An African wedding

I write this post tonight after witnessing my very first African wedding. It was in fact a consummation, the couple were already married but wanted to do it again in church, but that not withstanding it was a full pull out all the stops affair. I enjoyed the experience so much I decided it merited a quick mention in the Blog.
The wedding was scheduled to start at 12 noon “sharp”. 12 noon sharp means some time around 2…if you want. So being the proud British people that we are we turned up bang on time at 12 noon. 2 hours later a couple of the congregation showed up in dribs and drabs and an hour later the bride finally arrived. It seems compulsory, or at least it comes highly recommended, that when the bride is walking down the isle you give it all you’ve got, screaming and waving your arms about in the air. Apparently if you fail to knock out the person on your right and left, its considered a failed experience all round. So the bride walks painfully slowly down the isle to various volumes of high pitch screaming in the place of “here comes the bride” played proudly on an organ. Moses decided fingers in ears were in order. I thought this was a marvelous idea though mum didn’t.
The service wasn’t completely free of western influences though. Like all of Uganda wherever you go you seem see little snippets of home rammed in your face. On the Drive from the airport to chez Clay I saw Wayne Rooney at least 5 times on a billboard. When it comes to the wedding, the bride wore what I would call a traditional white dress and the bridesmaids would have all fitted in in England. One quality of the service that could have done with some serious western attention (apart from the screaming) was the pastors talk. He was honoring the good old Ugandan tradition of talking until he physically could not stand anymore from exhaustion and the service is drawn to a close. For some reason if a talk is less than an hour and a half long it is deemed to be a poor show, and obviously not from God, otherwise it would be longer. Why say one word when 10 will do. This is something that gets on the Clays nerves no end. So much so that 40 minuets into the talk (what the talk was about I have no idea, he was speaking Luganda and the kind lady who offered to translate for this ignorant Musungu was so quiet and mumbled so much that I understood more of the preacher than her.) Dave and Raych decided enough was enough; in fact it was too much. They seem to feel strongly about the problem of preach lengths as I found out during a full frontal assault I received on the issue after I asked there opinion of how church was run here. Anyway we beat a hasty retreat and I instead spent the afternoon attempting to snooze whilst at the same time doing my best to ignore Jed who was throwing himself at the locked door trying to get in.
I think it’s worth mentioning here for my sympathies sake that we all have colds at the moment courtesy of young Jed who refuses to sneeze and cough away from food or with a hand over his mouth…thanks mate. After my failed siesta I discovered we were going to the reception which is a whole new ball park from the wedding! I arrived after the Clays as they neglected to mention it and I was not dressed for it. So after a brief walk in my now over dirty Sunday bests, I arrived at a makeshift reception hall made out of banana trees. The main structure was banana trunks and there were banana leaves draped on top. It’s an effective temporary shelter, Dave tells me, until you get a strong wind. I was seated at the back, a few rows from the family, and was immediately seat upon by lots of little shy black hands eager to see what a white boy feels like though not so eager to be caught in the act. I did what any British man would do, pretended there was nothing to feel and carried on as if I wasn’t being gently examined all over. The married couple was sitting at the front of the structure and everyone else was sitting around. There was a primitive sound system which a woman, who would have done very well at Butlins, was yelling unnecessarily into a tinny mike in an attempt to get the crowd going. The bride and groom then fed each other cake while the whole audience leant in watching eagerly the erupted into more joyous screams once the bite had been taken.
After this some songs were sung, some speeches were made (the speakers also having a really good go at wearing themselves unconscious by talking for as long as possible and repeating themselves wherever inappropriate to do so) the food was served. By this point I was starving and was prepared to eat whatever was put in from of me. What I got was rice and beef stew in a bowl, no fork. The lack of fork is fine, I had plenty of practice during a trip to Zambia to be fazed by missing cutlery. The fact the musungu had been handed a bowl with no fork however entertained the locals no end and one of Moses friends was kind enough to come over and say “Uncle Dan, No fork” to which I replied, “I know, I think can cope.” And I am proud to say I did…Ish. Most of the meat looked and tasted ok. A few pieces though were a little less meat, a little more internal organ and whilst I chewed a piece of meat I had deemed safe and contemplated where this strange looking chunk of meat had come from in a cow, another thought occurred, how do I know its cow. A dog walked past and I stopped chewing. I dismissed the silly notion of eating dog Korean style but my internal wellbeing jury found the organ guilty and was sentenced to not being eaten.
All in all it was good fun. The singing and drums were great, I even danced a bit, much the locals raucous amusement, but I can now feel my stomach examining my dinner and wondering quite what to do with it.
All in all this has been a good week. I'm still worried about looking after the kids as I seem to be fighting a losing battle most of the time. I am also still searching for something to occupy my mind besides the childcare. I get the impression the Clays are beginning to be sick of the sight of me by now so I am hoping and praying for opportunities to get up to New Hope and serve there however I can.
Also this week I played my first football match with some of the local guys. I was surprised I that I managed to get any ball possession at all, I even scored a few times. I thought of Jon Levenson, my long suffering mentor in all things football related and how many times he has witnessed my shocking performances in the past. Unfortunately for me, no one was around who will ever be present in England to bear witness to the greatest goal I have, and ever will score. Two perfect kick ups followed by an angelic volley landing in the top right corner. Completely accidental but very pleasing none the less.
And so until something of any vague interest happens worth writing about that is all I have to say. I hope this Blog finds you all well and that the steadily declining British temperature doesn’t treat you too badly. It is the day after the wedding as I sign off and following a day of solid rain the sky now looks golden pink as the sun races towards the horizon. God bless
Uncle Dan