Marriage, made to order

The day my uncle married me to his daughter, he sat haggling with me over her price… sorry, her dowry…

When I talked to him about building a home together, he demanded a ready-made house, fully furnished. I talked about starting our life; he talked about my death and who would inherit from me. I talked about commitment; he talked about divorce and how much I would pay.

My uncle wanted a wedding fit for a king. He wanted me to sell my one little shop for a party that lasts one night.

He wanted tables full of food and drink, a dancer and a traditional procession, a singer and a band… If only the party had pleased the relatives, the friends, the neighbours or the greengrocer next door…

True, it's the night of a lifetime, but does it have to break my back for the rest of my life?

My uncle demanded two weeks in Europe for the honeymoon, then gave in and settled for Turkey (but three weeks). When we got there, storms blew and the rain poured, and we didn't leave our room until we went to the airport. That day the weather was clear and lovely, while we waited four hours for the plane inside the airport halls, watching the beautiful weather outside without a breath of fresh air.

My uncle expects a feast every time he visits. Two chickens at the Eid aren't enough for him: it has to be a whole sheep, although we only ever eat half a leg of it.

I didn't love my wife and she didn't love me. We argued and decided to separate, and she went back to her family. But my uncle threw her clothes into the street, sent her away and phoned me: "I married her to you, and I'll only take her back in two cases: if you can't feed her, I'll feed her; or if she dies and you can't bury her, I'll bury her. Otherwise she's your wife. Sort it out."

I felt he was telling me: "Goods sold cannot be returned or exchanged…"