Kwanjula
My host family is part of the Baganda tribe, which is located mainly around the Kampala area. I expect that I'll learn a good bit about this tribe during the year that IÂm hereÂinitially I have been given a clan name (Nakito) and know only that I am not allowed to marry others from my clan, as they are all considered brothers and sisters of some variety, and that we are not supposed to eat the animal for which our clan is named (monkey).
I have had the opportunity, my first Saturday here to attend a ceremony called Quanjuba, or "introduction." In the course of a couple getting married, this ceremony is the first time that the bride-to be's family meets the family of the groom-to-be. The bride price is offered and either accepted or rejected. (Although it seems that in many cases, it truly is Âceremonial with the understanding that the couple are going to be married; in essence, the price has already been set).
On the chosen Saturday we got up extra early because transport to the village where the introduction was to be held was a bit of a journey, and Jennifer and I were to meet up with other relatives in the Kampala area to share transport to the site. We arrived at the appointed time but ended up waiting several hours while relatives accumulatedÂbut no bus arrived. At some point a "take-charge" sort of woman called Dorothy walked out the road and flagged down one of the passing taxi busses (Matatus) that comprise the majority of public transport here. After convincing the driver that we were willing to pay a worthy price for his services, he ejected his other passengers (I have no idea where they might have been going or how they eventually got there) and we climbed aboard. It seems though, that his bus was not equipped with a particular piece of required equipment so we took the "bonus" route to the village around any possible police check pointsÂa one hour trip took several hours. In addition, it was discovered that there were varying opinions on where exactly the village was located to begin with, so there was friendly banter at every turn debating the merits of each possibility. Much to my surprise, we actually arrived at the site for the ceremony. The family's compound was large with several huge tents set up festooned with bows and ribbons. There were couches decorated for the elders in each family, and several hundred chairs for the relatives and friends of the bride, and a goodly number for the grooms' family as well.
Blessedly we were fed as soon as we arrived (since it was now around 1:00pm), in one corner of the compound several women were slaving over large vats of Matoke (steamed plaintains), rice, beef stew and the delicacy I soon had the chance to enjoy- cow intestine. Yum.
I was taken to a small partitioned area made of cement and instructed to enter with a plastic jug of water and bathe. Bathe? With what? And what for, I had already showered that morning. The ride wcoalitionty, but I couldn't figure what exactly I was supposed to be doing. Everyone else seemed to be bathing though, so I spent what I hoped was an appropriate amount of time in the "shower" washed my face and hoped it would be enough.
I was then taken by the arm into a darkened garage full of women in all stages of dress. The traditional women's attire for the Baganda people is a "bisuti." It consists of a robe-like dress with puffy/pointy shoulders and several yards of material that gather at one side to create a ruffle- the outfit is held together by a belt about six inches wide generally made from stiff, shiny fabric that ties across your middle and hangs attractively down the front. Once in the garage it was requested that I remove my clothes. AH! Not sure what would happen if I refused, I grudgingly stripped. Several women gathered around me and began wrapping layers of cloth around my middle, tying it several times with lengths of string. The purpose of this Âundergarment as far as I can tell was to increase the size of my bum thereby increasing my attractiveness. Following the layers of cloth came the bisuti- it took them a while to figure out how to tie the belt around my middle. I was then given shoes that were several sizes too big because my tevas were apparently not "smart" enough for the occasion--so i spent the rest of the day tottering around on these shoes, trying not to drag the too-long bisuti in the mud and dirt--generally feeling about five years old!
I was marched out to the tent, much to the amusement of all three hundred guests- who apparently appreciated that a "mazungu" (white person) would go to the effort of putting on a bisuti. The master of ceremonies thanked me several times during his pre-ceremony banter with the crowd, and then continued to make reference to me throughout the ceremony. The only way I knew he was talking about me was that suddenly everyone in the crowd would turn and smile/laugh at me. It is a good thing I'm not self-conscious at all (ha, ha).
