There is something in the air at this time of year. It's very romantic but rather frantic. People are getting ready for their weddings. There always seems to be more to do when you're a bride or involved in the bride's entourage - organising and prepping, printing invitations and picking out menus; there are showers to be arranged and nail appointments to be kept and demos for hair and make-up, and the dress! I know, I helped organise my sister's wedding and, of course, was deeply involved when my close friends got married.
In Egypt, it's a much more elaborate affair than in Canada. I mean, weddings can be quite elaborate in Canada, but the actual process of getting to it is pretty straightforward. I witnessed the struggles of several Egyptian friends here who have had to go through the marriage pantomime. First, boy meets girl. How this happens in Egypt can vary. The couple can meet in school, at work or through friends and date for a while before deciding to marry. Or it can be more traditional - a young man visits a girl he is being hooked up with at her home, they chit-chat and after a few more meetings or outings they may decide to tie the knot. This kind of marriage is sometimes called a "salon wedding" to reflect the meeting place. It is also known as a living room wedding.
After that, there is a series of steps a potential groom must follow to finally get the girl. The first could be a meeting between the groom and the girl's father, at which the older man susses out the younger and makes sure he's solid. If he passes that test, the father will give the groom a date to come to his home with his parents. In the meantime, the father will have "asked around" about the young man, making sure he and his family are of good standing in their community.
At the more formal meeting, the groom will bring his parents to officially ask for the girl's hand in marriage. They will bring flowers, a cake or chocolate with them, and everyone is very polite and civil, making small talk as they are served juice in crystal glasses. The girl's family may ask for a bit more time to think about the proposal, or they may go ahead and do what is called a reading, which is a pre-engagement moment where the families read the first verses of the Quran together as a symbol of agreement to the proposal. They may also set a date for the formal engagement.
Now begins a series of parties - the engagement party, exchange of wedding bands party, the henna night (bridal shower), the katb kitab party (the Islamic ceremony where they officially become married on paper and in the eyes of God), and finally the actual wedding. Many people never reach the engagement, or it can take several years for a couple to marry since there are harsh social pressures on the groom's family to provide an acceptable dowry for the bride. Many girls' parents won't accept a proposal if the groom doesn't have a decent apartment - owned, not rented - or if the neighbourhood it is in isn't acceptable, or if he isn't able to provide her with a car or the right kind of furniture.
But what do you do when one of the couple is a foreigner? While an Egyptian marriage can become a familial and financial nightmare, a foreign marriage in Cairo - either between two foreigners or a foreigner and an Egyptian - becomes a bureaucratic horror story of gargantuan proportions. I'm travelling tomorrow to a desert oasis called Siwa to attend the wedding of a Canadian couple I know. The bride is of Egyptian origin, and they decided to get married in Egypt to honour her family's heritage. But the process has been a hilarious - sometimes tear-inducing - journey. Egypt is notorious for its slow-working, inefficient bureaucracy. My friends had to spend a week visiting different government offices to prove they existed, they were Muslim - he had to reconvert to Islam in Egypt because his original conversion in Lebanon wasn't valid here - that they were born when they said they were born and that they were serious about getting married.
On the day of the ceremony we arrived at the Ministry of Justice, where foreigners go to get married. Her parents, the couple and I crammed into a questionable elevator, cursing slightly when the attendant yelled at us to hurry up since it was a half work day and we only had half an hour. After arguing with the gatekeepers to the offices, the bride's mother took matters into her own hands, grabbing all the paperwork and forcing her way through the dozens of idle office hands. My daughter will get married today, she declared.
Finally, we were allowed into one of the four offices the couple had to visit before being officially married. As the paperwork was being processed, we sat on a rickety wooden bench in a shabby waiting area, watching the guards drink tea, smoke and gossip. Eventually, we were allowed into the last office, where a civil officiator married the couple. After signing a few dozen papers, stamping it with their thumbs, and declaring in front of God and witnesses that they were man and wife, we could all let out a whoop of relief and have lunch.
Tomorrow we pack up and make the eight or nine hour drive to Siwa oasis close to the Libyan border, where the couple have decided to hold their wedding. We're only 12 people in the entire party, an intimate group against what is supposed to be a gorgeous backdrop of sand and... Stay tuned. I'll let you know next week. Hadeel al Shalchi is a writer for the Associated Press, based in Cairo
