A Wedding to Remember

This weekend, I had the absolute honor of attending a Moroccan wedding — my friend Safaa’s brother was getting married, and their family welcomed me into the celebration with open arms. Safaa described it as a “humble” wedding, but to me, it felt extraordinary in every possible way.

From the moment I arrived, it was clear that this was a celebration built on joy, tradition, and community. The women celebrated separately from the men, a custom that creates space for women who wear hijab to remove it freely while dancing. Because of that, I won’t be sharing any photos — out of respect, and honestly, because the memories feel almost too special to capture anyway.

Safaa’s mother allowed me to borrow one of her caftans for the evening, and slipping into it made me feel both honored and deeply connected to the moment. More than once, women approached me with huge smiles, telling me I looked beautiful and — to my shock — that I would make a wonderful wife for their sons. I laughed, thanked them, and tucked those compliments somewhere warm in my heart.

The celebration itself was a feast in every sense of the word. We began with bowls of nuts, then sipped sweet juice paired with tiny, delicate cakes. Multiple whole roasted chickens arrived next, golden and fragrant, followed by roast beef that might genuinely be the most flavorful beef I’ve ever tasted. Fruit platters came after that, and finally, tea poured alongside Moroccan sweets — the perfect close to an already overflowing table.

But the food was only part of the experience.

We danced.

And danced.

And danced.

All afternoon, the room buzzed with music, laughter, rhythm, and joy. Women of all ages — from grandmothers to young cousins — filled the space with life. And I felt lucky just to be in that room, sharing in something so personal and so beautiful.

Around 9 p.m., the women’s celebration came to an end. As we gathered our things, the men began to arrive for their own festivities. Before I left, Safaa’s family pressed a generous portion of leftovers into my hands — as if my heart wasn’t already full enough.

I left that night carrying food, yes, but also something much richer: the memory of being welcomed, celebrated, included. A reminder that hospitality here in Morocco isn’t a gesture — it’s a way of life.

To the bride and groom: Mabrouk!

I wish you both, and your families, a lifetime of happiness and blessings.

What an honor it was to be part of your day.

Me, at the end of the night, in my borrowed caftan!