Last Saturday I was invited to go to a wedding with a friend (Ouaga’s least annoying musician/artisan rasta type.) I wasn’t really sure whether I should accept or not, since I wasn’t entirely sure that “I want you to come to my home and meet my family” wasn’t code-word for “I want you to come to my home and sleep with me.” Fortunately – though my rasta friend is quite charming, I don’t want to get really involved with someone here for my short stay for a number of aforementioned reasons – the wedding and the extended family were legit and I had a lovely time.
When I got there, Yacouba (or “Dabson,” his adopted “reggae name”) had a lot of business to attend to, since it was his brother’s wedding. So he led me inside their quite-large house, found the room where his ancient grandmother was sitting, and sat me down with her so he could get to work. However, the family are Dioulla, not Mossi, and the only word I know in Dioulla is “toubabou” (white person), so we kind of sat there awkwardly until she pulled out some photographs to show me. Soon a swarm of sisters (Yacouba has 9 brothers and sisters, all from ONE woman) and cousins came in and started changing and putting on makeup. The women were really sweet, and treated me affectionately, and constantly teased that I was going to be their sister-in-law. They dressed me up in horrendously mismatched and oversized Burkinabe clothing, which they insisted looked good even though I looked like a paint-splattered marshmallow next to their chic outfits.
It turns out that the bride is actually a white woman, a French dancer I have previously seen dancing with an incredible Burkinabe dance troupe. The couple already have a little four year-old girl – “cafe au lait”, they call her here. They seem legitimately in love, which I guess flies in the face of most stereotypes of white/Burkinabe couples. I do get the impression, however, that the woman has brought some extra prosperity to the family, which is probably why the sisters and brothers were so eager to get another toubabou-in-law.
Poor Yacouba had to stay behind at the house to prevent the soundsystem and food from being stolen, so three of the sisters took me in their car to the ceremony at city hall. African weddings still run on African time, and we had to wait an extra two hours in the sunshine to finally be let in. The ceremony was short and sweet, not too unlike one in Canada (it wasn’t a religious ceromny) except one difference – the constant ringing of cellphones. I’m serious! Every thirty seconds, even during the vows, someone’s cell phone would go off. Nobody turned their phones off! Some people even answered! I found this absolutely hysterical, but it got even better: right in the middle of the “I do” part, the groom’s cell went off. The groom’s. Laughing, he took it and threw it into the crowd so he wouldn’t be distracted from the ceremony. Everyone laughed.
Later, back at the house with Yacouba, there was a huge feast for what appeared to be the entire neighborhood. Chicken, fried plantain, rice, popcorn, cabbage stew, shrimp chips, cakes, and pop. Everyone sat and waited, until someone went on the microphone and told them to eat. Then – I have never seen such a scramble. Everyone dove forward, grabbing everything in sight. The chicken disappeared within seconds, then the cabbage, then the rice, then the plantains. I didn’t get my hands on any chicken (Yacouba brought me some later) but I had my fill of rice and the delicious spicy cabbage dish.
After everything was cleared away, there was live music. The family are griots, which is sort of a “caste” of musicians in a lot of West African ethnic groups. You can only be a griot if you are born griot, and if you are born griot – well, you will probably end up being a musician. I think that griots are fairly highly valued here, because those I’ve seen (like Yacouba’s family) seem more prosperous than the norm (though not rich). Anyways, the music was fantastic – better than anything I’ve seen in Burkina. The woman, all dressed in their finest, danced in circles and looked amazing. There was even a masked dancer on stilts, which was the highlight of the evening.
All and all, I had a good time. I can finally see the appeal of marrying a Burkinabe man – extended families are more warm and lively than anywhere I’ve seen in the world. In the early evening (so I could get home at a respectable hour, and also signal to Yacouba that I was not going to put out) the whole family brought me out to the curb to say goodbye and find me a taxi. I feel a bit bad, like I was leading them on, that they are expecting another white sister-in-law. But the whole day was great and I don’t regret going.
Post a Comment