This was planned to be called “A Wedding Story” but turns out there was no wedding. The intent of last night’s ceremony was lost in translation when I was invited. I was invited by a neighbor’s granddaughter’s ceremony who was getting married. That was the description. Thinking I would be attending a wedding, I went with my host mom and walked, to my surprise, straight into an infamous Zambian ceremony I’d read about and hoped to be invited to. The Overnight.
I walked into a dim room where eight or nine other people were sitting on the floor. Following my host mom’s example, I laid on my right side, cupped my hands and clapped twice, turned onto my left side and clapped again before placing some money onto a chitenge covering a pot into the center of the floor. A lady that I have missed seeing since site visit directed me to sit next to her. She speaks pretty good English, so she told me the money was for the bride to have for herself when she gets married. Almost like a dowry. Or a rainy day fund. Speaking of the bride, where was the lady in white? I deduced that she was the pretty young woman sitting across from me looking uninterested and slightly annoyed to be there. I’ve noticed it seems most pictures of African marriage ceremonies, the women look like they couldn’t care less to be there and don’t want to get married. I’m sure inside they are as jittery and excited as any other bride, but perhaps they’re not supposed to look eager?
Goody Basket
The basket under the chitenge was eventually uncovered and all the items pulled out. There were about thirty handmade clay figurines inside, each different with a different meaning and song illustrating it’s meaning. They looked like something you would see in an ancient African art museum. It was so cool to see that people actually still use things of this nature. My second counterpart, the bride’s grandfather, is fluent in English and often translates for me in meetings when I don’t feel like wasting time stumbling to find the words. He listened to each song and told me what they were singing about. I remember two hats represented a male and female eagle and the moral of the song was not to marry a man who is aggressive or argumentative…? Ok, don’t understand the relevance, but good advice nontheless. There was a figurine of a pregnant woman with a baby strapped to her back to show that there should be no space between babies. Ha!A canoe. They sang a song while a woman dipped the canoe over imaginary waves. I think it was something sexual because she whispered the meaning to the girl. Some objects left no question as to it’s nature. A stick shaped like a penis. Self-explanatory. A female figurine with a cleft in her groin area. A male figure they placed her under. My counterpart tactfully did not translate the songs for these, and I didn’t ask, but I think I got the gist. After the songs they handed each object to the bride who took and held them reluctantly while they did a little speech about each one. My host mom even jumped in and narrated a couple of the figurines. I did not understand if this is something you have to be trained for, but I’m thinking every married woman has these symbols memorized from their weddings. Oral tradition?
Sex Education
After the goody basket was finished, my counterpart did his claps and left the room. More women had joined the group by this point and this is where things took a different turn. Zambian style dancing consists mainly (only) of the hips and pelvis. How fast, how slow, how smooth, how deliberately you can make the thrusts and twists. Upon first seeing these dances, they looked suspiciously sexual to me. I was taken aback when I first saw children dancing to music this way. Even the youngest ones could put an amateur bellydancer like myself to shame. I don’t even try to compete. From the outside looking in, it looks bizarre to see them, but I understand now, that’s just how they dance. It comes from their traditional dances and who am I to impose my line of thinking on someone else’s culture? The rural Zambian society is pretty conservative. They don’t wear shorts above the knees. But the dancing kind of hinted to me that there was a hidden side to the typical rural dwelling Zambian.
Using these dances, the ladies demonstrated some technical aspects of, ahem, marital duties. I’m blushing as I’m typing. I mean they got down. One woman would start the song, take the floor and the rest would join in as she showed the girl a couple of positions that had to do with the song. During some songs the bride was made to get up and do what the instructor was doing. I just didn’t know where to look. Sitting butt level with a woman wiggling her butt, am I supposed to look at it? Haha. I respectfully averted my eyes at first. Then I tried taking cues from the other ladies including the bride when she wasn’t being instructed. They were watching her hips with no shame, ululating in encouragement when the dancer really got into it. Finally I forced myself to get over what I’ll call prudishness I wasn’t even aware I had and watch. But when one of the especially talented women got on floor and did a very explicit move, I involuntarily pretended to scratch an itch on the top of my head and hid my eyes behind my arm. That brought so much laughter from the women and prompted them to make all kinds of comments and questions to me. I pled the fifth. I don’t know anything, never seen anything. Completely unknowledgeable in these matters.
