Destination Wedding: Nigeria

Any wedding (most often) is a treat to attend; yet it’s double the pleasure and double the fun when it’s a traditional Nigerian wedding.  They last anywhere from two to three hours, and while ceremonial, involve dramatic reenactment, dressing “native”, and don’t happen too often.  It’s been only a month, and I get to attend one!

It’s a Saturday and we (meaning Intellichild staff) are leaving at 7:00 in the morning to attend Ms. Tolu’s wedding.  Her wedding is taking place in the North, in Zaria, about a 3 hour drive from Abuja.  We are all dressed in some form of our finest; something native—which means traditional Nigerian clothing consisting of some dress/skirt/suit you’ve had made for yourself into a special style.  Because I don’t want to stand out anymore than I do, I choose to have something “native” too.  And I love it—clothes tailored to your fit at a reasonable price!  What more could a girl want? 

There were some misgivings the week prior to the wedding.  That was the week following the el-saheed  (check spelling) holiday.  Maybe a few days just before that long weekend, the US embassy sent out warning messages asking everyone to lay low, as there was a possibility that some buildings in Abuja might be targets for the Boku Harem (or Boku Crazies, as I fondly refer to them).  Though everything was peaceful in my area (thankfully), fighting did occur in some parts of the north.  It was through one of these areas that we would have to pass, indirectly, to get to the wedding. 

Anyway, we all packed ourselves into the bus at around 7:30 am and headed out.  One thing I love about my stay in Nigeria is that the energy is always set with prayer in some form.  As we make our way out, a staff member leads us in a song of thanks---thanks in advance for a safe journey and time to be together.   The road trip is scenic.  We pass by Zuma Rock, the tallest rock in West Africa, which they say is haunted.  And I get to know new teachers on a more personal level. 

We arrive about ½ to an hour late  (it’s African time).  This is in part due to the many road blocks and check points.  In Nigeria the military is always checking for bombs.  You’ll find yourself at these checkpoints on entering and leaving a state.  The military men are still intimidating to me, as they always look so stern and hard.  But all Nigerians greet them cordially, and in most cases the soldiers greet them cordially back.  Yet, if you look suspicious  (and I don’t know how you look suspicious), you are asked to pull over.  In most cases, people just have to slow down at the checkpoint a bit.  Sometimes they stop you and knock on the sides of your van/car.  Then you get the okay to go.  I’m not sure how knocking on people’s cars indicates whether a bomb is present or not, but I think it’s pretty funny that that is the solution.  One woman in our party rode up separately to the wedding.  Her bus driver got asked to pull over, and he refused.  Instead, he sped away and a police chase ensued down the expressway.  Once caught, the drivers and passengers were all dragged to jail.  Luckily, after much pleading, law enforcement released the passengers, and she did make it to the wedding before it was over!

Despite our tardiness, we realize that we haven’t missed much of the wedding.  The groom’s relatives (I think) are making their entrance.  (I say “I think” because the wedding is conducted mostly in Hausa, with some Yoruba mixed in.  This is an aspect of what makes it traditional.)  At this point in time, I don’t think things are too different from weddings I have attended.  The wedding is outdoors and has themed colors. The groom’s party is seated on one side, beneath a canopy, and the bride’s party is seated on the other.

There is a big hulabalu when the groom’s party enters.  They are requesting the bride’s family for their daughter’s hand in marriage.  The groom’s family is turned away at least three times before an acceptable offer might be made.  That offer includes a letter, a “why is your son good enough” sort of thing, money, etc.  Once the offer has been accepted by the bride’s family, the groom and groomsmen have to go and prostrate themselves before his prospective in-laws.  Then they have to perform a serious of exercises: jogging and jumping jacks to prove fitness levels, bending over and hoeing to ensure good farming skills, and dancing to make sure he can move well. 

Once the groom is seen as fit to be a husband, his offer is accepted, and the bride enters with her party.  Friends from the audience, in addition to the bridal party, escort her to meet her husband.  It is at this point that I am pressured to go and help escort her in.  I don’t want to because 1) I don’t know the bride very well and 2) I don’t want to stand out.  Too late.  They’ve pulled me up and I stay in the back, following the party.  There’s singing and dancing.  I have no idea what I am doing.  Smiling, feeling uncomfortable, I try to match the moves and chants as best I can.    I finally see my boss and she ushers me to come back to my seat.  Thank God.  I felt as though I have overstepped boundaries.

During the nuptials part of the wedding (which seems a bit more ceremonial, yet is different than what I am accustomed to) we are served a meal, desert, and favors.  After all is said and done, we take photos, blablabla and pack it in to haul out.

It’s a little after 2 when we leave.  It’s hot of course, and about an hour into our drive back, the fan belt starts acting up.  We pull off the side of the rode, across the way is a mechanic, thankfully.  However, the mechanic intends to rip us off with a replacement belt, so the concensus is to have people in our party hop on a motorbike to the next village/town and get the part for the correct price.  Enter waiting in the hot sun.  I am tired, and my stomach is acting up.  We had shut off the air earlier because of the belt.  At least we have cold water and drinks.  Finally, after about forty-five minutes or so, we are back on our way.

We are squished a bit, as we have more passengers than on the way in, but it’s not so bad.  As dusk approaches it cools off a lot, and I am thankful for the breeze.  It feels soooo good!  We are lucky to have uneventful anything until we get near Abuja.  By then it’s dark, and our luck changes.  First, traffic is awful.  It’s worse than SF traffic…and it’s hot!  (I don’t know what happened to the breeze.)  Some of us are dripping, while others of us are merely glistening.  But we could have it worse; there are vans next to us packed with twice as many people, without air too.  To top it off, someone bumps us.  No damage is done, yet it is at this time we realize water is leaking.  We all hop out and get some air.  It feels good! People wash off, make calls, and otherwise just hang out on the side of the road watching traffic not move.  It’s at this time that a passenger in a jam-packed bus a few lanes over shouts, “Oyinbo  (white person), are you lost?  Don’t you know where you are?  Do you know you’re in Nigeria?”  The response: laughter.  It was funny. 

I’m not sure how they fixed the water leak, but we finally, FINALLY get home safe and sound.  It took us 3 hours to get to Zaria and 6 hours to get back.  Although I was exhausted, I had a fun adventure.  I think breaking down on the side of the road was one of the highlights; I’m not sure why.  Maybe it’s because Nigerians are so good at making any situation a humorous, fun one.

PS--I DO have pics, but there's I can't seem to get them off of the camera because we can't find the cable. They will be posted though, hopefully sooner than later.