At some point Jennifer and I went and joined the female relatives of the bride to be in the house. As Jennifer is a somehow- cousin of Gloria, and as am somehow related to Jennifer due to my current living arrangement, we were to participate in the ceremony. After the platoon of cars arrived carrying Ronald (the groom-to be) and his entourage, Gloria's aunts lined up and danced out of the house towards the relatives to greet and "choose" Ronald from the sea of males. Greeting here involves (for women) a bow, and several rounds of "how are you? "we are fine" "thank you for the work you are doing" "fine, thank you." We got to parade out with the rest of the girl cousins and sisters, bow and greet (in Luganda!) the male relatives of Ronald.
At that point my part of the ceremony was over, and I was able to enjoy the festivities. I watched the parade (and it was a parade!) of gifts that constituted the bride price-in addition to a cow and a goat, several-hundred pound bags of sugar, flour and rice, new clothes for everyone in the family, baskets (no-bushels!) of fruits and vegetables, vats of special Ugandan brew and crates upon crates of soda. By the end of the procession, the pile was so high I could no longer see Gloria behind the pile of gifts. The cow, meanwhile, stool placidly by (unaware that he played such an important role in the life of this new couple!)
The bride price was (of course) accepted, the certificate of transfer signed by GloriaÂs father, and the meal commenced. I found myself in a crush of people vying for a front spot in the queue. Not really believing that I could be where I found myself (as darkness closed in, smashed face-to back in a line of people waiting for food in the middle of a village- in Uganda!). Food was piled on my plate (being dark, I couldnÂt figure out exactly what I was eating but dutifully- I complied and ate.
We all (after awhile) piled back into our bus for the long ride home. It turns out that our bus did not have functioning windshield wipers, and as it had been raining for the first time since I arrived in Uganda, it made the drive all the more exciting (which I got to enjoy fully from my front-row seat). Dorothy made the trip all the more fun by leading the group in a rousing series of praise choruses for the entirety of the hour and a half home. My favourite song was "This is the day" which they adjusted (or added to) by singing, "this is the taxi/that the Lord has made" "this is the driver/that the Lord has made!" and "this is the country/that the Lord has made."
Truly!
I have had the opportunity, my first Saturday here to attend a ceremony called Quanjuba, or "introduction." In the course of a couple getting married, this ceremony is the first time that the bride-to be's family meets the family of the groom-to-be. The bride price is offered and either accepted or rejected. (Although it seems that in many cases, it truly is Âceremonial with the understanding that the couple are going to be married; in essence, the price has already been set).
On the chosen Saturday we got up extra early because transport to the village where the introduction was to be held was a bit of a journey, and Jennifer and I were to meet up with other relatives in the Kampala area to share transport to the site. We arrived at the appointed time but ended up waiting several hours while relatives accumulatedÂbut no bus arrived. At some point a "take-charge" sort of woman called Dorothy walked out the road and flagged down one of the passing taxi busses (Matatus) that comprise the majority of public transport here. After convincing the driver that we were willing to pay a worthy price for his services, he ejected his other passengers (I have no idea where they might have been going or how they eventually got there) and we climbed aboard. It seems though, that his bus was not equipped with a particular piece of required equipment so we took the "bonus" route to the village around any possible police check pointsÂa one hour trip took several hours. In addition, it was discovered that there were varying opinions on where exactly the village was located to begin with, so there was friendly banter at every turn debating the merits of each possibility. Much to my surprise, we actually arrived at the site for the ceremony. The family's compound was large with several huge tents set up festooned with bows and ribbons. There were couches decorated for the elders in each family, and several hundred chairs for the relatives and friends of the bride, and a goodly number for the grooms' family as well.
Blessedly we were fed as soon as we arrived (since it was now around 1:00pm), in one corner of the compound several women were slaving over large vats of Matoke (steamed plaintains), rice, beef stew and the delicacy I soon had the chance to enjoy- cow intestine. Yum.
