On the train Dorothy shut everything else out except for the wonders that were passing outside the windows on either side. The rail line paralleled the Suez Canal. Dorothy could see, on the far side of the canal in the direction of Sinai, a camel caravan moving in orderly procession over the golden sand. She had never seen a camel before, or Bedouins. Through the windows on the other side of the train car she was drawn into a panorama of an ancient time – ox-drawn plows, goats, a crystalline sky. Oh, my Lady Isis, she whispered to herself, this is all so very beautiful! I am glad you brought me home again, really I am!
The train made a stop in Ismailieh, a vast green park that was the administrative center of the Canal Authority, close by a row of elegantly arranged, tile-roofed villas where the canal pilots and other employees lived. An unexpected surprise awaited the couple on the station platform: George Wissa. George was too much of an old and sincere friend to refuse to accept, however reluctantly, Imam’s decision to marry Dorothy. He met the couple with red roses and the best wishes he could muster for their future happiness together. The train stayed only three minutes and was off again.
With her hand firmly in Imam’s, Dorothy sat hypnotized by the scenery around her – the donkeys loaded with grass, the waterwheels, the endless dark fields of the Black Land. Imam could only smile at her obvious joy. “Everything is taking my breath away!” she exclaimed, “I don’t feel a stranger at all!”
The train pulled to its destination in the highly ornamented 19th century Cairo central station. Model T taxis crowded 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