Wedding in Meru
Last weekend, John (Director of White Orange Youth) invited me to go with him to an uncle's wedding, just outside Arusha. Despite the fact that I had just recently recovered from a minor bout with malaria, I couldn't refuse such an invitation. It is a good thing that my energy was back, though, because the entire experience turned out to be much different than I was expecting and involved almost an hour's hike into the hills around Mt. Meru. It was absolutely gorgeous up there -- corn, bananas, and coffee growing all around, green palm trees, hidden houses at the end of winding dirt paths.
The wedding itself was held at a small church even further into the hills. It was about the longest ceremony I've ever sat through, with 3 or 4 different people seemingly presiding over it, and of course I hardly understood any of it. At some points, even the bride and groom looked like they were dozing off, but then every so often some of the women (the mothers, aunts, and sisters of the couple) would jump up, trilling their tongues, and dance around the bride and groom, throwing confetti everywhere. I have to say, the mothers looked happier than even their children about the marriage -- they just danced and danced and ran around hugging everyone in sight, even the strange mzungu girl that showed up with their nephew.
I did feel a bit awkward, being an obvious stranger amongst hundreds of family members. There was a lot of whispering, pointing, and questioning glances in my direction. And there were a lot of questions containing the word "mchumba" (girlfriend/fiancee), which John and I quickly corrected. I received several standing invitations to people's homes in various corners of the country, which is something I'm still not quite sure how to respond to. You're invited to everyone's home, even total strangers that you just met on the street. The thing is, they do mean it; it's not just a formality. And if you agree, they expect you to come. I was recently told that in Africa, it is believed that visitors bring blessings upon your home and family, so that explains the persistent hospitality.
After the ceremony, we all proceeded back to the home of the newlyweds for the reception. This began with the procession of the gifts, which was by far the most entertaining part of the ceremony. The bride and groom stand up front, the music and singing starts, their guests form a conga line and the gifts are danced up to the newlyweds. And here they don't just receive the ordinary cookware and bedding -- they effectively get their home furnished. It was quite a sight to see a four-post bed and dresser set danced up the line and into the house. They also received a cow and several goats, but much to my disappointment, I didn't get to stay long enough to see that procession. With hundreds of family members, you can imagine such a process would take quite a long time, and we were getting hungry.
John, his younger brother, and I snuck off to the side of the house where we ate clandestinely while the procession was still in full swing. It was typical Tanzanian fare: rice, pilau, cooked bananas, cabbage, and tough, chewy meat. Then, it was time to congratulate the bride and groom and head back to Moshi.
The means of transportation in the hills are rather limited, so we piled into a crowded station wagon-turned-taxi for a ride back to the main highway. From there, we hailed a bus heading back to Moshi and, along with a dozen others, climbed on only to discover that there were no seats for us. This is a common problem in Tanzania: they overcrowd buses beyond their capacity, beyond what is safe and by any means comfortable. And then, when they are stopped along the way by the authorities -- the very ones that are supposed to monitor the situation and make sure this is not happening -- they simply slip the officer 5,000 shillings (about $5), sometimes less, and they're on their way again. It's very dangerous, and there are a lot of fatalities from bus accidents. Eventually, enough people got off so we could sit down, and we made it back to Moshi safe and sound, just after dark.
The wedding itself was held at a small church even further into the hills. It was about the longest ceremony I've ever sat through, with 3 or 4 different people seemingly presiding over it, and of course I hardly understood any of it. At some points, even the bride and groom looked like they were dozing off, but then every so often some of the women (the mothers, aunts, and sisters of the couple) would jump up, trilling their tongues, and dance around the bride and groom, throwing confetti everywhere. I have to say, the mothers looked happier than even their children about the marriage -- they just danced and danced and ran around hugging everyone in sight, even the strange mzungu girl that showed up with their nephew.
I did feel a bit awkward, being an obvious stranger amongst hundreds of family members. There was a lot of whispering, pointing, and questioning glances in my direction. And there were a lot of questions containing the word "mchumba" (girlfriend/fiancee), which John and I quickly corrected. I received several standing invitations to people's homes in various corners of the country, which is something I'm still not quite sure how to respond to. You're invited to everyone's home, even total strangers that you just met on the street. The thing is, they do mean it; it's not just a formality. And if you agree, they expect you to come. I was recently told that in Africa, it is believed that visitors bring blessings upon your home and family, so that explains the persistent hospitality.
After the ceremony, we all proceeded back to the home of the newlyweds for the reception. This began with the procession of the gifts, which was by far the most entertaining part of the ceremony. The bride and groom stand up front, the music and singing starts, their guests form a conga line and the gifts are danced up to the newlyweds. And here they don't just receive the ordinary cookware and bedding -- they effectively get their home furnished. It was quite a sight to see a four-post bed and dresser set danced up the line and into the house. They also received a cow and several goats, but much to my disappointment, I didn't get to stay long enough to see that procession. With hundreds of family members, you can imagine such a process would take quite a long time, and we were getting hungry.
John, his younger brother, and I snuck off to the side of the house where we ate clandestinely while the procession was still in full swing. It was typical Tanzanian fare: rice, pilau, cooked bananas, cabbage, and tough, chewy meat. Then, it was time to congratulate the bride and groom and head back to Moshi.
The means of transportation in the hills are rather limited, so we piled into a crowded station wagon-turned-taxi for a ride back to the main highway. From there, we hailed a bus heading back to Moshi and, along with a dozen others, climbed on only to discover that there were no seats for us. This is a common problem in Tanzania: they overcrowd buses beyond their capacity, beyond what is safe and by any means comfortable. And then, when they are stopped along the way by the authorities -- the very ones that are supposed to monitor the situation and make sure this is not happening -- they simply slip the officer 5,000 shillings (about $5), sometimes less, and they're on their way again. It's very dangerous, and there are a lot of fatalities from bus accidents. Eventually, enough people got off so we could sit down, and we made it back to Moshi safe and sound, just after dark.
It was a great day, though much different from what I had envisioned. I only hope that at some point I get to see the procession of the cow...
posted by Ashley at
10:21 AM
1 Comments:
Sounds like you are still having amaznig experiences and an amazing time, "even after a small bout of malaria." :) That's good. Miss you sis, can't wait to see you and that gorgeous frontyard view come December! Stay safe. Love you!
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Anonymous, at 7:30 PM
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