of his short visit. Homero mentioned an attractive young woman, joining the joyous reunion last night, a little boy and girl at her side. Maybe Leonardo is married, the spaghetti to be shared between wife and mother? At any rate, he will be returning to the Dominican Republic after a couple of weeks, using the smuggler’s route—the reason he might have needed the extra cash.
We’ve about given up wishing the pastor would get here. But then, like the old fairy-tale warning, Be careful what you wish for, here come not one, but two, then three, and finally four more, seven pastors in all, dressed in black suits, white shirts and black ties, bearing Bibles. It turns out that only one is the pastor, the others are “predicators,” members who preach and sing and share pastoral responsibilities. Accompanying them is one woman, dressed similarly in a white blouse and black skirt, the pastor’s wife. All I can think of as they each come down the path and enter the house, nodding their greetings left and right, is: This is going to be a long service, with lots of preachers wanting to put in their word on the word of God.
The wedding ceremony
Finally, with less fanfare than I expected, Piti is coming down the dirt path with his beautiful bride in full regalia: a full-length long-sleeved white gown with a long train and a bouquet of artificial flowers. Behind her is Pablo, the best man, and behind Piti is an attractive woman in her forties whom I at first assume is the bride’s mother. But it turns out she is Eseline’s baptismal godmother. Eseline’s mother will not be attending the ceremony. She is too broken up about her daughter’s imminent departure, so we are told.
We proceed inside the small house whose front room has been emptied. A white sheet covers the dirt floor; another is draped over the two chairs for the bride and groom. Two other chairs have been set up behind these, also covered with a white sheet, for Bill and me, the godparents of the wedding. I take a seat behind Piti, and Bill behind Eseline, but the pastor summons Pablo to correct the error: the godmother must sit behind the bride and the godfather behind the groom. I’m a little surprised over the exactitude of these ceremonial details in such a rough-and-ready place.
The pastor, predicators, and closest family members find their seats on the benches and chairs lining the walls. Everyone else takes turns gawking through the four windows and doorway. Intermittently, the faces change. Someone else is given a turn to watch a part of the ceremony. The only problem is that such clustering at all apertures cuts off the ventilation and flow of air for the rest of us inside.
The ceremony starts unpleasantly with bride and groom being reprimanded for having had relations before marriage. They must endure public humiliation as each predicator opens his remarks with a finger-wagging, punitive tone that even I, with not a word of Kreyòl, can tell is a scold.
But finally, the tone shifts. The pastor, who looks like the oldest of these elders, keeps his rebuke brief. I wonder if it’s the old good cop / bad cop routine, and before their arrival, the pastor told his predicators: “Give them hell! And leave the rest to me.” He begins by calling out chapter and verse to one or another of his predicators, who finds the passage in his Bible and reads a sentence or two at a time. The pastor repeats the passage, then he’s off, spinning stories, enacting examples, delivering cautions that often bring the house down. Every once in a while, a grinning Piti repeats a phrase to Eseline, wagging his finger at her. No doubt we’re deep into St. Paul and his admonitions to wives to submit to their husbands, no questioning them when they say we are moving to la République in a couple of hours.
Loude Sendjika is present, happily sucking away at some young mother’s breast. She is dressed in one of those overly frilly dresses that must be prickly and hot, and a knit
We’ve about given up wishing the pastor would get here. But then, like the old fairy-tale warning, Be careful what you wish for, here come not one, but two, then three, and finally four more, seven pastors in all, dressed in black suits, white shirts and black ties, bearing Bibles. It turns out that only one is the pastor, the others are “predicators,” members who preach and sing and share pastoral responsibilities. Accompanying them is one woman, dressed similarly in a white blouse and black skirt, the pastor’s wife. All I can think of as they each come down the path and enter the house, nodding their greetings left and right, is: This is going to be a long service, with lots of preachers wanting to put in their word on the word of God.
The wedding ceremony
Finally, with less fanfare than I expected, Piti is coming down the dirt path with his beautiful bride in full regalia: a full-length long-sleeved white gown with a long train and a bouquet of artificial flowers. Behind her is Pablo, the best man, and behind Piti is an attractive woman in her forties whom I at first assume is the bride’s mother. But it turns out she is Eseline’s baptismal godmother. Eseline’s mother will not be attending the ceremony. She is too broken up about her daughter’s imminent departure, so we are told.
We proceed inside the small house whose front room has been emptied. A white sheet covers the dirt floor; another is draped over the two chairs for the bride and groom. Two other chairs have been set up behind these, also covered with a white sheet, for Bill and me, the godparents of the wedding. I take a seat behind Piti, and Bill behind Eseline, but the pastor summons Pablo to correct the error: the godmother must sit behind the bride and the godfather behind the groom. I’m a little surprised over the exactitude of these ceremonial details in such a rough-and-ready place.
The pastor, predicators, and closest family members find their seats on the benches and chairs lining the walls. Everyone else takes turns gawking through the four windows and doorway. Intermittently, the faces change. Someone else is given a turn to watch a part of the ceremony. The only problem is that such clustering at all apertures cuts off the ventilation and flow of air for the rest of us inside.
The ceremony starts unpleasantly with bride and groom being reprimanded for having had relations before marriage. They must endure public humiliation as each predicator opens his remarks with a finger-wagging, punitive tone that even I, with not a word of Kreyòl, can tell is a scold.
But finally, the tone shifts. The pastor, who looks like the oldest of these elders, keeps his rebuke brief. I wonder if it’s the old good cop / bad cop routine, and before their arrival, the pastor told his predicators: “Give them hell! And leave the rest to me.” He begins by calling out chapter and verse to one or another of his predicators, who finds the passage in his Bible and reads a sentence or two at a time. The pastor repeats the passage, then he’s off, spinning stories, enacting examples, delivering cautions that often bring the house down. Every once in a while, a grinning Piti repeats a phrase to Eseline, wagging his finger at her. No doubt we’re deep into St. Paul and his admonitions to wives to submit to their husbands, no questioning them when they say we are moving to la République in a couple of hours.
Loude Sendjika is present, happily sucking away at some young mother’s breast. She is dressed in one of those overly frilly dresses that must be prickly and hot, and a knit
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