A Wedding and a Funeral

I went with my neighbor to a wedding in Iringa, and it was pretty normal: you know - started a fight, had more relation to Kevin Bacon than to the bride or groom, toured around the city in a daladala (microbus) crammed full of people singing send-off songs in Swahili, when arriving at the church could not identify the bride or groom whose wedding I had been invited to, and was amazed at how bored and unhappy the bride and groomed managed to appear throughout the wedding and the reception.

There were about 150 invited guests at the wedding, and we were hanging out in the bride's mother's courtyard for a good chunk of the day, preparing food, getting fed, chatting, dancing, drinking the local brew and the like. That was pretty normal. Somehow though, some drunk and crazy people made their way in, and two of them were quite obsessed with the fact that there was a mzungu (Caucasian) there, and decided it would be necessary to push through some people to try to touch me. They jostled a friend of mine and she jostled back and one of these crazy people punched her in the head. Luckily that was all that it came to, and they were quickly kicked out.

Apparently I was there because my friend's husband is the groom's brother-in-law. Nobody seemed to mind though.

The reason I couldn't identify the couple was because there were two couples getting married at the same time (to save the priest’s time?).

The daladala ride was pretty normal for Tanzania, and actually incredibly fun.

The reason the couple looked so unhappy is because I guess there are some rules to weddings here. They are supposed to act like it is the most painful torture they must endure. Hopefully they were happy on the inside. We were happy-- there was good food and music and dancing.

I slept in the bride's mom's house, and I think maybe in the bride's mom's bed, which she insisted on while she slept on the floor. I was too tired to protest at the time. All-in-all it was a pretty good time and I made some friends.

Also, my neighbor died and I went to his family's house. It is tradition for people to arrive on the day of the funeral, and walk in a big procession with the coffin to the burial site, and then return to the house where they sit around cooking, eating, drinking, crying and accepting donations all day long. I went over after the funeral was done because I had to teach in the morning. I was glad to be a little late because the crying had stopped and been replaced by drinking, and they were very glad to receive me and ask me some questions about America and the like. I arrived and gave my condolences to everyone, gave my donation, and sat with the women awhile.