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Tuesday, June 21, 2011

My First Mozambican Wedding

This past Sunday, I attended my first Mozambican wedding with my counterpart’s family. After trying on every capulana I own at the insistence of my host sisters, we decided on an outfit. I was dressed as a traditional Mozambican woman, with a capulana as a long skirt and a lenço on my head, and everyone loved it. I went to church with the family to see the ceremony, and afterward the wedding party moved in procession to a nearby house for the reception. And by procession, I mean slow wedding march on straw mats, with women constantly running mats from the back to the front of the wedding party, creating a path for them. After a lap of the premises, the bride did a ceremonial mixing of the vat of xima with a giant wooden spoon, serving the first plate. Then, the bride and groom fed each other, followed by my counterpart and his wife (the padrinho and madrinha, a best man/matron of honor and godparent hybrid). The couple then linked arms and drank Fanta out of champagne flutes, and kissed when the crowd chanted.

Some of the adults were then invited to sit at the tables for the meal; as a guest of the padrinho and madrinha I snagged a seat (everyone eats, not everyone gets a chair). If I wasn’t a foreigner, though, I would have been serving dinner along with my host brothers around my age. Then came a several course meal. Quick note: after a couple traumatic experiences of being in church with my counterpart for 4.5 hours and becoming manically hungry, I had eaten a giant breakfast in preparation (much more appropriate then my previous strategy: stuffing my mouth with cashews while everyone was praying out loud with their eyes closed). So when I was served lunch, I was uncharacteristically not very hungry. The samosas (fried puff pastry with a meat filling) were delicious and I ate everything but the chicken foot in my soup. But then came a full plate of xima with a generous serving of cow stomach. It was by far my least favorite thing I’ve eaten here, beating out pork liver. I’ve actually tried cow stomach before and didn’t hate it, but the caril (sauce) this time was Fear Factor-level. I ate it quickly to get it over with, and was left with half a plate of xima. My relief was short-lived, however, as the servers came around to dole out more of the meat, and it was hard to mask my panic when I adamantly declined. This course was followed by full plates of rice with beef, more beef with French fries, and finally cake. [Special note to Jesse, Diamondstone, and Berko: Yo dawg, I heard you like stomach. So I put a stomach in your stomach.]

Once everyone had eaten absurd quantities of food, it was time for the presents. Mozambican gift giving is fantastic; each group (grandkids, neighbors, etc.) sings and dances as they present their gifts. They can often goes as far as elaborate choreographed numbers and matching capulanas. The couple received sundry household items, dozens of capulanas, cash, and the grand finale, a bed complete with pillows and a heavy fleece blanket. Told at the last minute that I would be presenting that gift with the rest of the padrinho and madrinha’s guests, I was sweating it out, having now idea what we were going to be doing. So when they unloaded the mattresses from a pickup truck, I rushed over to grab a corner. People still didn’t understand why I wasn’t singing along, because not knowing the language let alone the lyrics was apparently not a valid excuse. The bride and groom were then told to lie down on the bed (which they did head to foot, rather awkwardly) and the blanket was draped over them as everyone laughed. Finally, the dance floor was opened to the wedding party, and the madrinha/my 50-something-year-old host mother/grandmother shocked everyone with her sweet moves.

With the exception of the cow stomach, the wedding was a fantastic day. I’ve never felt so integrated, and I can’t wait until the next one. Dressed as a Mozambican woman, I was a huge hit, and I was even propositioned to be someone’s second wife (and introduced to the first wife). Everyone expects me to dance at the next wedding, unfortunately, so I better start practicing.

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