Things got off to a very slow start today. Val got up late, + I was up even later, + we were both well in advance of Hassan, who’d been burning the midnight oil. Or electricity, really, watching the movie. Today was the day of the wedding, but nobody seemed to be in any hurry, + we assumed they both knew what they were about. So we spent the morning + part of the afternoon too, reading the English language Sunday papers. Not up to the Observer, of course, but they helped pass the time. Val + I were getting a little worried by now that we really were cutting things a bit fine, but we were in no position to say anything. Hassan did say something about having to wait for the car, which apparently someone else had borrowed, but he didn’t seem overconcerned, + didn’t bother to hurry, even when it was returned.
Eventually, we set off, + picked up another girl in town. She was fuming, having been kept standing around in town for half an hour, but neither Hassan nor Faridah seemed overconcerned. It was only when we’d got to the town of Kilang, + wasted 15 mins driving round town when we found the main bridge closed + no diversion marked, that he got flustered, + apologised that we would miss some of the wedding because of the delay. We were fuming, but could only make polite noises.
We arrived at the bride’s house to discover that much of what there was to see had long finished, + that even the wedding breakfast – or rough equivalent thereof – was coming to an end. But we were welcomed by Norilla, sat down, + fed very handsomely. I could not even come near to doing the meal justice, having been ill once again during the night, but at least ate enough to be polite. The bride + groom were sat near us, decked out in costumes of the same ornate material, both attempting to look dignified but in fact looking scared. Which was natural enough. This was an arranged marriage, we were told. Strange to believe that such things still go on. And these weren’t scared uneducated kids, but mature adults – the woman was 40 – who presumably held responsible jobs. And who had never met before.
We were presented with hard-boiled eggs, a traditional gift for guests to symbolise fertility. And when we finished our meal, we were driven over to the groom’s house, where virtually the same set-up was in progress, tables + chairs set outside the house to accommodate the guests. The wedding couple had preceded us, + we sat down opposite them. I was horrified to see that we were expected to eat again, + this time could only take a token mouthful, not even enough for politeness, but I’m sure I would have been ill if I’d eaten more. The rain lashed down briefly – not an auspicious omen, but I don’t believe in such things – but we were protected by an awning. We were given more eggs, then drove back to the bride’s house. We were able to see the couple’s bedroom, specially decorated for the purpose (tho’ I’ll confess I didn’t think it very special.)
So, in the end, not the most scintillating of events, and it probably did not make all that much difference that we missed a good chunk of it, but it was scarcely worth waiting out a couple of days for. Punctuality is an odd thing, that is observed fervently in some cultures, and largely ignored in others. For myself, I think it is important, as it is a way of demonstrating respect for someone else.
