Traditional Wedding Drama continued
When I had my Kuhinjira (a function where the girl’s family gives custody of their daughter to the parents of the groom-this was my interpretation) many moons ago, I only remember arriving at the venue. What had transpired prior to the day had happened with me totally removed from events. I feel that my only contribution to that day was to show up with my friends, dress and shoes ready, sit in a traditional hut that my mother had custom built for the day, complete with a ka small back door leading to the out door shower. HOW COOL IS MY MOM?
I showed up at our family home in Mbarara and was promptly whisked away to the little hut where I was meant to under go some pre-Kuhinira treatments that included being covered from head to toe in a thin film of ghee to make my skin nice and soft- I was ok with this, as well as indulge in sipping endless cups full of milk to help me round out my shape- I was NOT ok with this. I managed to escape these month long rituals by showing up with Just a day to the traditional function.
I say escape not out of disrespect to my parents’ culture but out of self preservation. For those that follow me, you will know that I have had some weight ifs since I was a little girl and had managed to work towards and maintain a healthy weight only after I joined University where I walked, swam and changed my eating habits to healthier ones. It had been over 4 years of this health consciousness and it was not about to be undone by this tradition. So I arrived, sat in one place, going out for the occasional bathroom break and waited to be summoned to the tent to attend the function.
On D-day, When I walked out of the hut, it was to two tents facing each other with guests from both sides of the family and many many village folk scattered under trees in the vast compound. Two mats were laid out in the middle of both tents ready for my retinue of friends and I to sit coyly and wait for the speeches and ceremonies to end so I could head back to my hut custody transferred and wait for my church wedding 48 hours later. It was the MOST hustle free event I have ever attended. A cow from my parents stock was slaughtered, matooke from the plantation secured, tents and chairs organised, no tables, no decor, even the camera guy was an afterthought. The neighbours from as far as three hills away attended the function. AS IN. How far we have come from those quiet days when a party was just that. Food, speeches, catching up, and dancing. Despite the lack of pomp and glamor, here I am 17 years later still happily married with 4 children that fill my heart with joy and a husband I wouldn’t trade for all the tea in China.
Fast forward 17 years to my younger sister’s function. The preparations started 4 months prior. With meetings held by the core family to determine what needed to be done and what the costs were. I remember wanting to throw a fit at my wedding when they insisted it be taken 300kms out of the city centre but I now wished that similar conditions had prevailed. However, due to my Parents health we thought it not wise to subject them to that road trip. So we had to contend with Capital City standards and tow the invisible boundaries that are set by society. Oh how I hate to conform but conform I had to. As usual I was put in charge of the finances and had a field day delivering an extremely minimalist budget to my people.
By the third meeting I was trying not to pull my hair out as people reorganised my neat well rounded figures, Increasing guest numbers and adding things I felt were truly frivolous like cake and Red label Whiskey. Fortunately My dad, the bride and I see eye to eye on many things and because my dad’s vote counts for double the household’s votes I knew I was in good company. I am sad to report however that social norms as they stand nowdays defeated even this veto power and what had started off as a function that would take the prize for most fairly costed kuhinjira we had seen since the unlock down, quickly dove tailed into total financial pandemonium-by my standards anyway. There were a few victories as we were able to draw the line at not having Photo booths and cake.
My Pan African Sister kept asking what the relevance of each item on the budget of this new type of function was. Why do we cut cake at this function? Why does the bride need to come out endless times dressed differently as though she was a show horse? Slowly but surely we brought order back to the house. Here are the things we were most proud of.
Hosting the function at our parents’ home in Luzira upon the bride’s insistence saying she has a home and should be picked up from there. Because of that, we could only fit so many people on the guest list cutting out busloads of revelers from the village that we would have needed to put up in closely situated inns to enable easy movement to and from the function.
Because of the limited numbers we could hold, this had a spill over effect to the cost of food by the caterers, the décor cost per table, tent sizes and whole slew of related costs. We opted to get some goats from the farm to roast in lieu of the cake and had a very meaty after party as a result. All in all that event was delivered at a very pocket friendly budget and I for one was delighted at the minimal waste I saw on the budget. Yes, we did have a photographer, and yes we did decorate. We even had some spare cash to pay for Kwela band who were the highlight of the function if you ask me.
We used the bridal tent as a photo-booth. We had very natural decor at the tables including real life pumpkins and cow horns (we hate waste and feel like flowers are the epitome of this). My sister came out once, sat down surrounded by her friends and family. We listened to speeches and she went back to her room to wait for her wedding 48 hours later. Sanity was restored like the 17 years had never happened.
So I ask you other Banakampala. What is this wedding Madness I see around me???