Written on April 30, 2011
Hello again!
I can’t believe I’m writing another blog post the day after I wrote the last one, when I usually only write one a month. But man, what a wedding I went to today! I think it deserves its own blog post. If the BBC is to be believed, the royal wedding yesterday was quite the media frenzy, so maybe you’re all sick of wedding talk. But I promise it’s more interesting than the royal wedding… at least I think so.
My former colleague at the association, Joalina, got married today, and I was not at all prepared for the all-day marathon it turned out to be. It started at eight in the morning and was still going when I finally left just before dark, and I heard that it continued the next day. It seemed like half the town was invited, and even though I don’t know Joalina that well, I was one of the few to get an actual paper invitation. (A perk of being the resident mulungu.)
The first ceremony was at the district registry office, which is near my house. I could hear the singing as I was getting ready, so I knew that weddings must be one of the few occasions in Mozambique when things start on time. I walked over and as we waited for the ceremony to begin, there was singing, dancing, stomping, clapping, undulating, all things celebratory and Mozambican.
The men were in suits and the women were mostly wearing outfits made out of capulanas (waxy fabric with colorful designs) or in western-style shirts with a capulana wrapped around their waist and many with equally colorful headscarves done up more ornately than usual. The bride wore a traditional western wedding dress and a veil. It was obvious that everyone was wearing the nicest clothes they owned. I was no exception – I wore my capulana dress from our swear-in ceremony at the American ambassador’s house.
The legal ceremony at the registry was in Portuguese, so it was the only point during the day when I knew what was going on, as everything from there on out was in Chitswa. There was a government representative there to officiate and, reading from the official script, he told us all that weddings were not to happen in churches, only at the registry. You pray and get baptized at church, but you get married at the registry, says he.
I knew we were headed directly to the church for the religious ceremony afterward, because that’s what my invitation said, so I was surprised to hear that. Then he said we were going to have a moment of silence to think about and appreciate the Republic of Mozambique, or something along those lines. I couldn’t help but think that it seemed like we were in a church at that moment – the church of the Republic of Mozambique.
After the legal ceremony was over, we piled into several trucks and rode in a procession across town to commit the sin of having a wedding in a church, singing all the way. I was in the back of a pick-up truck with at least 20 other people and we were all standing up, holding on to each other tightly like one big mass of bodies. I wasn’t on the edge and we were going slowly, but it was still scary, especially when we hit some low-hanging branches. As we bumped along, I tried to just pretend I was on a subway car at rush hour. I turned quite a few heads as we rode through town, as people did a double take to see if it was really me singing in Chitswa (sort of) with all the wedding-goers in the back of the pick-up.
After the church ceremony, we went back to their house and I thought we were going to eat next. It was around lunchtime and I was hungry. Some of the women had literally been up all night cooking and, sitting over fires around the yard, I could see giant vats of rice, xima (like a dryer version of grits), beef in a brown sauce, and maheu (a mildly sour drink with a corn meal base… it’s good, tastes like apple sauce).
But then I was told we were doing gifts first. There was a large make-shift tent set up in the middle of the yard and underneath was a table for the bride and groom and their two attendants (whose main job it was to dab the sweat from the bride’s and groom’s faces with a handkerchief all day). Surrounding the table was a semicircle of chairs for a select few people who appeared to be family or close friends. Everyone else gathered around, spilling out of the covered area into the hot midday sun and there was lots more singing, dancing, rhythms and general merriment.
To my embarrassment, they came and found me where I was standing in the back and pulled me up to the front and plopped me down in a chair right next to the table of the bride and groom. I wasn’t in the semicircle but a little in front of it, as if I wasn’t conspicuous enough already. Even though I thought I had no business being up there at the front, I knew there was no way I could refuse since that would just be rude. And besides, I was glad to be out of the sun and with a front-row view of the festivities.
So then began the gift giving. I was astounded at the organization and planning that had gone into the orchestration of the gift giving (see previous post for why this is noteworthy). There was an MC with a megaphone, and he had a printed list (where in Mabote can you even print anything??) of various groups – churches, associations, families, etc. – and began calling them one by one. As they were called, the group would make their way to the table, dancing and singing with their gifts in their hands, and make their offerings to the bride and groom. Then the gifts were passed to another side table where they were catalogued and put away. Then the next group was called.
This was a lot of fun to watch and after getting over the shock of practically being made an honorary member of the wedding party, I was having a great time. And I found it really amusing that the bride and groom, in typical Mozambican fashion, did not crack a smile the entire time (even at the ceremonies or in their photos). Though the guests were all smiles and laughter and song and dance, the bride and groom looked like they were being sentenced to death. If I didn’t know any better, I would have wondered who was forcing them to get married. But in Mozambique, it’s customary not to smile at important occasions and in photos because it shows that you are giving the occasion the proper respect.
I even got my own dance group to crowd around me when it was my turn, and I attempted to follow along with them as I presented my gift to the bride and groom (a set of metal mixing bowls with plastic lids). So like I said, I was having a great time… at least for the first 30 or 45 minutes of it. But then the singing and dancing and gift giving kept going, and going for another two or three hours.
We were all starting to bake in the hot sun, even under the tarp, and having to breathe the dust kicked up by the dancers’ feet, and I was feeling so hungry and thirsty that my hands were shaking. I looked at my cell phone clock and it was approaching 4pm and I hadn’t eaten since before 8 that morning (and neither had most of the others). I told myself I’d give it 20 more minutes and then I was going to make a break for it. I knew there would definitely be no sneaking about it, for obvious reasons. But I was almost past the point of caring if it was rude – I was hungry!
Thankfully, though, the gift giving finally came to a close and, as always, the women of my association took care of me. They knew I was hungry without me even saying anything and told me to go sit down on a grass mat and they came back with a plate of food and a spoon, and a cup of maheu. As always, I felt so high maintenance, with them doting on me and even hunting down a spoon when no one else was using silverware. But I was too hungry to even try to tell them I’d wait my turn, no special treatment, like I usually do when they try to pamper me.
I spent the rest of the late afternoon sitting on the grass mat playing with babies while their moms ate, and trying to make small talk with the moms. As I sat there and took in the scene around me, I tried to imagine how it would have seemed to me seven months ago before I came here… so foreign and exotic. But today, it just seemed normal. I was comfortable, and in some handicapped way, I felt like I belonged there.
So that was my first Mozambican wedding. I’m not sure I’d want to go to another one, but I’m glad I had the experience nonetheless.
Tchau for now,
Julie
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