Wedding Crashers

This weekend I had the privilege of attending two events which served to give me more insight into Tanzanian culture. The first was a night of cultural music, which was put on by Neema Crafts, which is a project of the Diocese of Ruaha (the same group I work for). Neema Crafts is a café and shop in which the entire African staff is disabled in some way. All of the servers are deaf, and therefore you must communicate that you wish to order by flicking a light switch which is wired to a bulb in the lower level of the café. The orders are placed by writing the items in a well-designed order card, and all other communication is done via sign language (which is provided conveniently in the back of the menu). The craft shop is another operation in itself, comprising an office, a large workshop, a courtyard and various other facilities for the workers. The workers have various disabilities but are able to create some gorgeous works of art and practical items as well. The proceeds from the sales of the café and shop go to paying the workers salaries and upgrading their equipment. This is such an important project because in Africa people with disabilities are extremely marginalized. This unique initiative gives them a new lease on life, so to speak, and a livelihood that would be unattainable in other circumstances.

Anyhow, we arrived at Neema about an hour and a half early because we were out buying our wedding gift for the next day before the market closed (which ended up being a thermos and 6 coffee mugs - on a side note, it is extremely difficult to find any products that are not remotely tacky here in Iringa, everything is either extremely brightly coloured like a child’s play set or looks like it is from the 1980’s). Being that we know the owners and other volunteers, we helped them set up for the dinner and show which was by candlelight under the stars. Eventually the night got underway, with about 40 wazungu (foreigners) and perhaps 10 Tanzanians showing up. The show consisted of one guy on the xylophone-like thingy, one woman on the drums, and 6 dancers. All of the dancers were deaf, and very talented. It must be incredibly difficult for them to keep rhythm without any sound, but they do it somehow. The show was very enjoyable, and I was told by the owner of Neema that they are raising money to send the dancers over to the UK to perform at a number of venues including one of the biggest concerts in the world (if you are interested in donating just let me know). Dinner was good too, it was a chili-like dish served on wali (rice) and pineapple cake for desert.

The next day, we had our first Tanzanian wedding to attend. I was very excited because I heard that they can be very charismatic events. The groom is part of the EI staff, a guy named Thomas who never stops smiling (this will be relevant later). The wedding was actually very similar to that we might see in Canada, so I will focus on the differences and let you fill in the gaps. First of all, on the way to the service we had to pick up “a few” other guests, seeing as we were the only ones with a vehicle going to the wedding. As we drove down the road we saw the “few” guests standing on the side of the road waiting patiently; if it were a bus stop you would have been surprised at the number of people there. So we crammed about 15 people in the back of the landcruiser for the first trip to the church, and then went back for another 10 or so afterwards. While I have not ridden in a Tanzanian minibus (daladala) yet, I think I have a pretty good idea of what it is like. By the way, the word for “squished” in Swahili sounds just like the English word “Banana.” At the service there was a great deal of singing, clapping and dancing, with various African mamas taking turns rushing the wedding party throughout the proceedings. The bride was accompanied in by a large group of people, including 4 synchronized dancing girls and many of her family members. One of the funniest things about the wedding was that the bride and groom are not allowed to smile or look happy because they are supposed to be sad at the prospect of leaving their families. So while everyone else is having the time of their lives, they have to continuously look like the family pet was just run over – this goes for the whole time, including the reception. Also, it is custom for the best man and maid of honour to fuss over the groom and bride the whole time; this means that every 30 seconds one of them is fixing hair, wiping dust, repositioning clothing, fanning air etc. on their respective person – sometimes I thought it was a competition to see who could fuss the most. When the vows were exchanged the bride and groom each got what looked like a Christmas version of a Hawaiian lai over their necks. I did not understand very much of the service as my Swahili is still rudimentary, but I know that it went on for a long time.

After the service the whole congregation followed the vehicle of the wedding party down the road to the house where the reception was taking place. The yard was full of chairs and the head table set up against the house with decorations flowing behind them. There was a huge stereo system set up outside and people were having a great time, dancing, waving kangas (east African material with Swahili sayings written on them, used for skirts etc.), singing and the like. There was a very energetic woman as the MC and she talked so fast even those who are fluent in Swahili had a tough time understanding her. After a parade of speeches, the cake was cut and it was time for gifts. When the gifts are given at a Tanzanian wedding, each group takes its turn holding up the gifts and dancing them up to the stage. This was the best part, and many times I saw Thomas trying to suppress his smile as people wrapped kangas around them, danced and sung and showered them with goods. I only saw his wife flinch once – she had a frown that could kill. When our turn came I finally realized why they told us in training school that we had to be able to laugh at ourselves during our time overseas. We were the only white people there and apparently it was extremely funny for them to see our comparatively stiff dance moves bring those presents up. The MC was calling us up, evidenced by a slurry of words containing “muzungu” coming from the speakers. Everyone was laughing at us but we let our inhibitions go and danced our white buts up there in great fashion. Afterwards everyone was so proud of us and many people came up to introduce themselves and generally make us feel very welcome.

I was very excited when people started to line up for dinner and there were no forks and knives; I would finally get to eat my meal “African Style” with my hands. As we sat down and I started to dig in, a shy young girl came up and presented us with 5 forks. I was dismayed and decided that I was happy eating like everyone else and kept on going with my hands. It is a very strange yet somehow liberating sensation to eat with just your hands, especially with something as granular as rice, as you can imagine. The dinner was excellent – it was a mishmash of 3 types of rice, a bruschetta-like tomato dish, 2 types of potatoes, beans, and of course topped off with a nice cold soda pop. Everything was over by 7, rather early, but I was glad as it was a long and tiring day.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!