Modern pop music starts before a picture appears and the television vibrates. A field of wildflowers wanders across the screen on top of which my brother and his bride, Jawahir Sulayman, are superimposed. Fancy video. The camera zooms in on the happy couple and creates a heart shape around them, while the field of flowers dances behind them. Jalal looks proud as he stands stiffly in his tuxedo. I cannot read any emotion on Jawahir’s face as she stands next to her new husband in a white, very western, bridal gown.

Peach juice drips down my arm.

Now we are watching the henna day. Jawahir sits rigidly on her throne (a decorated chair on a decorated table). Her hair is twisted elegantly on her head and she is dressed in a fancy roza while two women paint henna designs on each of her hands. The fat one is my aunt Sahar, who was the sister my mother trusted completely. “She is like a clam, only no one will ever get to the pearl, not even with a rock.” Everyone says Mawal is the same. She even looks just like her mother—almost as fat. They both have a calm about them, which must be why people come to tell them what is on their minds.

When they finish the henna, the bride holds her palms out for everyone to see: two little hearts linked together and surrounded by delicate twisted vines and flowers. The old women begin to chant and call for her to dance. Hands reach up to help her down. As soon as she is on the floor, the music begins and she starts her dance. She is the picture of a traditional bride—a competent, but not excellent, dancer. Her shakes and twists are simple and her eyes are lowered. When she is done the other women join in.

Everybody who attended the wedding talks about my cousin Soraya’s performance during this part, so I am not surprised when she appears. She is wearing a tight black dress that reaches below her knees. Her long, lush hair is loose and swinging about as she shakes her hips. Her movements are the kinds you see belly dancers make in Egyptian movies, coordinated to such a degree that she can move around the floor while her hips guide her. She is the opposite of Jawahir. Each provocative twist and shake seems to invite the viewer to watch more closely. She stares at the camera with heavily made-up eyes, no smile on her full lips.

People say vicious things about Soraya and what she does. I think it’s because she does the things people are scared of. She makes me sad, and whenever I see her, I feel as though something bad is going to happen to her.