Three hours of sleep and a knock on my bedroom door. Time for petit dejeuner with the family and 10 wedding guests who never made it home. Listening to more incomprehensible conversations in Arabic and craving an afternoon of sleep and a nice evening shower. Hah.
Lunch at 2pm, then decided to do a bit of laundry to take advantage of the Sunday sun (and fearing an immenent lack of clean underwear). Layed down for nap around 4. Five pm – sounds of chairs shuffling and people arriving. I open my bedroom door to ask what’s up and learn that part three of the wedding will be happening at our house in the next few hours. “Nothing like last night, just the family, but you should wear your new djabador.”
Over the next few hours people arriving, furniture being rearranged, kids running amok, glasses being washed, napkins being folded. 9pm – a house full of 50 people, traditional Moroccan percussionists, table full of wedding gifts, more sweets, tea. Bride and groom arrive, are seated for first musical act. Women dance, people sing, bride changes clothes three times. Presents are opened, platters of pastilla and tagine are served.
In bed finally at midnight. No guests sleeping in the salon.
I’ve been told that’s it for les fetes de marriage. I haven’t arrived home yet tonight. We’ll see