Living the Multicultural Dream - An intro...

By Angela East

I take a deep breath, I walk down the aisle, I hear the monotonous rise and fall of chanting, the smell of incense burning and the occasional, celebratory yodel that sounds like a mix between native Indians and someone screaming as they fall out of a tree. There is bright red carpet like a runway and men with long beards, neck to ankle gowns and giant crucifixes around their neck. And then, on the flipside I also see a Catholic priest, Aussie groomsmen (looking confused and amused) and a white, blue eyed groom with a wide grin on his face.

Photos by the gorgeous and talented Clare Metcalf

Yes, this was the beginning of my wedding. This is the story of how lucky I am to have the best of two cultural worlds.

Egyptian weddings are a crazy mix of wailing, laughing, chanting and cymbals and when you are marrying nothing but a genuine Aussie bloke, somebody who is the epitome of everything Australian (beer, football, cricket, Cold Chisel) you know both of you are in for a bit of a cultural rollercoaster.

My parents lived in a country where marrying 2^nd or 3^rd generation cousins was perfectly acceptable – “At least you know they come from a good family!” they would say, or where a man (that you have never met) could come to your parent’s door and ask your father for your hand in marriage, simply because he had been watching you as you bought groceries at the market and came to the conclusion that you were wifely material.

So needless to say, When I introduced my parents to Steve (who says g’day like it’s a question when he answers the phone – g’day?) let’s just say, they weren’t overly impressed. He wasn’t dark, or a doctor and I had chosen this man all by MYSELF! How could I? But they had no choice but to be eventually won over by the charms of his easy Australian humour and his way to see everything in optimism.

The cultural mish-mash of events that took place in the course of our engagement period were both funny and terrifying to me. Some of them were the simplest of things, like my parents forgetting to give Steve a knife and fork when we ate - I don’t know why, but Egyptians tend to eat with spoons or their hands. Then there was the countless “Pardon? What was that?” as the language barriers posed a threat to people actually getting to know eachother. Or of course, when my dad tried to translate Egyptian phrases into English except the exact translation didn’t sound quite right. For example, instead of saying that someone shouldn’t talk rubbish, my Dad said, in his best, words-of-wisdom voice, “Shit. It should never come from the mouth” Steve laughed so hard at this while my dad looked utterly confused as to why this was so funny but pleased he had amused him so. It's now a staple phrase in our house.

My parents have come to love Steve. He is like the token white boy and the only person in our extended family with blue, sparkling eyes. They see those traits that also can come with being the classic Australian - patient, easygoing and straightforward.

The story as to how we got married is a big one. But in the end what came to eventuate was a wedding well enjoyed by all with a mixture of faiths, cultures and partying. There was waltzing and belly-dancing, Arabic and English, black and white.

God bless multiculturalism for making our lives a hell of a lot more interesting and amusing and reminding us that shit should NEVER come from the mouth.

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