I attended a wedding today. It was exactly what I was told it would be. Women celebrate in one room, men in another. Women wear their most colorful and flattering outfits and hope to make a good impression on the mothers, aunts, and sisters of the most desirable eligible bachelors. Dancing consists of a mash of women moving their hips almost imperceptibly, perhaps accented by a slight flick of an forearm, wrist, or finger; these women call out giddily, with the same excitement I feel when completely letting loose on the dance floor.
Perhaps my favorite part about the dancing was that some women held up money while they danced as though they had been paid for their dance. I have heard two interpretations of this. One is that the women think they are all that, and the money is the supposed to represent payment for a dance well done. Another is that it was an old tradition to pay performers during a certain part of a song to indicate not just agreement with lyrics, but to send the message in the lyrics to someone in the audience. According to this interpretation, the women dancing were either sending out the lyrical message themselves, or were trying to indicate their belief that other women in the crowd agreed with the message to the extent that, if they were engaging in this old practice, they would be paying the woman at this point in the dance. I have seen something like the latter happen in other circumstances, and would tend toward this interpretation myself.
Even though I am a fan of loud music, I was not a fan of feeling as though the reverberations the music sent through my chest were replacing the impulses that normally keep my heart beating. I have never in my life heard such loud noises (music or otherwise), and I was on the far side of the room from the speakers. I don't know how the women by the speakers even survived the ordeal that was the playlist. I could not have been more grateful when the sound system literally exploded in smoke and a little flame. (Pictured above are the women reacting to the scene, which explains why they are standing and not sitting on the floor as they did most of the time, and why they are gathering around the DJ.)
A hint of peace followed, but was of course broken by the East African counterpart of what would be, in the States, a line for the lunch buffet. Having been over six feet tall most of my life, I have seldom been picked up, much less by a crowd. Once was when I was getting on a bus in China. I nearly had my second taste of it here because, let me tell you, Zanzibari women sure do like their wedding food. What struck me as particularly odd was that while about half the women stormed into battle with hopes of winning themselves one of the first plates of food, the other half sat quite contentedly in their places on the floor of the room where they had been dancing before the fiery end of the music. I soon learned that the women who were waiting were not simply patient or mindful of their own personal space, but that it was not yet their turn to push and shove their way into gastronomic heaven. Only the groom's guests were being served at the moment (and, yes, I immediately identified myself as a member of this group and competitively joined the brawl, and hence experienced my near-lift off). With little injury to pride and limb, I amassed a fortune of tender cow meat, sweet potatoes, sweeter ndizi (banana), thick and gooey boko boko (a kind of seasoned wheat porridge), oniony salad, and thick chapati. It was all quite delicious, well-seasoned, and exceptionally filling. As soon as I was done, though, I got a memorable picture out of the event (which will be posted as soon as I get it), and made my exit.
Oh, one funny little point I should make is that not only was I not present at the actual wedding ceremony; neither was the bride. Men conduct the whole wedding ceremony on their own, then go and get the women from her house and tell her it has been done. I would say that this at least saves guests the inevitable boredom of the wedding ceremony, but they make up for it later with lackluster celebrations. Overall, I was (obviously) not impressed, but I am no less happy to have attended. I got to see beautiful scenes along the way to and from the wedding, and it gave me that much more quality time with my Pemba hosts. Yay!
On the way back from the wedding, this was the kind of scene I got to appreciate. I have been in some of these mud huts, and they can be surprisingly homey and spacious.
Here you can see Zanzibar's top cash crop (cloves) being dried in front of a large home.
