had thought. Enjoy a few mouthfuls and then feign fullness, calling it a day, saving myself for a nice pizza back at the hotel.

No chance mate. This was all for me. Moreover, and this was the killer, I had an entire room packed full of people as an audience to watch me bloody well eat it. What on earth was I going to do? Well what could I do?   I ate it.

I managed half the chicken, a pigeon, several large chunks of goat, a flat bread and more rice than it should have been humanly possible to eat, oh and a solitary slice of pepper. I did start off with a knife and fork, but was soon advised to abandon them and go for it big time, ripping birds apart with my bare hands. Each mouthful was raptly watched with little appreciative ‘oohs’ and ‘ahh’s’ as I rammed yet another fistful in. I got lots of advice, like try that bit there or dunk this in that, or hasn’t he gone a funny shade of red. I just wanted the ground to open and swallow me up. I was mortified. Have you ever been the soul focus of a crowd watching you eat? I can guarantee there is no better way to make someone feel more self conscious and less inclined to dine, than to watch them eat. Like I wasn’t standing out enough as it was. Here I was, sat in splendid isolation on my throne, shirt and tie on,  a silver platter fulI of food in front of me and an audience with an age range of 1 to 100 watching my every move. Even now I shiver at the very memory of it.  

The Experience of a Lifetime.

Eventually, I simply couldn’t eat any more. To be fair, the food was very tasty. It was well cooked and wonderfully spiced.  But it would have fed a family of four for a week.  I had hoped that once I gave in, the crowd would descend and finish the food off for me, but no, it was taken away and doggy bagged for me to take away. 

I hate to sound ungrateful, but it was quite possibly one of the most uncomfortable experiences I have ever had to endure. I mean, it was  knock out generosity on their part, but I have never found eating to be a spectator sport, particularly if I am centre stage. I prefer it on my terms and never, ever over a stuffed pigeon.

At last Khald announced it was time for me to go. Bizzarely, he was going to take me. Hang on a minute, isn’t it your wedding night? Get me a Taxi. I’ll be fine. Oh no sir, its ok, no taxi’s from here and besides, I’ll see her again tomorrow. Married life is obviously very different in Egypt. Having had very little part in the wedding ceremony she was going to have no part in the wedding night either.

And so it was, armed with my doggy bag and feeling very bloated, I waddled to the relative sanctuary of the car. The whole family followed me, so another 10 minutes was spent shaking hands, saying thank you and waving, until at last, we finally left and headed back to the hotel. Now it was all over, I realised what a unique experience it had been and how lucky I was to have been invited. I tried to ask Khalid about how his wife felt at me dragging him off on what should be his honeymoon night. He really didn’t seem to grasp what my issue was. So I just sat there burping gently and if I’m honest thanking Alah it was all over. “Next Month when you Wife is here Sir, we will invite you both to our Wedding feast” said Khalid. Oh my God. So it’s all to do again. At least this time, I’ll be old news. There will be a tall dark lady of the Scottish persuation who can take centre stage this time. I cant wait.

So, until next time, bye for now,

Graham