to one or another of us: Bill with his silly hat, Eli with his red hair, me with the fancy outfit and impractical sandals. One little boy stares with big, astonished eyes. When I approach him, using my rudimentary French, to pronounce myself votre amie (“your friend”—at least I think that’s what I said), he bursts into tears and runs to the safety of his mother’s lap. “He’s probably never seen a white person before,” Bill guesses.
I’m intrigued by the motley dress of the gathering, which actually seems right in keeping with our own group’s varied wear. Many of the women are in housedresses; some in what look like summer nightgowns. One of Piti’s sisters wears a flashy shirt blazoned with a huge motorcycle and a straw hat with four plastic leaves pinned in front. Another woman has on a bright pink dress and a tiny evening purse of faux leopard skin. The female dress code seems to be to wear the best you’ve got, including some favorite accessory: a straw hat, a handbag, a beaded necklace. In contrast, most of the men are casually dressed in T-shirts, pants, and cutoffs, except for the two suits, status symbols for sure.
While we, the women, and some older men sit, waiting, many of the young men crowd around a card table placed smack in the center of the path to the house. A domino game has been going on since we arrived. The players, who are sitting down, rotate with those standing, with no break in the playing. In fact, the game will continue throughout the wedding, the only concession being that the table will be moved out of the way to a shady spot under a mango tree.
Eseline’s house seems to be the center hub, with paths like spokes leading off to other family houses. Down one of those paths, a woman approaches, bearing a small table on her head. The sunken top of the table is actually a canister with refreshments, which I assume will be served at the wedding. But, in fact, this turns out to be the cash bar: warm sodas, two boxes of cigarettes, penny candy, and a large jug filled with a drink no one buys, perhaps a home brew for nonevangelicals.
As for complimentary wedding refreshments, a woman comes out of Eseline’s house with a laundry basket full of chunks of bread, which she forks out to anyone who approaches. Her red T-shirt reads ANGEL, a halo above and a wing on either end of the word. Another woman in a housedress with a kerchief tied around her head pours coffee from a white kettle, then washes the used and soon-to-be-recycled cups in a plastic basin. Mostly men and elderly women avail themselves of their services. The few young women who approach do so shyly, murmuring apologetically as if embarrassed to be enjoying other women’s hard work when they themselves are fit, able, and female.
Meanwhile Piti’s plump baby is brought out for us to meet. Loude Sendjika, I’m told, when I ask for her name. Perhaps affected by the same terror of white skin as the little boy, she starts bawling the minute she is laid in my arms. It could also be that I’m holding her in the nursing position but have nothing to offer her. A young woman lifts her from my arms and starts nursing her. Throughout the long wait and ensuing ceremony, Loude Sendjika is handed around to whatever lactating female is close by, a great way for moms to help out the indisposed bride.
Where is the pastor?
It’s already after nine, and the pastor has still not arrived. Piti comes from the back of the house to check on us. The worried look in his eyes has intensified. We learn why the wedding wasn’t in Bassin-Bleu. The pastor refused to marry the couple inside a church, because, with a four-month-old, Piti and his girlfriend had obviously had relations. Instead he consented to perform the ceremony at the bride’s house. But maybe he has changed his mind?
Another person who has not shown is Leonardo. I worry that he decided to stay away after his altercation with Bill last night. More likely, he’s making the most
I’m intrigued by the motley dress of the gathering, which actually seems right in keeping with our own group’s varied wear. Many of the women are in housedresses; some in what look like summer nightgowns. One of Piti’s sisters wears a flashy shirt blazoned with a huge motorcycle and a straw hat with four plastic leaves pinned in front. Another woman has on a bright pink dress and a tiny evening purse of faux leopard skin. The female dress code seems to be to wear the best you’ve got, including some favorite accessory: a straw hat, a handbag, a beaded necklace. In contrast, most of the men are casually dressed in T-shirts, pants, and cutoffs, except for the two suits, status symbols for sure.
While we, the women, and some older men sit, waiting, many of the young men crowd around a card table placed smack in the center of the path to the house. A domino game has been going on since we arrived. The players, who are sitting down, rotate with those standing, with no break in the playing. In fact, the game will continue throughout the wedding, the only concession being that the table will be moved out of the way to a shady spot under a mango tree.
Eseline’s house seems to be the center hub, with paths like spokes leading off to other family houses. Down one of those paths, a woman approaches, bearing a small table on her head. The sunken top of the table is actually a canister with refreshments, which I assume will be served at the wedding. But, in fact, this turns out to be the cash bar: warm sodas, two boxes of cigarettes, penny candy, and a large jug filled with a drink no one buys, perhaps a home brew for nonevangelicals.
As for complimentary wedding refreshments, a woman comes out of Eseline’s house with a laundry basket full of chunks of bread, which she forks out to anyone who approaches. Her red T-shirt reads ANGEL, a halo above and a wing on either end of the word. Another woman in a housedress with a kerchief tied around her head pours coffee from a white kettle, then washes the used and soon-to-be-recycled cups in a plastic basin. Mostly men and elderly women avail themselves of their services. The few young women who approach do so shyly, murmuring apologetically as if embarrassed to be enjoying other women’s hard work when they themselves are fit, able, and female.
Meanwhile Piti’s plump baby is brought out for us to meet. Loude Sendjika, I’m told, when I ask for her name. Perhaps affected by the same terror of white skin as the little boy, she starts bawling the minute she is laid in my arms. It could also be that I’m holding her in the nursing position but have nothing to offer her. A young woman lifts her from my arms and starts nursing her. Throughout the long wait and ensuing ceremony, Loude Sendjika is handed around to whatever lactating female is close by, a great way for moms to help out the indisposed bride.
Where is the pastor?
It’s already after nine, and the pastor has still not arrived. Piti comes from the back of the house to check on us. The worried look in his eyes has intensified. We learn why the wedding wasn’t in Bassin-Bleu. The pastor refused to marry the couple inside a church, because, with a four-month-old, Piti and his girlfriend had obviously had relations. Instead he consented to perform the ceremony at the bride’s house. But maybe he has changed his mind?
Another person who has not shown is Leonardo. I worry that he decided to stay away after his altercation with Bill last night. More likely, he’s making the most
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