Another wedding

On Saturday evening, one of the staff told me that the church was having a wedding on Sunday and they wanted me to come.  The wedding was to be in a small town called Pageri about 45 kilometres away.  Cars would be leaving the church straight after the Cornerstone service.  She said, ‘please go to the earlier (7am) Mass so you will be in time for the car to leave at 11am.’  My heart sank.  I was very tired and looking forward to a decent night’s sleep.  The 7am Mass is in Madi, and the church is a 40 minute walk away.  But if I went to the 9am Mass, it always starts late and I am rarely back in the compound before noon.  Something in me rebelled.  I decided not to set my alarm back, but to go to my usual Mass.  After all, last week’s wedding had been a torment of endless speeches under a hot roof.  Did I really want to repeat the experience two Sundays running?

 

So, on Sunday morning I went to the 9am Mass, which, predictably didn’t start until nearly 10am.  During Mass I calmed down and realised that it would be very impolite and I would be letting people down if I didn’t go to the wedding.  It was likely that an 11am start from the church would actually be much later.  I could take a boda back to speed myself up just in case.  So that is what I did and was back in the compound at 11.50.

The service was over and people were milling around.  The cars had not arrived.  I got changed and waited with everyone.  I hadn’t yet eaten, so I got the chance to grab some dry bread and tea.  Then, finally the cars were ready, most of the children were crammed on top of the stacks of plastic chairs in an open topped truck.  Health and safety are foreign words here.  I was asked to go in a car driven by one of the elders of the Cornerstone church, who I hadn’t met before, but got on well with.  Finally we were off on the beautiful drive through the mountains to Pageri.  

Bride and bridesmaid in procession

To my relief, the wedding service was conducted out of doors with guests sitting under canopies, we were reasonably comfortable.  Most women wore beautiful local printed dresses and were a pleasure to look at.  The bride was resplendent in a most impractical dress which required the help of several bridesmaids to keep clean and avoid the muddy ground.  The speeches contained humour and weren’t nearly so long-winded as I had feared.  There was lots of music and dancing.  The whole ceremony was over within an hour and a half.  I think the ‘compere’ shared my views on brevity, because his introductions were punctuated with calls to be brief and stick to the programme.

Loading the lorry with chairs and children.  Local church to right

Afterwards we got back into the cars and went to the bridegroom’s village for the reception.  The village was off the main road, along a very small and bumpy path.  The village was made up of a few traditional round huts.  We arrived to the sound of whoops of sheer joy from the women who had been making the preparations there.  They came dancing towards us and guided our car to a convenient place to park.  The women repeated this process for each vehicle as the other guests arrived.  They had set up a canopy with labels for different categories, such as ‘invited guests’ (me) and ‘pastors’ and provided plastic chairs for us all.  There was a table for the newly weds and the pastor who had officiated.  

Local chief (rt) gives speech with translator (lft)

Presents were brought to the bride and groom.  The presents were of a totally practical nature, such as jerry cans for fetching water, basins, brooms and money.  There were more speeches, singing and dancing.  Then the food was brought.  This was a selection of different meat dishes and rice and posho.  I was starving and tucked in very seriously.  

As dusk fell, we were told that those going back to Nimule should leave.  I got into the car and we waited.  I asked why we were waiting.  The pastor who was driving said that we should all go as a convoy in case of bandits.  I find it easy to forget that outside Nimule, there is a curfew due to the unsettled state of things across South Sudan.  On the way back, all the cars had their indicator lights flashing and we stuck together closely.  

I could hear the children in the lorry, still highly excited by their outing.  It is highly unusual for them to get the chance to go anywhere outside Nimule, or even (for the younger children) out of the compound, so this was a hugely exciting event for them.

We arrived back, still in convoy.  The children were too excited to sleep and were still noisy when I dropped off.  The next day, there were very few people at the early morning devotions.  I wonder why.