تعبير عن عادات الزواج في السعودية بالانجليزي
موضوع عن العادات والتقاليد في السودان بالانجليزي
تعبير عن الزواج
بحث عن الزواج في الإسلام بالانجليزي
تعبير عن شريك الحياة بالانجليزي
تعبير بالانجليزي عن دعوة زفاف
تعبير عن حفلة بالانجليزي
كلام عن الزواج بالانجليزي
تعبير بالانجليزي عن العادات والتقاليد
ii
A wedding in Riyadh means living a night in the land of Scheherazade in the sparkle of candles, precious stones, eyes underlined with khol, this is what Sonia experienced during her friend's wedding in Riyadh.
Mona invited me to a wedding party. I am taken aback. My prettiest muslin dress seems quite modest to me, I'm going to juggle the accessories. I have to buy some stockings. The shuttle from the residence where I live takes the ladies, in abayas, to do their shopping at Azizia Mall, which is not the most luxurious of shopping malls, too bad. Arrived there, I go to the lingerie shops. Stockings, the staff don't understand, but a young Korean salesman with keen hearing directs me to the second floor. From the top of the escalators I resist the temptations of Shoe Arena, sandals with flat heels, high heels, vertiginous heels. Urgency is sticky. In the high-end underwear store the salespeople, perhaps Jordanians and still men, do not understand what I want, I cannot decently sketch a movement towards my legs, but in a window under the counter I discover mannequin legs with fishnet stockings and finally I am handed a clutch, an Italian brand. The illustration - a naked woman's back in pantyhose - is painstakingly covered with small white stickers, censorship has been vigilant. But on the displays, at nose height, a flesh-colored bodysuit with bare back Brazilian briefs, breathtaking bras! The stockings are a little too golden for the pastel tones of the dress, it is too late to look elsewhere, the van is waiting, the driver has already slid the black panels of the windows. When I get home, I try to take an air-conditioned nap. It’s the heat of March.
Admission is between 9 p.m. and 9:30 p.m. I put on my abaya and hijab, check the contents of my bag - passport, laptop, money - and the invitation card, salmon pink velvet paper printed in brown in a bristol sleeve with a salmon headband and a matching knotted favor. A tiny map should help us locate the highway exit. We were told: the Palais des Fêtes is a blue building or with blue. Traffic is heavy on Thursday evening. The Saudis do not drive fast but they use their turn signals little, cut the lines, climb the embankments of the exits when they have missed them. We see a building lit with a cross stitch of blue light beams, but no, these are offices. Comes a wasteland, sand, stones. Just after we recognize the Ghanati for Banqueting written in blue neon lights. It's here. Crowds of cars stopped or slowly advancing towards the gate of the gate. Black figures descend, white figures wait in front of a second entrance, they are the men in thob. We get into the queue. In front of the ladies' gate, I get off the modest Nissan X-Trail, keeping my abaya tightly closed (above all, not showing my legs). In front of me a young woman rushes into the Palace, from her evening abaya protrudes a train of bubbling tulle, gray, green, I feel perfectly out of place with my dress. I present my box to a man who is not a Saudi, and am immediately obscured by a recess in the hall (the women already entered are invisible to a man who could stand there).
And it's the loud music, the air saturated with incense, the hubbub of greetings, the profusion of colors. I can't even think of my husband who will be bored with the men in the other part of the palace. Make no mistake: I take off my abaya, hand it to an Asian employee who rolls it into a ball in a plastic bag and hands me a number, I have 77. The locker room counter is circular, the black balls are abayas occupy compartments like the cells of a beehive. I am very intimidated: all around me emerge black abayas, sumptuous dresses, divine mixtures of colors, pearl embroidery, necklines and made-up faces. Between two rows of maids in long burgundy dresses holding silver perfume burners, I move forward too. The women of the family welcome the guests. I am European: they hold out their hand to me, with the Saudi ladies they exchange sketched kisses, one on the left cheek, one on the right cheek, then one more on the right cheek, twice, three times, more still. Mona places me to her left with great courtesy and so I greet the newcomers by her side, it's the Twelve Princesses Ball, but the princesses are 400 or 500, Mona does not know. I flatten my cheek on other cheeks, a very gentle gesture, I hold my shawl over my arms. I am being dragged to the tables to sit down while waiting for the bride to appear - Mona warns me, it will be late.
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