I officially made it through my first (and likely/hopefully only) Tanzanian wedding. I always feel fortunate to be able to experience any ceremony, festival, national holiday, tradition, what have you. When I travel I like to actually see what local life is life. So when Georgie, the first friend Chris ever made as a youngster in Tanzania, decided to get married (to the woman with whom he has lived for nearly 20 years and has two kids), I was elated.
Chris was not.
He hates these sort of events, but would give his life for his Tanzanian partner so he “happily” stuck it out. Only for Georgie. Nani and I enjoyed the people watching and local food almost as much as watching Chris suffer through the nuances of the day. But after the long dusty drive to the church (I was piled into the back of the wedding-party car with Nani and the boys), a three hour ceremony, a sweaty ride back to the village, a giant feast, a reception with enough trumpets blaring, dance performances, and inappropriate jokes from the MC to last a life time, we snuck off much more conspicuously than we would have like(but being literally the only white people it’s kind of hard to make a stealthy exit). I couldn’t believe we had lasted 8 hours. Apparently the actual reception went four more hours after we left (until about 9pm) and the music and dancing went until 2 in the morning. I don’t know where these people get the energy.
I’ll spare everyone the extensive details of this never-ending festivity, but as most weddings now have cross-cultural ties I think it best to just highlight the differences that I found particularly interesting.
The venue:
The ceremony was at the church of the Spanish mission a few miles away, but the reception was held in the village in a structure specially constructed for the day. This past week they had built a huge hut out of wood and palm leaves and tarps that stretched well over 100 feet long. It was immaculately, albeit tackily, decorated and furnished with wooden planks on beer crates for benches along with a few plastic chairs for the wedding party, the mzungus, and the families of the couple.
Wedding party:
Unlike the weddings I’ve been to at home that seem to have endless bridesmaids and groomsmen, this one was lacking in that department. Georgie had a best man and Maryamou had a matron of honor who had a little boy and girl, respectively, that looked similar to what we would have as a ring bearer and flower girl, but who served no real purpose. Although I found this interesting, the real difference was in the wardrobe choice. The bride wore an completely synthetic over-the-top white gown, and so did the matron-of-honor, and so did the little girl. As for Georgie and his best-man, they matched exactly down to their red ties and fake boutonnieres. And the little boy was dressed in their same ill-fitting brown suits. At first sight it looked like a double (or even triple if you could the little kiddies) wedding. Certainly not what I was expecting.
Guest list:
Although most people got some sort of invitation to the official wedding at the church (not that it stopped people from constantly coming and going throughout the ceremony), the reception is open to anyone and everyone. I’m certain that around 4pm there were at least 500 people.
Food:
The endless guest list also means endless food. Everyone got in a line (they always insist that mzungus get their food first which is eternally awkward) to go down the buffet line school-lunch style. White rice, brown rice, goat, beef, cooked banana, potato, vegetables, and fruit, all slopped on top of one another is succession. I wasn’t quick enough to use my Kiswahili for “only a little” and got slopped with at least 5 pounds of grub, although Chris asserted this was still a relatively small portion for their standards. Still, the difficulty of eating all this food with only my hands left me stuffed and extremely messy. Delicious nonetheless.
Performances:
I kept waiting for the dance floor that so infamously describes the American wedding reception to erupt, but it never occurred (or at least not during the five hours we lasted). Instead of an open dance-party among the guests, there were a serious of musical and dance performances. There was a small brass band, a church choir, and an eclectic (but quite good) singing and dance group. Although I enjoyed the entertainment and definitely picked up a few excellent dance moves to bring back to the states, after a few hours in the hot, smelly, confined space with an overpowering sound system, my head was throbbing.
The cake:
About 4 hours into the reception, they brought danced out the three tiny cakes. Although there wasn’t enough for everyone in attendance, the cake is part of a symbolic tradition of uniting the families. First, friends presented the cake to the bride and groom. The second cake was presented from Maryamou to Georgie’s father; the third from Georgie to Maryamou’s father. Then the feeding of the cake began, similar to the tradition of the bride and groom feeding each other the first bite of the cake. However, this went on for about an hour and included the entire family and more, proceeding as follows: Maryamou feeds Georgie, Georgie feeds Maryamou, matron-of-honor feeds Georgie, Georgie feeds matron-of-honor, Maryamou feeds bestman, best-man feeds Maryamou, best-man and matron-of-honor feed each other, and then Maryamou had to feed a piece to about 15 of Georgie’s relatives (many of whom fed her own in return). It was quite comical. Until we became part of it, that is. All of a sudden the MC was shouting at Chris and Nani and me to get fed from Maryamou. I was grateful to be a part of the wedding, but with limited Kiswahili and 1,000 eyes staring at me I felt a bit awkward as a middle aged woman dressed to the nines fed me a piece of dry and overly-sweet cake. Despite my unexpected participation and sympathy for the bride having to eat over 15 bites, I still found the symbolic gesture to be a really nice tradition.
Sentiment of the bride and groom:
The overwhelming difference to me was the way Georgie and Maryamou acted. They looked miserable. Or sad, terrified, almost vacant at some times. I couldn’t understand why they never (save a handful of times) smiled, laughed, or even touched. Turns out, they’re not supposed to look jovial, for it’s a serious day. Marriage is a serious matter and therefore someone who laughs the whole time isn’t taking it seriously. Woah. Every once in a while I saw the two of them sneak a giggle but quickly cover it up as to not have the elders notice. I hope they enjoyed it as much as everyone else… it appeared as if they thought the wedding was the worst decision they’d ever made, but Chris assured me it went off without a hitch and Georgie was thrilled.
What a long, exhausting, interesting, entertaining day.
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