I was taken to a small partitioned area made of cement and instructed to enter with a plastic jug of water and bathe. Bathe? With what? And what for, I had already showered that morning. The ride wcoalitionty, but I couldn't figure what exactly I was supposed to be doing. Everyone else seemed to be bathing though, so I spent what I hoped was an appropriate amount of time in the "shower" washed my face and hoped it would be enough.
I was then taken by the arm into a darkened garage full of women in all stages of dress. The traditional women's attire for the Baganda people is a "bisuti." It consists of a robe-like dress with puffy/pointy shoulders and several yards of material that gather at one side to create a ruffle- the outfit is held together by a belt about six inches wide generally made from stiff, shiny fabric that ties across your middle and hangs attractively down the front. Once in the garage it was requested that I remove my clothes. AH! Not sure what would happen if I refused, I grudgingly stripped. Several women gathered around me and began wrapping layers of cloth around my middle, tying it several times with lengths of string. The purpose of this Âundergarment as far as I can tell was to increase the size of my bum thereby increasing my attractiveness. Following the layers of cloth came the bisuti- it took them a while to figure out how to tie the belt around my middle. I was then given shoes that were several sizes too big because my tevas were apparently not "smart" enough for the occasion--so i spent the rest of the day tottering around on these shoes, trying not to drag the too-long bisuti in the mud and dirt--generally feeling about five years old!
I was marched out to the tent, much to the amusement of all three hundred guests- who apparently appreciated that a "mazungu" (white person) would go to the effort of putting on a bisuti. The master of ceremonies thanked me several times during his pre-ceremony banter with the crowd, and then continued to make reference to me throughout the ceremony. The only way I knew he was talking about me was that suddenly everyone in the crowd would turn and smile/laugh at me. It is a good thing I'm not self-conscious at all (ha, ha).
At some point Jennifer and I went and joined the female relatives of the bride to be in the house. As Jennifer is a somehow- cousin of Gloria, and as am somehow related to Jennifer due to my current living arrangement, we were to participate in the ceremony. After the platoon of cars arrived carrying Ronald (the groom-to be) and his entourage, Gloria's aunts lined up and danced out of the house towards the relatives to greet and "choose" Ronald from the sea of males. Greeting here involves (for women) a bow, and several rounds of "how are you? "we are fine" "thank you for the work you are doing" "fine, thank you." We got to parade out with the rest of the girl cousins and sisters, bow and greet (in Luganda!) the male relatives of Ronald.
At that point my part of the ceremony was over, and I was able to enjoy the festivities. I watched the parade (and it was a parade!) of gifts that constituted the bride price-in addition to a cow and a goat, several-hundred pound bags of sugar, flour and rice, new clothes for everyone in the family, baskets (no-bushels!) of fruits and vegetables, vats of special Ugandan brew and crates upon crates of soda. By the end of the procession, the pile was so high I could no longer see Gloria behind the pile of gifts. The cow, meanwhile, stool placidly by (unaware that he played such an important role in the life of this new couple!)
The bride price was (of course) accepted, the certificate of transfer signed by GloriaÂs father, and the meal commenced. I found myself in a crush of people vying for a front spot in the queue. Not really believing that I could be where I found myself (as darkness closed in, smashed face-to back in a line of people waiting for food in the middle of a village- in Uganda!). Food was piled on my plate (being dark, I couldnÂt figure out exactly what I was eating but dutifully- I complied and ate.
We all (after awhile) piled back into our bus for the long ride home. It turns out that our bus did not have functioning windshield wipers, and as it had been raining for the first time since I arrived in Uganda, it made the drive all the more exciting (which I got to enjoy fully from my front-row seat). Dorothy made the trip all the more fun by leading the group in a rousing series of praise choruses for the entirety of the hour and a half home. My favourite song was "This is the day" which they adjusted (or added to) by singing, "this is the taxi/that the Lord has made" "this is the driver/that the Lord has made!" and "this is the country/that the Lord has made."
Truly!
posted by Christi-Lynn at 2:55 PM
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