I attended a Dutch wedding. The word ‘wedding’ does not really match with what I am used to, because it was not a big party. We went to the town hall. There someone of the municipality said a few things, like the names of the couple. The husband and wife said yes, gave each other a kiss, after which it was finished. Afterwards we went to dinner in a restaurant. A wedding in Syrie does not seem to be far from here. It is common for the man to take care of the new house. Those furniture is brought to the girl’s house the day before the wedding. By the day, when twenty cars and hundreds of people get to the bride, the groom brings out the furniture with other men. Then the whole neighborhood can see what kind of decor the man has provided for his wife. Meanwhile, music is made on the streets and everyone dances. By that time my mother has been busy for years now. She makes the most beautiful pillows and looks for the most beautiful crockery. I have said to her very often, I do not want to wear furniture to show them around and I do not want a street full of dancing people. But she says it has to be because it belongs. After this whole ritual in the street, the wedding couple leaves for the party location. There are at least 1,000 people. The bride couple sits on a stage and can not kiss each other. Visitors do not give gifts, but money. Sometimes there is a ‘presenter’ that counts how much money is given. ‘Family Manlasadoon, 30,000 Lira!’ When our house was bombarded a few years ago, my entire “wedding booth” has been lost. I do not doubt my mother has started again.