The giveaway.

The bashful bride (in pink silk)

Traditionally, African weddings happen in two parts: first the giveaway and then the church wedding. I had the pleasure of attending a giveaway ceremony, where the dowry is negotiated and the bride is handed over to the groom’s family.

First on the agenda is mass, which is observed by the bride’s family before the groom arrives. Because Uganda is a deeply religious society, the service is taken very seriously. It was a mix of scripture reading and song. The song and dance is what appealed to me most. The elders and the aunties hop around and sing feverishly. The younger attendees and myself—the sole muzungu guest—joined in as well, but with a little less enthusiasm. I wasn’t feeling too spiritual.

Dancing aunties

After about an hour and a half of worship, the groom arrived with his entourage. The bride was tucked away in her room with her cousins and aunties. One person from the groom’s party has to converse with the bride’s uncle. The dialogue is semi-scripted and quite humorous, which I gathered from the crowd’s laughter. Unfortunately most of it wasn't in English, but rather in the bride’s local dialect. My friend did her best to translate for me, and this is what I picked up:

Bride’s uncle: Hello ssebo (sir). What have you come here for today?

Groom’s spokesman: Thank you for welcoming me into your home. We have come here today because there is something in the house that we have our eye on. But first, let me offer you some gifts.

Members of the grooms party shuffle in with a dozen cases of sodas and beers.

Bride’s uncle: What is it that you’ve come here for?

Groom’s spokesman: We have an eye on one of your women

Bride’s uncle: You want to take our women!?

(Laughter)

Groom’s spokesman: Not all of them, just one of them.

Bride’s uncle: Well, if its one of our women that you’re after you will have to talk to the aunties in he family.

Here, the music starts up and the aunties come out of the house. They dance toward the centre of the garden and sit on mats on the ground.

The bride's cousins

Groom’s spokesman: Hello madams. We have come here today in search of one of your women.

Auntie: Which woman? What language does he speak.

Groom’s spokesman: uhh….

He doesn’t know the bride’s dialect, so the MC steps in and offers to help, but for a fee of course. Spokesman hands over an envelope of cash. Eventually, the spokesman gets the answer right.

After the exchange with the aunties, the young women emerge from the house. Among them is the bride, whose head is covered with the scarf. The spokesman identifies that one of these women is in fact who they came for. Then, the bride rises and moves toward her husband, head still covered. She pins a broach on his jacket to identify him. Applause erupts from the crowd.

Take your pick: the bride chooses her man.

That’s all I could really gather from the back and forth between the groom’s party and the bride’s family. After this, the uncle and several men from the groom’s crowd go inside to negotiate the brideprice. Traditionally, goats and cows are exchanged. But today, people in the city have little use for such gifts so instead cash is given along with furniture and, in wealthier families, cars.

After the dowry is agreed upon, a ribbon is cut which the man’s family has to walk through. This signifies that they have been welcomed into the clan. This is followed by mealtime. Because they are not officially in-laws yet, the man’s party is not permitted to dine with the bride’s family. So the groom eats outside and the bride’s family remains outdoors.

After the meal, it’s time for speeches. I only stuck around for one, since I had already been sitting for eight hours and had to leave. I heard the brother’s kind words to his sister:

“Sister, now you are leaving our house to be with your husband. I hope you know that you cannot return once you have left. You now belong to your husband’s home. This means you obey him and respect his rules. A relationship between man and wife is not completely equal, it’s not 50/50. He holds about 51% of the power, keep this in mind. But husband, this does not mean you can treat her disrespectfully. If she comes running back to us, it better be for a good reason and you should know we will always be here to defend her.”

The crowd was laughing as he spoke, so I could not tell whether he was joking or not. At any rate, it was a fun experience for a clueless muzungu.

Source of the Nile

Sunset on the Nile. 

Every mzungu that come to Uganda has to see Jinja, the source of the Nile River. Yes, it’s cliché and yes, there are a million tourists around. But it really is amazing.

I snuck out of the office on a busy Thursday afternoon to meet my friend downtown to catch the bus. We spent a bumpy two hours passing small towns and snaking though Uganda’s countryside, dense with trees and spotted with people transporting bananas, eggs and other parcels on their heads and bicycles. We got hungry and bought grilled chicken and roasted gonjas (plantains) from vendors who stretch their arms through the bus' windows pushing their goods on you.

Our adventure really began when the bus reached a gas station somewhere outside of Jinja town. We had no idea where we were so we hopped on a boda who ensured us he knew where our resort was. In fact, he did not know where we were going. So he dropped us at the closest town and of course he still pocketed our 20,000 shs ($12) after driving for 30 minutes in the wrong direction. We ditched him and boarded a second boda who told us he could take us to our hotel in an hour or an hour and a half.

After a shaky 30 minutes on the road, our bike broke down. We stopped in Namagera to repair it and we were immediately surrounded by young kids screaming “mzungu!” As we said our hellos we noticed a crowd of about 80 people gathered across the street and went over to check it out.

In the centre of the group was a clown (a man in a choppy black wig) who was spinning a bicycle wheel on his head and in his behind as the crowd cheered him on. It was quite the spectacle. Aside form the kids gathered around us, most people in the small town were there to see him perform. I asked the kids who couldn’t peel their off the mzungus why they weren’t watching the show. “We are the show,” my friend remarked.

With a new spark plug, our bike and boda driver were as good as new and we headed off. It was the perfect hour to ride through the countryside. The sun was setting and there were no cars around. Scores of uniformed kids heading home lined the road. Our thin red dirt path was bordered by maize plants, avocado and banana trees, and upside down-looking trees. Every so often we’d spot a hut buried in the bushes and little kids would run to the road to see the attraction motor by.

We reached the end of the ride, where we boarded the first of two boats to our resort. I was covered in red sand from head to toe. The dirt was caked onto my face, beneath my toenails and fingernails and in every crevice of my clothing. I quickly forgot about this once we got onto the water. There were no rapids near so the water was completely still. In the setting sun it looked like molten metal. I reminded myself I was at the source of the Nile and got shivers. I couldn’t help but imagine what I’d be doing if I stayed in Toronto this summer.

Boat ride to the resort

The next day it poured rain (I’ve never seen rain pound so hard). It was the perfect excuse to lounge in the hammock and read all day. We took it easy because the next day was going to be exhausting. We were waking at 7 to go rafting on the Nile.

I woke up feeling okay, but an hour into our drive we had to pull over. I was green in the face on the side of the road (and those of you who know me can attest to the fact that I am very rarely sick to my stomach). Not a good way to start an eight-hour long day of rafting. It didn’t look like I was going to make it, but with a bit of time and about four slices of white bread I was on top of my game. By 11 am I was on the water.

There is no way to describe the experience. First, you hear the rapids as you approach. Then suddenly, you see a wall of fast-moving water rushing at you at an alarming pace. Then, suddenly you’re in the water stuck under the boat. Then, suddenly you’re above water and you realized you’ve swallowed about a gallon of river water (hello, bilharzia).

No major injuries except for a killer sunburn, aching arms and a split lip from smacking into a guy’s helmet when we rushed down a four meter waterfall.  

So yes, it’s terribly cliché. But it’s also impossibly beautiful and fun. Overlooking the rapids from a cliff as the sun set at the end of the day easily made up for the busted lip, the burnt legs and pulled muscles.