Well friends, wedding week is over. I have successfully participated in a beautiful chain of ceremonies as the best man in Damascus Kafumbe and Betty Nayiga's wedding. If I recounted every last detail for you, you'd never read my blog again, so I'll try to hit the high points of the week in this week's segment: Matrimony in Uganda (a Liberated Man's Perspective). Disclaimer: this is a long blog by my standards and it contains personal opinions; if you are unfamiliar with Ugandan culture, beware of reading it as fact. Enjoy.

So there were basically three main ceremonies that made up the chain of parties: kwanjula (the introduction ceremony), kasiki (the "bachelor party," and mbaga (the wedding). I think a briefing on each process will suffice, but I need to vent some commentary here, people.

Okwanjula is the verb for "to introduce." Although the two families were already acquainted, this was an opportunity for the groom to offer his dowry and the bride's family to either accept or reject it as they decided whether to allow their daughter to enter the Holy Bonds. As promised, I observed this dowry situation closely since we're not really used to that. Although the bride's family had threatened to demand 70 cows, this groom was free to bring whatever he wanted as long as it included several essential items: ennyama (meat), omwenge (banana beer), mutwalo (ten thousand--I'll explain), and a gift of appreciation to the family. Everything else is bonus that the family shares with their extended family. The representatives from the groom's family (not his parents; they musn't interfere) drove to Masaka, about 3 hours south of Kampala, with this dowry. We brought about thirty or forty baskets with assorted items (bread, butter, sugar, tea, groundnuts, etc.), two "cows" (one being equivalent to either a side of beef or a thigh), three large gourds of mwenge (about sixty litres). Along the way, we picked up a live cock, which must be given to the muko or eldest brother of the bride, who gives her away from the family to the groom. We also picked up a live goat, which is a symbol of virginity (more on that later), and we kindly stuffed it in the trunk together with the chicken. Nice. We also got some containers to serve the mwenge in so that people wouldn't be drinking out of fifty-pound gourds. That would be messy. And difficult.

Now the only people who can really speak at these things are the omwogezi, who are family representatives that the families hire to negotiate for them. These dudes argue politely and use very complicated Luganda proverbs and metaphors to do so. They are masters of the language, which is why they are chosen for this, a situation in which so much is at stake. You know how easy it is to offend your in-laws? If someone else takes the heat off for you, it's easier to deal with that one difficult in-law that you swear wants to kill you. (I'm lucky, my in-laws are cool, but I know that's not true for everyone.)

So much for the kwanjula. There's a lot more to it, but in the interest of your continued healthy eyesight, let's move on to the kasiki. You know how American bachelor parties are characterized by drunken debauchery, raunchy humor, and women of questionable virtue? Ugandan bachelor parties are basically the complete opposite. The kasiki is an opportunity for a person's village and family to usher the bagole (bride and groom) into married life, and in this case, say goodbye. I am closely associated with the groom, so I was not allowed to attend the bride's kasiki. This was a party like any other with the obligatory food, drink, and music, but in a word, it was one thing: church. That's right, we couldn't even start until two hours late because the pastors weren't there to preside over the blessed event yet.

Now to wedding day. This was perhaps the least foreign to me and my faithful readers. Just a church wedding (though a fairly conservative one in terms of theology if you care to know) followed by a reception. The reception featured traditional dancers, however, and these people get right in front of the head table and do mbaga dance. This is a sex education dance that has been used in Buganda for years. It's explicit about the how-tos and everything. Whoa. I had been learning how to play ngoma for this dance, among others, but the musicians there blew my mind. They are among the best Baganda musicians in the world. It was pretty rad.

Now to some general commentary. There are a few things about events in Uganda that remain relatively consistent:
Food and Drink: As Steven the security guard in my apartment compound put it, "without those things there is no function."
Music: Duh.
Cake: essential, but rarely avoiding extreme staleness.
Speeches: Long, long, speeches. Hours of them.
Photographers and videographers: So many that you can't get a picture in before one of them steps in front of you to get the shot.
MCs: You'd be surprised what a good one can do for an event and how bad things are with a bad one.

Now food and drink are fun, because at most events you're allowed to eat with your hands even if they give you silverware. What's not fun about that? Music is varied: sometimes dodgy keyboards, other times Christian music that should never be recorded in the way you're hearing it (imagine "Amazing Grace" or "Michael Row Your Boat Ashore" only in a discotheque). The music at this particular set of events was generally very good, however, so that was refreshing. Even better, both kwanjula and kasiki featured traditional musicians of the highest calibur.

Cake. Where do I start. Non-descript pumpkin or carrot or brown spice cake, always with raisins and a hard sugar frosting is the order of the day for any Ugandan event, no matter how formal. Usually stale, though I had some of the best Ugandan cake I've tasted anywhere at this mbaga. These are above average people. They can't settle for crappy cake. Right on, Mwami ne Mukyala Kafumbe.

Speeches: now kwanjula and kasiki are really nothing but series of long speeches with breaks for food, drink, and a bit of music. However, I must again commend this couple on their ability to keep the speaking to only one hour at the wedding. This is an unusually short amount of time for speeches at a mbaga.

Photographers and Videographers: these guys are ridiculous. They filmed us changing into our tuxes. They are everywhere, at all times, and they do not relent with thier warm lights and close lenses. I will say this. The professional photography that I've seen so far has been extremely high quality. At least if I can't take my own pictures, somebody else can take them better.

MC: Let's just put it this way. If the MC is good, it can cut hours out of boring or offensive or just plain inappropriate uses of time. If he's bad, he personofies all of those things. If only we had MCs at weddings in the US to curb the drunken best-man speech before he offends the entire county or the bandleader strangles him with a microphone cord (this is no reflection on my own best man, who touched everyone deeply with a classy and brief toast at our wedding--thanks, Josh).

Now the character of all of this was very conservative, which in principle I think is the couple's prerogative. I will keep my theological issues to myself, but I must add this: the place of women in all of these ceremonies constitutes a telling microcosm of their wider social status. Women must get on their knees to greet men or other women. Baganda women are generally very shy and submissive, and that's just the norm here. They can have careers (though the glass ceiling is not strictly American), they can be outside the home (though the verb that a woman uses when she is going to marry is okufumbirwa, from the verb okufumba: "to cook"), and she can wear trousers (but not when she goes to see her grandparents). Very interesting. It's not that a Muganda woman can't be her own person and have her own life or anything like that, but her disposition is generally that of a quiet, submissive cook. I am strictly not a practitioner or supporter of cultural hegemony, but I am pleased to be married to the boisterous, opinionated, loud, beautiful person that I call my wife, and I like it that it's okay for her to be like that.