A Ugandan Wedding

Last week I was able to attend my first Ugandan wedding. African tribal meets developing nation gaudiness meets western class, a Ugandan wedding is not something to be missed, and I wanted to make sure to capture this event on camera. But I didn't--in all of the hustle and bustle to get us on the bus to Jinja, where the wedding was taking place, I forgot my camera. And yes, we were getting on a bus--a bus that was carrying the bride's entire family. I worked my way to the back of the bus to one of the only empty seats--a seat surrounded by lots of little boys. As we pulled onto the road, I realized why they were all sitting back there--they had been placed back there because it was the bumpiest place to sit on these pot hole-filled Ugandan roads, and obviously they were feeling the reprocussions of that, because not too long into the drive I felt something wet pouring onto my foot. Vomit. The boy, who was about four years old, was half asleep, so I had to solve this problem myself. The selfish part in me inclined me to clean off my foot first, and I then helped the little boy clean off his face and his suit that still had the tag attached, because his mother had likely planned to return it after the wedding (I don't know if they will take it anymore). In a few minutes, thanks to my ever-present friend anti-bacterial handgel, we were feeling fine once again on the bumpy road.

We arrived at the wedding a bit after it was meant to start, but that wouldn't matter--we're in Africa. The actual ceremony didn't start until an hour later and lasted nearly two hours. I'm convinced that it was the pace in which the wedding party entered the hall that took up so much time--a turtle could have processed faster. As for the ceremony, there were three distinct phases, which the pastor made clear, and which in between each the pastor would go over what was hapening with the bride and groom while music played so that we wouldn't hear this disorganization. I felt like I was watching the filming of a live television show and we were biding time during the commercial break. The first phase was a sermon. The bride and groom sat on opposite sides of the aisle while the pastor preached on the importance of two becoming one.

Phase two was the vows. You could tell they were nervous when he lifted her veil, checking to see if she was the one he intended to marry. Male-female relationships are very formal here, and if you see a male and a female holding hands it is expected that they are engaged. The pastor even had to pause the vows to have the groom move closer. There's something nice about the innocence, I suppose. Phase two concluded with the pronunciation of them being man and wife, but no kiss to follow.

It was then time for phase three: the signing of the marriage certificate and the taking of communion. While the couple were kept busy, we were entertained by a gospel choir. The recession finished phase three with the same turtle pace and it's possible they walked at that pace all the way to the reception, because we were left waiting at the hall for three hours.

For the reception, we arrived to a half-decorated town hall that likely had its hey day during Amin's reign, because it certainly isn't in its hey day now. We were hungry because it was the middle of the afternoon and we hadn't had lunch, but we didn't know exactly were the food was, so we were left to wait. After waiting for a while, someone came up to preach, because of course that would take up plenty of time in Africa, and it was about halfway through the Lugandan sermon that I realized that the bride and groom were missing. And then the thought hit me: were we waiting around for them to consumate their marriage. The thought changed the vibe instantly. It turned out, though, that the caterers had had some trouble on the road, and the bridal party was simply waiting for them to arrive.

Arround 6 pm the food rolled in, and it was about time, too. We piled our plates high with the same delicacies we enjoy on a day to day basis, though in larger proportion, and ate our fill. It seems that's all there is to a Ugandan reception--eating--but we were all okay with that. We left not too long after that, me sitting in the back seat with the boys once more, only this time they were asleep as we drove along the boncy road in the dark African night. Looking back on the day, it was very different than the way we did weddings at home, as I knew it would be, butit was perfectly fitting to what I had known Africa to be. I didn't take any notes for my wedding, though!