Saturday September 14th
I
attend my first Nigerian wedding and never once see the bride. Go figure.
Some
months ago I met the bride’s father while on a mission to replace the stove’s gas
canister. He caught a lift with my
driver for a drop off in South Calabar, the sketchiest district in town where
posses of frustrated boyz rule after dark.
He’s the chief of Duke Town, a rather large section of Calabar where
reminders of British colonization hug the shores of a once-ago slave trade corridor.
Chief Duke is modest; I’ve since learned this gentle man has a rich and royal
heritage.
Although
today’s bride, Bassey Duke, and her groom, Patrick, both come from royal
lineage they opt for a small simple wedding. Small and simple are subjective,
yes? Typically Nigerians profess their love in two different ceremonies held on
different days. These two decide to economize and do it in one.
I
miss the 10am White wedding; a conventional
church and princess gown gig that carries on for hours, but arrive at Duke
Palace mid-afternoon for the Traditional version. At least half a dozen canopies provide
protection from intermittent sun and rain. People sit on chairs set in rows under the
canopy that bears the name of their social group: Girls Power Initiative (GPI),
Women of Active Faith, The Creator’s Family….
Entertainment
comes by way of a lively band and an MC who keeps the crowds laughing. Too bad
I don’t speak Efik.
Surprising
to me, lots of guests show up in outfits made from the same cotton print though
styles vary as much as the people wearing them.
“They’re uniforms worn by people close to Bassey, She tells you where
the cloth can be purchased in the market,” Sarah explains, wearing one herself
as one of Bassey’s GPI work colleagues. Interestingly,
the colour theme for the day is blue, again, brides choice – announced on the
invite; lots of blue on guests too.
Women
carry enormous shallow brass bowls into the palace. They’re filled to the brim
with gifts for the bride’s family from the groom’s: dowry 21st
century style.
After
an appreciable amount of time, groom Patrick arrives in the thick of a boisterous
crowd clapping and dancing, flapping a giant patio umbrella up and down and
banging animal skin drums. Mr Groom is wearing a felt top hat and carrying a
cane. Can’t see his clothing for the throngs of bodies and poof in an instant
he disappears into the palace.
Sidebar: What palace conjures in
western minds is far from Nigerian reality. We’re talking a basic one storey
concrete building with a door and a couple of windows. C’est tu. That’s all.
It’s
been a long day for those who have followed festivities from the start. Fortunately we’re fortified with food…what
decent Nigerian gathering doesn’t include feeding? Instead of hiring caterers
or ordering off the venue menu, family friends prepare massive quantities of
whatever they feel like making. Each food donor is assigned a canopy group. Our
potluck draw is fish heads, hunks of meat and spicy jollof rice. I take a pass
on the meat. A taste of the dried fish delivers bone slivers, lots. Warm beer
chases the heat of the rice.
Disappointingly
all traditional happenings happen indoors and out of sight for most of us
guests. Seemingly the bride and her family are in one room, the groom and his
in another. Eventually the bride is presented and turned over to the groom’s
family. Gifts received. Payment accepted. Goods sold. We leave before the
transaction is complete and the newlyweds are formally presented.
No comments:
Post a Comment