“So you’re still coming to our wedding, right?” she asked with trepidation over the phone.
“Yes darling. Of course I’m coming.” I responded with all the confidence that I could muster. How else could one answer such a question?
These are strange times and nothing is certain. Marta and I had finalized all of the arrangements for our wedding just the week before. After days of planning, we had booked the wedding venue (a beautiful Tahiti-style beachfront restaurant), bought flights for family and close friends, and commissioned a jeweler to design and cast our bespoke wedding bands. The only problem was that the wedding was going to be in Spain, one of the countries hit hardest by the coronavirus. Little did we know that less than three weeks later Spain would surpass Italy to be the country with the highest number of coronavirus cases in Europe.
We had been waiting for over a year to get approval from the Spanish government to go ahead with our wedding plans. It wasn’t very common that the tiny village of Vera (on the southeastern tip of Spain) received an application for an international marriage. I remember the procedure as if it happened yesterday. After an hour-long interview to verify that Marta and I actually knew one another, and that our request to get married was legitimate, the judge concluded the interview with me by asking me bluntly, “So why do you want to marry her?”
“Because I love her,” I responded, almost defensively. It was such a strange question to ask someone getting married but I guess the judge was just doing her job. An hour later, after going through the same closed-door interview, Marta exited another room. We had completed the last step of the marriage application process and would have wait for several months before finding out if the Spanish government would grant us permission to get married.
We had been through so much in our relationship to get to marriage. Four and a half years of being apart. Thousands of miles of distance between us. Constantly being in different time zones. We had even lived on diametrically opposite ends of the planet at some point. But we never let anything get in the way of our love.
With the coronavirus spreading like a forest fire from country to country and international borders closing day by day, things were becoming very uncertain. Would we go ahead with our wedding plans? Would we celebrate with family and friends? Would we even still get married? And, of course, the question that is always on the minds of two people who are in a long-distance relationship: When would we see each other next?
As you can imagine, we were both distraught by what was happening. All travel between the U.S. and Europe had come to a standstill just a few days prior to our phone call, which meant that my brother, the best man, would not be able to attend the wedding. Travel restrictions were changing by the hour. All of a sudden, Nepal stopped granting Spanish citizens visas which meant that our honeymoon plans went out the window overnight. We needed to make some important decisions and we needed to make them fast. The spread of the coronavirus was accelerating and the situation seemed to be changing by the minute.
On March 13, just one week before we were scheduled to get married, we decided to cancel the wedding celebrations. It was the prudent thing to do. We could not imagine putting anyone’s life at risk, let alone that of our family and friends. We were heartbroken. Not only would we not be seeing our loved ones, but all of the days we had spent planning for the wedding had gone down the drain. We had been eagerly
looking forward to our wedding day since we received approval from the Spanish government to get married back in October 2019.
Amid the uncertainty and flurry of questions that preoccupied us, there was one question that we had still not answered until the wee-hours of March 14, the date my flight to Spain was scheduled: Would the groom show up to the wedding? The answer was obvious: yes. There was no doubt in my mind that I would go to Spain for our wedding. This was a day that Marta and I had been dreaming about for years. I was going to do everything I could to be there.
I was not so concerned about anything happening to me. But then the doubts started to arise:
What if you catch the virus on the trip?
What if they don’t let you into Spain?
What if you can’t return to the UAE to start your new job?
Why don’t you just postpone the wedding until the situation improves?
What if this…? What if that…?
The list was endless. Doubts swirled around in my mind. Concerns shared by loved ones who cared for me. With less than 12 hours before my flight to Madrid, I needed to make a decision and I needed to make it fast. Without thinking twice, I resolved to go. I would not let anything get in the way of my love for Marta.
The next morning, at the break of dawn, I took a taxi to Dubai International Airport (DXB). I had not been to the airport in over three months. This had been the longest time I had not taken a flight in over two years. After flying in and out of DXB every week for the past two years (mostly for work in case you’re wondering), it felt very surreal coming back to this place after so long. It was all the more eerie given how sparsely populated the airport was that day.
One could almost feel the anxiety in the air. Almost everyone was wearing a facemask. Mostly tourists scurrying to catch the last flights back home. An airport was the last place you would want to be visiting these days. It was the main gateway through which the coronavirus was transmitted from one country to the next.
I tried not to think too much even though I could feel my heart beating faster than usual. I just did as Marta instructed me to do. Put your facemask on as soon as you get to the airport. Wear the latex gloves. Minimize touching surfaces. Keep your distance from others, especially if they are coughing or sneezing.
At passport control, I was surprised to see all the smart gates closed and that there was only one line through which all passengers would need to pass. Fortunately, it was a short line given that it was 5:30am (and the likelihood that many wise travelers decided to postpone or cancel their trips). When I finally reached the passport control officer, I was relieved to find that she was a friendly Emirati lady who greeted me with a broad smile.
“Facemask off,” she said. I had forgotten that I still had my facemask on and that she still had the right to see my face. I took it off and smiled back at her. “Where are you flying to?” she then asked. “Spain.”
