Once I read about a couple that got married all over the world. Ceremony after ceremony, in culture after culture. Initially I thought this was romantic, largely because of my own dreams of travel, but increasingly I’m beginning to see it an endurance event.
Last year, I recounted my trip to Jodhpur and my experience attending a Rajput wedding. Five months into my time in Tanzania, I have finally been initiated into the world of weddings. As a disclaimer, I freely admit that as with so many aspects of my life here, I am sure that a lot has been lost in translation. Not that I think any of you are reading this for educational purposes!
Central to the Tanzanian wedding is the ‘contribution’. Prior to a wedding reception or related party, potential participants are asked to make a financial contribution to the festivities. I am still not sure whether the amount is supposed to constitute a gift or cover your costs (I defaulted to gift). Once you hand over the cash, you are presented with an invitation, which you will need to remember to present on arrival. Luckily, my assistant informed me of this in advance, although I’m sure getting rejected at the party would have made for as good a story as any I had with my fake-id (sorry).
Thankfully, all of my office mates were kind enough to recognize that without instruction, the muzungu (foreigner) was likely to make mistakes. I was instructed to make my contribution for both the kitchen party and the send-off party (which I had never heard of) – and to write the amount of my contribution on the outside of the card – to ensure it got to the intended recipient ‘safely’!
A kitchen party has some parallels with a bridal shower. For instance, only women attend. There are drinks and snacks. The bride also makes off with some significant loot. At the front of the open-air reception hall was a display of all the items that were given to the bride as gifts: a living room set, bedroom set, dining room hutch, stove, washing machine, dishes, pots, pans, utensils; essentially an entire household! Apparently, our office had been requested to purchase a fridge as a wedding gift – which had me choke on my soda water! A fridge! Talk about incentive to marry in Tanzania! (don’t worry, I’m not that greedy) In the end, a fridge made a surprise appearance during the gift presentations. I’ve since learned that my colleagues bought her a generator instead!
From my understanding, the roots of a kitchen party aren’t unlike those of the bridal shower – traditionally it is an opportunity for women close to the bride to share information and tips on how to be a good wife and please one’s husband. Although I have little to contribute to such a discussion, I was looking forward to picking up some local strategies. Unfortunately, perhaps because the party was so big, the only piece of advice offered came when the bride was shown her new bed and her mother told her it was for her and her husband only. Constructive, if unoriginal. However, the same cannot be said for the tastes of the attendees. The bride picked two different blue-patterned fabrics from which each woman made a dress. The result was a sea of blue and gold, undulating with traditional, strapless and off the shoulder numbers. The process of tailoring our dresses involved me driving in the manic midday traffic of Dar es Salaam for the first time. It also included me painfully explaining through my colleagues that I did not know how the dress fit since I couldn’t pull it over my hips! Skillful handiwork ensured that my dress was ready by the next day – although a proper fitting revealed it to be both short and tight – perfect wedding apparel for the foreigner! (Luckily, some other young Tanzanian women had the same idea)
The kitchen party was followed by the send off party the next weekend. Hosted by the bride’s parents, this is the party where the bride’s family bids her farewell. Out of town, I missed the event but I hear that it was filled with dancing, more presents and everyone dressed in the event’s theme colours: brown and cream.
Finally, on the Friday at the end of that week, was the actual wedding! It was my first Muslim wedding, women and men under separate canopies sitting patient and cross-legged in her mother's compound. My assistant tied a scarf over my head, which my other office mates got a big kick out of ("you look like a nun!!") I learned that 'as salaam alikum' should be returned with ' wa alikum salaam'. I sat tugging at my skirt to find a modest position among the crush of bodies.
We were spotted by the mother of the bride and invited into the house to greet our colleague - who literally looked like a princess in a flowing pink dress and veil, her forearms stained with swirling black henna. Not long after we returned to our seats the band reached a fever pitch and the bride and groom made their entrance. Quite honestly, from my vantage point on the floor, I could not see much of the action, but it was over in what seemed like five minutes. A refreshing twist, incongruous with my general understanding of weddings. Then it was time for Zanzibari biriyani - fragrant yellow rice topped with a savory goat stew - nothing like the Indian version! Crates of soda were brought out and the children in attendance descended upon them, dizzily consuming as much as they could.
The following night was the wedding reception, hosted by the groom’s family. A military man, the groom and his friends were dressed in full military regalia. By far the highlight of the night was when they surrounded the wedding cake and drew their swords. The groom then proceeded to pretend to cut the wedding cake (which was under a net) while the bride pretended to wipe the blade clean with a handkerchief! I’m pretty sure something was lost in translation here, but I found it wildly entertaining. Soon after, these same militant men soaked the groom in beer. The ceremony gave way to the different families taking turns on the dance floor, dancing to their respective traditional music. Excused by having a flight early the next morning, as people joined the dinner cue around 10 pm, I slipped out into the night.
In total, I attended three of four events, not including another smaller party with the women in her family that she may also have had. It makes me think: if that couple that I read about chose only Tanzania and India, and the spirit of it attempted to follow the wedding traditions, that alone could have taken two months! Granted I’m sure that’s not what they did, but from my perspective as a guest, in some cultures getting married once in one place is a feat in itself!
No comments:
Post a Comment