the streets outside. The Cairo Dorothy was coming to was not a part of her ancient dreams and memories. Cairo in 1933 was a cosmopolitan city of no less than twenty different nationalities, European enclaves and political refugees. It was noisy and bustling. Shop signs were in French, Arabic, English, Greek, Hebrew and more. And everywhere was the pervasive presence of the British occupation.
in the house of Haj Abdel Meguid
The taxi from the station drove through the narrow streets of Old Cairo and stopped in front of the house of the family Abdel Meguid. Dorothy took one look at the gate and was stunned by its enormity. Thirty feet high and ten feet wide, it looked more like the entrance to a caravanserai, a grand inn, than an arabesque-style house. Its lower third was solid sheet steel with a stylized wrought iron sunflower in the center. And above that, an amazing tableau in wrought iron, a piece of art formed of flower motifs, trees and different types of leaves. I can attest to its beauty, having seen it myself many years ago. The artist who made that masterpiece was really a genius, because the visitor only sees the beautiful flowers, trees, etc., rather than a massive, sheet of metal. The privacy of the house was thus protected while the entrance was inviting and anything but austere. The whole family was waiting anxiously behind that gate.
Dorothy was deeply touched by the warmth of their welcome. Imam’s father, Haj Abdel Meguid (Haj is the honorary title given to any Muslim who has had the good fortune to make a pilgrimage to Mecca), was particularly openhearted in greeting his future daughter-in-law. Being especially fond of his son, Haj Abdel Meguid immediately approved of Imam’s choice, as did the rest of the family. This loving, pious, upper-middle-class Egyptian family quickly enfolded Dorothy as one of their own.
The Abdel Meguid home was in Old Cairo close to the Mukattam cliffs, in an area of the Citadel, Cairo’s highest elevation. The two-story building was arranged around a large inner courtyard with a brilliantly colored mosaic tile fountain at its center.
In families such as this, the Egyptian traditions and religion were respected, strictly followed and venerated. Imam and Dorothy had already agreed that they would be married according to Muslim religious rules. Naturally, it was left to Haj Abdel Meguid to make all the necessary arrangements. It is stipulated that the bride and groom should each have two witnesses to sign the marriage certificate and testify that it was done by common consent and in conformity with religious tenets.
Before the wedding, Imam and Dorothy slept separately in two richly furnished bedrooms. At mealtimes the whole family gathered in the vast dining room at a table that could accommodate twenty people. At the head was Haj Abdel Meguid and on his right, Imam’s mother, a woman in her early 50s, extremely distinguished and beautiful, with evident Circassian blood from some remote ancestry in the Caucasus. Imam took after his father, Dorothy thought, elegant and handsome, with the wavy dark brown hair of a movie star. Dorothy’s British beauty was appreciated in the household as well – her clear blue eyes that flashed with humor, her golden hair, and her sweet singing voice. Haj Abdel Meguid bestowed on her the affectionate nickname Bulbul, Nightingale.
In those first days in the Abdel Meguid house she woke early each morning to watch the sun rise between the slender minarets of the Mohammed Ali Pasha mosque. Often, while it was still dark, she would wake to the sonorous call of a nearby muezzin bidding the pious to perform the first prayers of the day. “The man’s serene and beautiful voice sounded like a balm to the soul,” Omm Sety said in recollection. “It endowed me with a curious interior peace that would stay with me through the day.” She was enchanted and on her best behavior, still not quite believing that she was actually here. Each morning when Dorothy came down to breakfast with the family she found a sumptuous table laid with three kinds of cheese, boiled and fried eggs, fried mashed beans, fresh butter, marmalades and other delights. Dorothy was quickly exposed to traditional Egyptian cooking and delicacies.
On her third day, Dorothy (who was now called Bulbul) went on a tour of Cairo with Imam and his mother to search among the finest shops for the wedding trousseau. Her taste was politely consulted during the expedition, but when the moment came to select the wedding dress, she knew she had best defer to a more sophisticated taste. From London, Dorothy had written to Imam: “I have never been to any wedding in all my life, either British or any other nationality, so I will leave the choice to your mother. I have no doubt she will pick the most suitable dress.” And so, in the chic showroom of the famous French-Lebanese couturiere known as Paulette, Bulbul was fitted for her custom-designed wedding dress.
In the meantime, Haj Abdel Meguid was making other arrangements. The traditional wedding must be conducted by a Maazun, a qualified sheikh authorized by the government to handle all matrimonial questions according to Muslim law. A Maazun must have completed his studies at Cairo’s Al Azhar University, a revered, 1000-year-old institution dedicated to preserving the cultural heritage of Islam.
At that time there was usually a short period of engagement during which the bride and groom could get acquainted and discuss their plans for a lifetime together. There was always a chaperone. But for educated people above the age of 20 there was never a question of chaperones. Bulbul and Imam were nearly 30 and had already had sufficient time to get to know each other well, at least in the context of London and the consuming political drama that they were both engaged in there.
In the three weeks before the wedding Bulbul attempted to share her passion for the ancient world with Imam. Bowing to Bulbul’s wishes, he agreed to visit the pyramids of Giza and Saqqara, and the Egyptian Museum. Unfortunately, he found it all a terrible bore. He was not particularly interested in the early history of Egypt, being entirely taken up with the present time and its problems; most pressing was the question of whether he would be able to find suitable housing for himself and his bride. He had no intention of staying indefinitely in his father’s house, though the subject had not come up since Bulbul’s arrival. Imam was becoming more aware of the incompatibilities between Bulbul’s bohemian character and the orderly, disciplined life of his family, even though the family seemed to accept her with great affection. It was only a matter of time before the differences would become untenable.
an Egyptian wedding
The wedding celebration was a magnificent party in the Abdel Meguid house, with a guest list that counted many highly placed officials and notables, a reflection of the family’s position in Cairo society. Many years later, sitting in her tiny village house in remote Abydos, she described the festivities: “The women, in particular, were very richly dressed in the most up-to-date fashion of the season, as imposed by La Mode Parisienne. I felt like Alice in Wonderland. There I was, accepting the compliments of all these people, like a princess. Can you imagine? Me, of all the persons present in the party – a princess…” And then she laughed at the absurdity of it.
The traditional weddings of the upper classes – before the 5-star hotel affairs with the Western rock bands – were romantic and lavish, a display of high fashion and wealth. The bride would be dressed in an expensive gown adorned with pearls or, in very rich families, sewn with diamond beads. Gold coins would be thrown over the happy couple’s shoulders and women of both families would make that curious, piercing sound with their tongues known as zaghrutto, as the bride and groom walked slowly to their bed chamber.
Bulbul’s wedding was no less elaborate. It began with a sedate ceremony in the courtyard of the house, during which the bride and groom signed the contract and pledged to accept each other according to Muslim law. Since the bride had no family with her (her parents had not yet reconciled themselves to the marriage) two of Imam’s friends who had known her in London stood as her witnesses. For Imam it was his father and uncle. The ceremony was very simple, beginning with the sheikh’s recitation of a verse from the Koran: “In the name of God, the all-merciful, the most compassionate, I open this proceeding.”
One of Bulbul’s witnesses, Ibrahim, served as an interpreter. He coached her
