Tumelo's Wedding

This past weekend I was a bridesmaid for the first time in my life. I had some “standard responsibilities” such as: assisting the bride with her gowns, dancing, and wearing the same dress as 9 other women. But that is really the only point where “standard responsibilities” for an American and South African bridesmaid overlap.

I was asked a couple of months ago to be a bridesmaid for a woman who lives in my community. We had not had a friendship that went beyond greeting each other up until that point. But I was flattered none the less that she thought of asking me.

Friday 4pm: I arrive at the home of Tumelo, the bride, to pick up and try on my dress. Upon crossing my small, dusty village I arrive at Tumelo’s home where I am greeted by the stares of a dozen drunken men on the left hand side of the yard. With no more than a smile I turn towards the house, on the right side. In the backyard I find a dark tent (to be used for cooking), a caldron of traditional beer, and many grandmothers cooking porridge over a fire. I soon find a few young women who speak English. After a couple of hours of mingling the young women of the community gather on the front stoop- each armed with a knife brought from their homes. As I thought I was coming only for a dress fitting I needed to run home to collect my knife and peeler- wow, the peeler was a hit! We then begin to chop and peel the following vegetables: butternut (stains hands orange), carrots, potatoes, onions (my hands smelled for 2 days), peppers, tomatoes, cabbage, etc. Three hours later the sun has set and the vegetables are finished. We take a tea and biscuit break (biscuits are special for the wedding). While the young women were preparing vegetables the grandmothers were slaughtering and de-feathering twenty-some chickens.

Next up on the list of bridesmaid responsibilities: butchering chicken. Women work in twos for this task. One holds and pulls the body and the other saws with a dull knife. Since nothing goes to waste here the liver and intestines are tossed into a metal pan. Another pair of young women has the esteemed responsibility of taking the intestines and pushing a knife through the center, so as to slice the tube open. As feces squirts out, the smell nauseates me. But the seventh and eighth grade boys who stand in the darkness just outside the stoop beg me to give them a piece of intestines. . Nope. No way. I do not partake in this task; instead I turn to cutting sweet potatoes.

But just as I think I have escaped a task, the next appears without my having time to hesitate. A woman who is one of the cooks/cleaners at the school grabs my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor. I seem to have forgotten to mention that all this time traditional synthesized African music has been blasting from mega speakers into my ear (the same 20 songs). She insists on teaching me to dance so that I am prepared for tomorrow. We go round and round the porch line dancing. Although I feel confident, the laughter of dozens of women makes me question myself.

By 9pm I’ve heard Tumelo report that the dresses will be arriving “now now” more than 3 times and I’m tired. Plus my walking partner, Athlida, is ready to leave. So we do.

Saturday 5:30am: I’m up before the sun- bundled to keep warm in the morning darkness- and arrive at Tumelo’s to again find a dozen men drinking on the left and even more old women cooking in the back. The rest of the bridesmaids are awake after a mere 3 hours of sleep and cooking over temporary gas stoves in the food tent.

For the next 4 hours I am again chopping vegetables and stirring pots. At 10:30 I walk with 2 other bridesmaids across the village to the seamstress’s (Nancy’s) home to try on my dress. Up until this point I have no idea what to expect. So I am pleasantly surprised when I find a modern looking 2 piece, with a tube top and jacket. All three women strip and gown up. My tops too large and it happens to conveniently fall down just as a man crosses the doorway. No biggie, breasts are seen all the time here. Nancy alters the top and I’m back to the bride’s home for another hour.

12pm: I am free to go home, nap, bathe and then return by 2 for the wedding. While at home Karabo tells me her grandmother (my host mother) said that I can’t dance. Haha

Let me set the scene: half acre lot, 2 small homes, 2 large tents (one for food prep, one for ceremony), 30-40 overly drunk men, 20 grandmothers cooking, 20 children playing, 50 people of all ages dressed in their finest sitting in plastic chairs in the front yard., music blasting, cows mooing, grandmother’s shrieking in happiness, people dancing. . . although the wedding hasn’t begun officially the crowd has already been fed. At a South African wedding, everyone is invited and there is always enough food for one more mouth.

While Tumelo is having her fake nails glued on the groom sits besides her talking. The bridesmaids are drawing on eyebrows and glossing their lips. Her first dress of the day is white. She wears a veil, gloves, and pearls. She holds artificial flowers. The groom leaves just before the procession begins, he his groomsmen line up behind him. Flower girls lead the line of women out the front door of the home where we are matched with random partners of the opposite sex. We walk together, two-by-two in a dancing step, swinging our arms to the beat. People are sitting and standing all around as we circle the stoop, then out into the yard, and finally out into the street. Throughout the procession I receive cheers from community members and smiles/giggles from the children. Our procession is lead by a man in a top hat who holds a stick with a white flag high in the air so that everyone knows a wedding is going on. His eyes are barely open due to the copious amounts of alcohol he’s already consumed and remarkably his eyes remain in this state for the next 30 hours.

