Kiran's headdress is pinned on

We don't have enough money for a big pig. Well, we could buy the pig but we'd be out of cash for rice wine and party supplies. It's not really an option to go for a smaller pig. We have to feed the whole longhouse. It took a bit of humble apologizing to prevent the whole extended community from being invited. It's never easy to convince people that we're not rich enough to feed a thousand guests, especially with a digital camera in our hands. In the Iban tradition the bride and groom slaughter at least one pig and host a feast for the extended family and friends of the whole longhouse. This longhouse has 15 rooms holding 15 families all related in some way to the tuai rumah (chief). If all those people invited all their relations we'd have a thousand guests here chewing pork fat and chugging tuak (rice wine). As it is there will be a hundred or so.

We need to go to a bank. The nearest bank is in Sibu, and the journey takes four hours there and back. When we return, our hosts have made an entrance arch with palm leaves. There's a banana tree in the great hall. They've cut a banana tree and planted it the center of the long hall that runs the length of the longhouse. Hanging on the tree are bags of sweets, a bottle of tuak (homemade rice wine) and coloured streamers. It all looks festive and cheery until we're told that the treats represent heads taken in battle. The Iban were the most powerful of the headhunting people of Borneo and a warrior would have to have taken at least one head before being allowed to marry. Fortunately I asked Kiran's father for permission back in Canada.

The first step is for Kiran and I to get dressed. Stephen, the tuai rumah, digs up a traditional loincloth for me, and the girls fuss over Kiran until she's buried in hands, arms and giggling faces. Kiran looks beautiful and jingles with every movement. I keep looking for he rest of the loincloth, the part that should cover my pasty legs.

Stephen tells me that the groom should slaughter the pig to bring good fortune to the marriage. I use the excuse of being a vegetarian to shirk my duty, and I ask him to do it for me. The truth is I just can't do it. It was difficult enough to weigh the pig, balancing it on an ancient scale, wrapped in a burlap sack. We hear its squeals as we get dressed and try hard to ignore them.

There is constantly an audience while we dress and as we make our entrance into the great hall Kiran gets oohs and ahhs while I cause shrieks of laughter. We are seated on two gongs, me on the larger of the two, Kiran to my left.

Stephen gets the attention of the guests and even some of the kids quiet down for a second or two. We sit expectantly and then grin as he starts saying a blessing for us while waving a black chicken over our heads. Everyone is laughing because he's not sure what to say. We're the first people he's married. The blessing was traditionally given by an elder or by the longhouse shaman and done in advance of the wedding itself. Our ceremony is condensed a little. We move right to the next step. We have to get a good sign to tell us that the celebrations can begin. Stephen's father and mother bring out a small silver case and place it in front of us. At this point we've moved onto a loveseat set in front of a woven backdrop, and we look down at the case at our feet. Stephen and his father and mother push the case back and forth, each unwilling to be reponsible for the omen. Eventually Stephen's mother opens the case and brings out a pinang fruit about the size of a small apple. She takes a machete-like blade and cuts the fruit in half. She pauses nervously before tossing the halves into the air. They land with the cut faces down and the crowd moans. It's a mixed blessing. Both face down means our first born will be a son, but the wedding can't proceed. She tosses them again. Three times more she throws them up. Every time they land with both halves facing up. This means we'll have three daughters. The fifth time we get the sign we've been waiting for: one half face up, one half face down. This means we can continue.

Everyone is in great spirits now and some of the family have started playing on the traditional gongs and drums of the Iban. This chaotic clanging gives everything a carnival feel. We are told that we must offer a drink to each guest and we make a round to everyone present. Everyone shares a drink, poured by Kiran and I. Kiran holds the glass and I pour. If a guest wants to pass on the strong shot they touch the glass and then their mouth to show respect and politely decline.