At Sa'sa Post at this time was an alcoholic named Paddy Devlin, I don't know if he really was an alcoholic, but he said he was and tried his best to prove it.

Our liquor supplies were on an honor bases, you took what you required and signed for it and were billed at the end of the month. Incidentally, the count was always right on, each month. Anyway, Devlin was always the top consumer on the day of reckoning.

Somehow, he was invited to a wedding in the village of Sa'Sa, a few hundred mostly dilapidated stone houses, and he asked if I would attend with him. Of course I jumped at the chance. The Post pick-up dropped us off and we were met with great honor and escorted to one of the better homes. The wedding ceremony was held in this house. The bride remained out of sight with the rest of the women on a balcony over the main room. The groom joined us below. The room was set out with tables, 12 inches high, and was laden with all types of vegetables and a sour cream dip.

About ten people, the groom, father of the bride and father of the groom, the Mukhtar, other dignitaries and the two of us, all sat at the tables. There were about 60 or more men sitting at the wall around the room. There came indisputable noises of animals and fowl being slaughtered. These were the customs, remember there was no refrigeration and it was the only way to ensure the meat was fresh. Moslems are not supposed to drink alcohol, notwithstanding a liquor called ''Arak'', which tasted like licorice, was served in shot glasses. If slow to drink, you were urged to drink up and as soon as the glass was even half empty it was refilled.

We had barely started and I knew I could have problems. I mentioned to Devlin that I would be a stretcher case if this level of drinking continued. He suggested I unobtrusively pour my drink into his larger glass, which he had requested saying the smaller glass only wet his lips. This I did which meant I was able to cut back on my Arak consumption. By the way, if you add water to Arak it turns a milky white, not that we were offered water at this party.

As there were no knives or forks, the method of eating was to wrap the food in bread and stick it in your mouth. The bread was round and about 16 inches in circumference, it was tissue-paper like in thinness and taste. The only snag was, it is gross bad manners to pass bread over the table so it is handed under the low table and sweeps the floor on its way. As the floor may not have been cleaned since the time of Christ, it needed the lethargic effect of the Arak for me to really enjoy the meal. When we had eaten more than our fill, the pressure was continuous to eat yet more. The food, on being replenished, was passed on to the men around the wall, who up until then had only watched us eat.

The Arak was still flowing at our tables, albeit a few guests passed out. I was feeling the effects but thanks to my accomplice was at least still sitting up straight or nearly straight anyway. He, on the other hand, looked as lf he was only starting.

A small hibachi was produced on which a man, well into the Arak I might add, cooked portions of meat. What parts of meat you might ask? I was afraid to, it was promoted as a delicacy and it was, so why spoil it by being too judgmental.

As the night wore on and the Arak had its effect the "cook" kept dropping the meat onto the charcoal and I included some charcoal with the meat in the bread. At this time all it meant to me was a crunchy sound as I enjoyed the gourmet snacks.

Our friend Devlin decided to announce to one and all that it was the custom in Ireland to kiss the bride. That he said it was our custom probably saved us from immediate eviction, as they have great respect for customs and traditions.

Anyway it was made crystal clear we would not even see the bride never mind anything else. Half way through the feast the groom staggered from the room to much cheers and remarks, which should not be repeated. It would appear he was going to visit his new wife. Near the end of the evening a bed sheet was displayed as evidence of a successful encounter.

With most of the principals out cold from the Arak and Devlin again announcing our kissing custom, I decided to call it an evening and prevail on Devlin to return to the Post to have a ''real drink".

Standing up was somewhat difficult, possibly because we were sitting too long, anyway nobody was in a position to criticize. One of the out- of- town guests offered to drive us home and, as he seemed to be in better condition than most, we accepted. We were soon "walking" up to the Post main door to the sound of "who goes there, halt or I'll fire." On entering the Post, Devlin reminded me of my offer of a real drink, I got him a six pack of beer and said goodnight and went to bed. The six pack was gone in the morning, Devlin was in great form, but I was dying of both a bad headache and burping charcoal for three days.