Before the procession reenters the yard the women of the bride’s family kneel and sing a song of welcome. As we step/dance back into the yard the bridal party enters the fabulously decorated tent. The bride and groom sit on a couch that is covered with a white sheet and raised a foot in the air. In front of them are 6 cakes. The bridal party sits at round tables and is greeted by an appetizer plate of chips, sweets, and mints, all mixed together.

There is a strict agenda for the wedding that will be under the direction of the emcee. We begin with a prayer, followed by the introduction of the wedding party. When I’m introduced the emcee asks if I’m single. Unfortunately his inebriation has not yet affected his short term memory so throughout the ceremony says several times over the echoing microphone “Molly, you with us?” The cameraman also had quite an attraction to me and so I’m sure I will occupy easily 20% of the wedding tape doing random things (eating with my fingers, daydreaming, wiping sweat from my forehead, laughing at the drunk men, staring adoringly at the straight-faced bride).

As the vows are exchanged I am not sure a single person is paying attention, this includes the bride and groom. They are not looking at each other or the priest. So peculiar . . in any case they end up exchanging gold rings and watches and there is a small applause. But still no kiss. I take it upon myself to teach the women and men at my table an American tradition, we start tapping our water glasses with forks. The emcee catches way and the man next to me shouts “We demand a kiss!” Tumelo looks at me sternly and suddenly I feel like I’m four years old. No kiss.

The vows are followed by the wedding party feasting on traditional foods, many of which have been ruined by a smothering of mayo. My thirst is hardly satisfied by the salty tap water. I yearn for a cold drink. Looking at the program I see cold drink does not come until after 3 speeches. . eish. After zoning out for 30 minutes I rejoin the wedding as 3 bottles of champagne are placed near the wedding cakes. The emcee calls me up to take a bottle. Two other bridesmaids join me. Tumelo tells me to shake the bottle and spray it over the cakes. As I thumb off the cork, a majority of the foam sprays onto the table. . I pour a full glass of champagne for Tumelo and her husband and leave the bottle on the cake table. The rest of the wedding party guests have a bit of champagne for toasting purposes. It turns out that Tumelo doesn’t drink. I watch her pour an entire bottle of champagne into the dirt.

After sipping the champagne the bridal party again lines up in pairs and us women dance our way back into the house. Costume change! We button brown fabric onto our shirts, put on a matching jacket, and tie a scarf in our hair. The bride puts on a gorgeous brown and orange traditional dress. We dance back out and redo the entire ceremony. . . this time relatives bring the new couple gifts of cups, plates, bowls, pots, etc. We again dance to the house again and the bride changes into a leather skirt and jacket. We dance in a circle, go inside change and voila- the wedding is finished. (Sorry for my lack of enthusiasm, it was a daunting experience.)

When I just said the wedding is finished, I meant for the day. Just before the wedding party departs for the groom’s home (with all 6 uneaten wedding cakes) I am called in to Tumelo’s room. Although I arrived at her home with my overnight bag she says that it would be better if I just arrive at the grooms the next day. I was actually upset about being uninvited to the grooms. My mind swells with possibly explanations for the change of plans- is there a traditional event that I can’t partake in? Does she not want me to go to the groom’s home? I later find out she didn’t want me to have to sleep on the ground with the 12 women in one room. I promptly tell Tumelo that I want to be treated just as everyone else and I add in “I slept on the ground for the first three months here!”

Sunday was essentially the same as Saturday. A few differences: bride wore an additional traditional dress, we actually ate the cakes, more drunk men than I have ever seen, and we took a ride around the village in a car! Also, since no one knew me in this village I spotted dozens more camera phones creeping around to shoot photos of me.

I thoroughly enjoyed the experience of being a part of Tumelo’s wedding day. Since most of my three days were consumed by Sepedi voices I had ample opportunity to enjoy mental solidarity. A few thoughts and topics surfaced again and again.

1: Alcoholism in men- this cultures lack of recognizing the seriousness of it, the way females still hold conversations with them, the way people do not even flinch at people who are passed out in the middle of the dance floor.

2: Work Ethic of women- never do these women complain about bearing the majority of work, or about their lack of sleep

3: Lack of Affection- there is never holding of hands, kissing, hugging, between any members of the opposite sex, or even really between mothers and children

(if you read this far, thanks, I know this was a boring post:-)

Look at photos of the wedding on my Picasa page!