It was a fantastic affair and the Marseille high-society event of the year. Some members of Marseille's high society were miffed that an it-girl such as myself would get married to a hip-hop person from da ghetto like Bilal, but I have no doubt that Daddy vetted all suitors very carefully: - he was the first and only suitor to get through Daddy. If a man expressed an interest in me, I would give him Daddy's business card and say to go through this channel if he was serious. I would always advise men to be ready to e-mail Daddy a copy of their Christian testimony (i.e. a brief summary of their life and their coming to Christ). I must have given out thousands and thousands of business cards out in my time. Whether they viewed this route as an expression of lack of interest, whether they didn't have the guts to approach Daddy, whether they approached Daddy and Daddy realised there were holes in their Christian testimony, I don't know. It no longer matters. Bof (I would light up a Gauloise at this point if I were a smoker, MDR).
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After a few months of courtship, Bilal made a proposal of marriage, which I accepted straight away. As soon as the news of the accepted proposal was public, the wheels of planning swung into action. Bilal is a very down-to-earth person, but an it-girl with probably the narrowest waistline in the south of France like myself naturally wanted the best! But sometimes, the best does not come at a great price! A Frenchwoman who invests the necessary work in knowing local designers (which I do, as a fashion magazine editor and owner), local producers of high-quality food, local beauty spots etc is likely to get a better deal at a crucial time like this!
For the wedding attire, I used my own contacts who I knew were capable of delivering stunning attire not just for me, but for Bilal, since I had never seen him in a suit until our wedding day! His build is similar to that of Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson, a.k.a. The Mountain from Game of Thrones, meaning that he would look silly in any suit that was not tailor-made. As traditional Touareg and hip-hop clothing is normally loose-fitting, he does not normally experience this problem, but he needs tailor-made clothes if they are intended to be tight-fitting. With my unusually narrow waistline, I also needed to ensure the skill of the designer was sufficient to illustrate my wonderful feminine French figure to everyone present!
The food needed to be all-things-to-all-men, though there were limits to my willingness to accommodate. Some English relatives on my mother's side complained about the exotic nature and the small portions, as if I care: - these silly people wanted daft things, such as bangers 'n' mash, fish 'n' chips, curry etc. For Bilal's family (who entered the church extremely reluctantly), there was an extremely large container of chicken and jollof rice, but this was the only concession we made. I would like to educate them and the English relatives about what good food is, but I am a busy woman, so I have to pick my battles! For everyone else, we had a delectable and divine selection of Provençale cuisine served obviously in dainty portions! The dishes included that quintessential Marseille dish, bouillabaise, made with the freshest seafood. Olives harvested that morning also featured prominently. There was a whole smörgåsbord of local specialities, another one being calissons. Wedding cakes are a very English tradition which we naturally eschewed, so we opted for the French tradition of croquembouche (gluten-free on Bilal's account of course).
In France, the legal part of the wedding can only be carried out by the mayor, so we went to the mairie and got this part over and done with and then went to our church for the religious part of the ceremony. The church was packed, unfortunately with many people who don't remotely care about what it does and only viewed the wedding as the place to see and be seen (such people were invited for business expediency, rather than because I truly wanted them there)! Still, the pastor preached an unashamedly evangelistic sermon, which resulted some return visitors, at least one of whom I know to have now been baptised and taken out church membership. I say with full sincerity that this makes the presence of all the other superficial people worthwhile. The hymns were "Comment ai-je pu?" ("And can it be that I should gain"), "Béni soit le lien" ("Blest be the tie that binds"), "Croire obéir" ("Trust and obey") and "Je suis tien, Seigneur" ("I am Thine, O Lord"), all of them favourites of Bilal and myself.
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Bilal was a sight for sore eyes in his fitted suit. He looked extremely uncomfortable, as tight clothes are not his thing, but it was nice to finally see him dressed in a suit for the first time. My wedding dress was absolutely fabulous, as were the bridesmaid's dresses and the suits of the leading men. It's a shame I may never see him in a suit again, but obviously, now we are married, I get to see other things.
We opted for an open-air reception at the Calanques, with a reserve order of marquees made in case of severely unseasonal weather. We chose a lovely secluded beach and were undisturbed the whole time: - it was a case of security by obscurity. Bilal is a very capable swimmer, but will rarely do so in public, as he doesn't like non-family members seeing any part of his body except his face, hands and feet: - Touareg men tend to cover their heads with a tagelmust. I wonder if this would enrage the opponents of the burkini? Tee hee! Anyway, maybe when our family grows and an apartment proves too small, we could choose a new home away from the city centre with high walls and a swimming pool within the ground, so as to give Bilal the privacy he desires.
For the honeymoon, I wanted a destination that was French-speaking, unfamiliar to both of us, offering unbridled luxury and beautiful. We chose the Van Horne Suite of the Château Frontenac in Québec City, Canada. Bilal looked rather strange in his hip-hop clothing when we walked in. I could see that the staff were trying not to stare, so I insisted that Bilal wear a Touareg outfit for dining. Having spent a lot of his time in Mali living in tents and often with no shelter in the desert, followed by La Savine, Bilal was not used to such opulence and looked rather lost in the hotel. He isn't really used to eating non-Touareg food and found himself embarrassed asking if they served jollof rice. Poor Bilal!
Both of us enjoyed the historic city and its waterfront situation. When we arrived in the city on a ViaRail service (shamefully slow), we were struck by the beauty of the station. Unusually for the Americas, the city has a city wall and citadel. We made various journeys on the ViaRail service: - as the speeds are so low, there is an emphasis on service. Wi-fi has been standard for a long time and there are cheery stewardesses serving food as if it were an airline.
As mentioned in previous posts, Bilal has always been very good with children. He was determined to experience fatherhood as soon as possible and he wasted no time on ensuring this would happen as soon as we arrived. I realised I was expecting part-way into the honeymoon. When we arrived back, he announced that he had booked a dietician appointment for me: - he had been worried that I was not eating enough to ensure the baby's good health, so he insisted I attend it. The dietician agreed that there was nothing wrong with my diet: - I knew this all along, but Bilal needed some reassurance. I continued to eat well during my pregnancy and I gave birth to an entirely healthy baby boy with my weight no higher than what it was when I measured myself on the day of the wedding.
But that is another story. I am sure I will go into more detailed aspects of the wedding later, but I also expect there will be many posts about motherhood.
