Despite
my sometimes aloof demeanor, I’m really a romantic at heart. Case in point: I got married, approximately three months
ago, on Valentine’s Day.
OK,
that’s not entirely true. I don’t
think. It’s just that my marital status
is a bit complicated. It comes with
disclaimers and caveats.
When
I mention that I’m married, and my wife—I suppose she’s my wife—overhears me,
she always quickly inserts the words “on paper” into whatever conversation I
happened to have been having. That’s
right. I’m married, but only on
paper. She’s always quick to remind me
and set the record straight.
I
live in Egypt and have just married (or not) an Egyptian woman named Azza. (By the way, I’ve included my favorite
picture of her.) Three months ago, we
loaded ourselves up into Azza’s car and drove to downtown Cairo where we filled
out a variety of forms, paid an array of fees, and had a bureaucrat (sitting
behind a document-covered desk) declare us “husband and wife.”
Again,
all that happened, but only on paper. It
seems that Egyptians don’t consider that the end of the story. In fact, it’s not even the most important
part of the story. The marriage isn’t considered
legit by the family of the bride—and that’s a mighty powerful group of
folks—until a party takes place. This shindig,
called a “hafla zeefahf” in Arabic, combines elements of the American wedding
ceremony and reception. Ours is about to
take place in less than two weeks, on the evening of the 31st of
May. Inshallah.
I
know this is true because the wedding invitations have been printed and are in
our possession. As a matter of fact, a
good many have already been delivered to those who are invitees.
What
I like is that the cards are bilingual and multicultural and international (but
not bicameral or horticultural).
Check
them out.
