In any case, first he would have to wait at home while a procession of twenty or so of his male relatives went to fetch Bibi. As it was raining he decided to send her his favourite horse, Najma, who was tacked up by Ni’mati with a bright, colourful bridle and a kilim-like blanket under the saddle. He carefully instructed his younger brothers Abdul Rasul and Muhammad Ali to make sure that his new bride was comfortable.
Bibi was ready. She sat waiting on the edge of her bed, her legs too short to reach the floor as she bit her nails. She was wearing a white wedding dress embroidered with gold circular patterns, which had been made at a Jewish atelier in Baghdad. Her eyes were lined in kohl, and her skin was very soft after the morning’s rituals, perfumed with her favourite jasmine essence. She wore a wedding veil which would be pulled down over her face when the men arrived.
Despite the sound of the rain, the singing of the men carried through the street as they walked towards the house. Then it stopped. A loud knock was heard. As a privileged member of the household who was close to the bride, Saeeda took up the challenge, asking loudly, ‘Who is it?’
‘We are here to take the bride,’ the men replied.
‘We don’t have any bride to give you,’ said Saeeda. ‘You’ve come to the wrong house.’
‘We won’t leave until you give us our bride!’
‘I told you – we have no bride for you here.’
The exchange was part of the custom and, as in a play, each side remained faithful to their part. The men knocked again, and Saeeda repeated her reply. This formality continued for a little while longer until one of the men offered Saeeda a few coins to open the door. Saeeda pushed it ajar, just enough to peer out. Looking at the men in mock disdain, she closed the door and said, ‘Our girl is too precious for these pennies!’
The men knocked again, crying out, ‘We will give you all the pennies you want if you open the door.’ This time Saeeda obliged, and took the rest of the coins.
Bibi had meanwhile come downstairs and was standing in the sitting room with her mother, her brothers, aunts and cousins. Rumia gently pulled Bibi’s head towards her and whispered a prayer in her ear. Bibi then kissed her two brothers. She said goodbye to everyone else, before bidding her mother farewell. Rumia was crying and Bibi followed suit. Her father’s absence was sorely felt, and they both pined for him.
‘No, no, you’ll ruin her face with all these tears,’ soothed one of Rumia’s sisters-in-law. ‘Come on, my dear, she’ll still be near you.’
Bibi’s trousseau had been sent ahead a few days earlier, along with the presents to the groom and his family. Her father’s sisters, Fahima and Aminah, had already been to the Chalabis’ house to prepare her new quarters. They would accompany her to her new home tonight.
When she caught sight of the animal standing at the door, Bibi exclaimed in horror. She was terrified of horses, and she felt the colour vanish from her cheeks as she hesitated before agreeing to mount it. As she was helped up by Abdul Rasul, her heart was thumping so loudly she couldn’t hear the four-man band that led the way with drums and trumpets. Sitting sidesaddle, she struggled to hold an umbrella with one hand while she clung very tightly to the colourful reins with the other. Even though the horse walked at the pace of a snail, Bibi was terrified of slipping.
Her relatives and friends sang alongside her as they moved slowly towards the Chalabi house at the other end of the quarter. The entire neighbourhood came out in the rain to watch the zaffa, the wedding procession. Although it was not as spectacular as it would have been during peacetime, it nevertheless brightened up the streets and afforded the onlookers the opportunity to put aside their sorrows for a few precious moments.
When the horse finally came to a halt in the courtyard of her new home and she was helped down, Bibi looked up at the figures that stood waiting for her in the main courtyard of the house. She could only recognize her husband’s aunts and Khadja, her new grandmother-in-law.
Her own aunts, who had followed her on foot, appeared on either side to help her enter her new home. It was their duty to hand her to her husband. As she took her first step towards her new family, Bibi remembered her attempts to prepare a suitably smiling face in front of her mirror, in anticipation of this moment. She looked up towards the men and, lifting her veil, flashed her most winning smile at them. A ripple of shock went through the group, who had been expecting to greet a shy, demure woman – especially on this, her wedding day. It was a small mercy that her mother had missed the moment, for Bibi’s gesture was simply not the done thing. Her faux pas was made even worse owing to the fact that, in her nervousness, she had directed her dazzling, flirtatious smile not at her new husband, but at her father-in-law.
Nevertheless, both bride and groom greeted each other appropriately amidst a chorus of ululations from those standing around them. Dinner was served, which gave time for Bibi to relax a little. She was still very nervous about what lay ahead that night. The only man who had ever held her close had been her father, many years earlier. She couldn’t stop her stomach churning from anxiety, remembering all that she had been told about what went on between a man and a woman.
Unusually for Bibi, she was lost for words as she sat absorbing her new surroundings and watching her new family. The air was alive with stolen glances as she and Hadi shyly scrutinized each other. Eventually the meal came to an end, all too soon for Bibi. After bidding her new in-laws goodnight, she was ushered upstairs by her aunts to her newly furnished bedroom. In silence she was helped out of her wedding dress and into a delicately embroidered nightdress. She was momentarily comforted to see the large hand-beaten copper bowl that her mother had picked as part of her trousseau. As she leaned over it to wash her hands, she heard a knock on the door. It was her husband.
Her aunts giggled, kissed her and left. Staring at her hennaed palms, embarrassed to be seen in a negligee, Bibi stood frozen as Hadi approached her. He hesitantly stroked her hair as he held her hand. She looked up at him and smiled. She was relieved to see that he was indeed handsome, with kind eyes set in an open face. His arms enclosed her. She didn’t resist.
Ever mindful of her duties as a new mother-in-law, Rumia was determined to supply a sumptuous breakfast for the morning after the wedding night. A huge basket duly arrived early the next day for Hadi and Bibi, with freshly baked bread, gaymar, honey, a variety of homemade jams, lemon curd, marmalade, rice pudding and Rumia’s delicate shakar borek pastries. She added a few gardenias, freshly cut from her small courtyard.
There was a lot for Bibi to take in that first week, and the days flew by as she focused on an approaching social function, the prospect of which terrified her almost as much as the wedding night had. On the seventh day after the wedding, her mother-in-law Jamila would be hosting a tea party during which the guests would take a good look at the new bride’s trousseau, which would be laid out on her new bed in her new room.
It was a rite of passage that Bibi had previously enjoyed participating in as a spectator – but now she would be the subject of it herself. Several women who were not invited entered the house with their faces covered except for their eyes. It was an open house, so they could not be turned away, and they rummaged through the hand-embroidered silks and lingerie like crows picking over delicacies.
Bibi sat enthroned in the dawakhana in another bridal dress, while all the visiting ladies scrutinized her – her hands, her smile, her hair, her nose, her eyes, her manners and, of course, her outfit. Usually Bibi loved attention, but that day she could not wait for everyone to leave. Now that she was getting to know him a little, she longed for the opportunity to be alone again with her new husband. Aware of the