They kept urging me to dance, but I gotta say, I sat out because these women would have showed me up SO bad! To be clear, these were not stripper moves. They weren’t pop locking on a headstand or any stunts like that. It was actually all informative maneuvers for a bride to learn. I resolved I’d practice at home and at the next one I’d debut my moves, but for now, I’d plead shyness. Heck, I was shy! When people think of African women, mostly we believe they are conservative, which a lot of the time they are in dress and behavior. If we thought about it, we might believe that it follows that they are also conservative behind closed doors. We believe that as Americans we are the most sexually liberated, expressive and free. But I can tell you that all the Zambians in the room were nothing but celebratory and comfortable with the demonstrations. The one American in the room had to look away a few times. And its not just me. I guarantee you would feel the same reaction in that situation. But we are the ones who walk around in public half naked!
Except for myself and the bride, no other unmarried women were allowed. Like I said, it seemed all married women know the songs and dances and each spontaneously got up and did a song and dance. And each of them could move like a professional. These are women I know from around the village, preacher’s wives, choir leaders, mothers and grandmothers, just friendly ladies. They don’t dress sexy. Usually in work clothes for farming. You wouldn’t think they would ever do these things. But come to think of it, all of them have several children… I made sure to mention this correlation and they got a kick out of that. Haha.
And the Beat Goes On
My host and I got there about 7:00 p.m. I’ll admit it still didn’t click that I was at an Overnight until about 1:00 a.m. when I decided I was ready to go home. Four ladies had been going on the drums so hard that after a while each of them needed Vaseline for their hands because they had blistered and cracked. And they kept going. Song after song. I really like watching them. Usually on t.v. you see the men beating out the tunes for dances, but the three occasion I’ve seen people playing the drums here, aside from children, they’ve been women and they’re passionate players. I was pleased to see one of the oldest women in the village, so old she is one of the few remaining that has tribal tattoos on her face, jump on instrument and she was beating it for all it worth all night! Go Bamayo! Still, things cease to be as fun at 1 a.m. when you’re used to going to bed at 8:30 or 9:00. Most of the others had been nodding and dozing, only to be shaken awake and made to sing the response to whatever song was being sung. The bride was exhausted; I imagine she’d been up all day. I knew there had been a ceremony in the forest before coming to the house. Could be the real reason she was looking done with it all by the time I saw her.
Let’s Dance the Last Dance
I decided it was time to make my excuses and go on home since it appeared everyone else was content to keep sitting and nodding. I moved from a sitting to a kneeling position. The music stopped. Ba Wendy is going home?? Oh no! No no no no no. Awe! Bwaila (its late). I was led and literally put to bed on a mattress with three children in the next room. That’s when it sank in I was in for the long haul. I’ve gotten pretty used to my house these days, I don’t sleep as well in other places now. I definitely don’t sleep as well when there is singing and drumming going on in the next room and a little kid keeps trying to steal the blanket off my toes. And I fought for them. It was fuh-reezing. Did you know it gets very cold in Zambia? Cold season is not just called that in comparison to the U.S. Surprise.
After I dozed off, a few hours later the drumming stopped and I peeked in the room. Everyone was wrapped in their chitenge laying down asleep. So I take it I was the only one who didn’t get the memo an overnight was a sleepover. Don’t go there. Over-night. I get it now. When light finally began to show, the drumming started up again and I made my way back to the room. Most were awake. Some were still trying to sleep off the effects of the homebrew. Good luck. Eventually someone outside started singing and crawled in the room on all fours with a plate of ubwali on her back with another woman following her with the relishes (chicken, greens, and beans). Breakfast. After a few more songs and drumming, it was broad daylight and time to go home and start the day. The last song was about it being time to go home and take a bath, but you can’t go back to bed because its time to start the day. And, quite surprisingly, I went home, bathed, and started the day.
-Side Note: I have left out some parts of the ceremony. I do not wish to reveal all of what is a very important tradition to the people who practice it and make it common and subsequently trivialized. I hope in what I have shared, none will find offense.
Love, Peace, and Zambia 