It was one of the nicer wedding I've been to. All the elements of a good Moroccan wedding were there.
Starting with the important stuff - the food!
The bastilla, a pie shaped dish, covered with philo dough on the outside and filled with seafood: shrimp, calamari and Chinese noodles was the first course. This was followed by an entire roasted lamb, which the ten people at our table dug into.
Josh, one of Siham's bosses, was also there with his wife, Suzanne. Suzanne is also pregnant and expecting a week or two after Siham.
A woman in her forties went straight for a oval shaped part of the lamb. Siham pointed at it, I recognized it immediately and made a face.
Noticing our brief bout attention, Suzanne turned her head to the offending morsil and asked, "What's that?"
A few murmers and stifled giggles ensued.
"Here try some," someone said to her husband, Josh.
He took a bite size piece of the crumbly white meat. With his mouth half full and chewing, he asked, "What is it?"
He was a good sport, he didn't spit it out. But the concerted, jaw-clenched expression as he squinted and swallowed was priceless.
The bride and groom, both in their twenties, were vibrant. The bride especially, her face cast in a permant smile of bright teeth which competed with the jewellery and inlay on the various dresses she changed into for sparkle.
There was hours of dancing after the meal, which, with the treble cranked, was probalby loud enough to cause hearing damage. Next time, I'm bringing ear plugs.
At one point, Siham nudged me, clenching her stomach with the other hand. "Our babies dancing."
"I said..." She pointed to her tummy and, using two fingers of her free hand, made a dancing motion on the table.
"Oh!" I smiled.