“Good,” she replied, “Because if you were flying to Italy you would not be allowed back into the UAE.”
I nodded politely.
“But who knows,” she continued, “things might change…for better… or for worse….” Her words weren’t very reassuring, but I felt like she was trying to put me at ease.
After passing the security check, I headed straight to the gate of my flight. Instead of strolling around the airport’s duty-free shops, I walked briskly to my gate. I was in disbelief by how bustling the duty-free shops were. When I first arrived to the airport, I was under the impression that I would not find many travelers inside. But how wrong I was. The duty free area was teeming with shoppers from all over the world. It was as if the world were coming to an end and people were taking their last gulps of consumerism before it was all over.
On the flight, I tried to read the copy of Homer’s Iliad that I had brought along with me but couldn’t. Instead I tried to get some sleep but also couldn’t. The adrenaline rush of this whole experience was simply too strong. To get my mind off the strong smell of sterilizer on the plane, I watched one documentary after another. Fortunately the passengers sitting beside me were a friendly couple from the Canary Islands. Having them tell me about their recent backpacking trip across Vietnam helped me get my mind off the coronavirus – even though it was a bit difficult to make out everything they were saying in their heavy Spanish accent behind the facemasks they kept on for the entire duration of the flight. When I told them that my final destination was Almeria (where Vera is located), they both gave out a sigh of relief. “Good thing your final destination is not Madrid,” the husband went on to say, “Because the situation there is pretty bad.”
And so with those words I landed in Madrid. I could feel the impact of the coronavirus on Madrid just by transiting through Madrid Barajas Airport (MAD). What is usually a dynamic airport was almost deserted. I was the only international passenger going through the non-EU citizens’ passport control section. The rest of the passengers on my flight were either Spaniards or EU citizens returning home. All the duty-free shops in the airport were closed. Only a handful of restaurants were opened. I have a favorite restaurant at this airport where I usually have a tomato and basil soup during my layovers in Madrid, but I preferred not to eat anything. Not only was it not advisable to eat out, I simply did not have the appetite.
As I waited for my flight to Almeria, I passed the time people watching. There were a lot fewer people than there usually are at MAD. It amazed me how those who were there could easily be categorized into one of two groups. The first was extremely careful: facemasks, gloves, and the look of caution in their eyes. The second was quite the opposite: eating with their bare (probably unwashed) hands, letting their kids crawl on ground, chatting just a few inches from one another, and not to mention the occasional hugging and kissing Spaniards are accustomed to when greeting one another.
After a couple of hours of waiting at the gate for my next flight, I finally found the stillness to pick up and read The Iliad. Once I returned to the fantasy of the Greek fleet as it sailed towards Troy for the epic war that would follow, I completely lost track of time and the remaining hours flew by until it was time for me to board my flight to Almeria.
Before I knew it, the plane was landing in Almeria. From the cabin window, I could see the orange sun as it began to set over the navy blue sea. As soon as the plane touched the ground, I let out a sigh of relief. I made it, I thought to myself.
As I waited for Marta to come and pick me up from the arrivals terminal of Almeria Airport (LEI), I watched the sun set behind the palm trees and listened to the birds chirping one last time before calling it a day. It was such a beautiful feeling being outdoors, breathing in fresh air, and feeling the cool sea breeze caress my skin. I took a deep breath, filled my lungs with the crisp air, and thanked God for being alive.
Seeing Marta at LEI is always a delight. I had experienced this moment many times before – she drives her car towards me while I wait on the sidewalk. After parking the car, she comes over to hug me and
help with the luggage. We would then walk hand in hand until we got to her car. This time was different. No hugs or kisses. Instead, Marta greets me with disinfectant spray, a new pair of latex gloves, and asks me to keep my facemask on until she has thoroughly sprayed me from head to toe. Not the most romantic reception but I can understand why: I was coming from Madrid, one of the highest risk areas in the world.
That night, I took a warm shower and felt the anxiety from the trip melt away. I was finally in Vera. Marta and I would be getting married despite the obstacles that stood in our way. I felt so relieved.
It wasn’t until the next day did I find out how lucky we were. On March 14, hours after my plane arrived to Madrid, the Spanish government issued a state of alarm and imposed a nationwide lockdown. A day later, the government closed all borders with the outside world. I was on one of the last international flights to enter Spain. The government also enforced a strict stay-at-home policy for all residents except those needing to go out for essentials like food and medicine.
On March 16, we received a call Vera’s office for matrimonial affairs. She had bad and good news. The bad news was that all weddings had been canceled in Vera for the next two months. The good news was that the judge decided to make an exception and allow Marta and me to proceed with our wedding given our extenuating circumstances.
On March 20, Marta and I sat side by side in front of the judge as she read the wedding ceremony script. “Let’s begin.” The judge said, motioning for us to stand up. “Mostafa. Do you take Marta to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“Yes, I do,” I responded.
“And Marta. Do you take Mostafa to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“Yes, I do,” Marta responded.
The judge concluded by saying, “I then pronounce you husband and wife.” Marta and I exchanged wedding bands and kissed (with facemasks on of course). We had finally made it. The rest, as they say, is history.
