My Vanity Fair

So this weekend was full of interesting cultural experiences. I was invited by a colleague at work to spend the weekend with his family in a nearby township, attending a wedding and church with them, and I was surprised how much many of these "traditional" activities have become so similar to American or westernized traditions.

Before launching into all that, I'll give a bit of background on the activities surrounding weddings, as they still retain a good deal of the more historical cultural elements. Initially, when a man wants to marry a woman, he has to pay what is called lobola, a kind of bride price, to her family. This is done in the form of eleven cows. This is quite expensive--each cow is approx. 6000 Rand, or $850, for a grand total of ~$10K. Eight of the cows represent a monetary payment to the family, one cow is meant for the mother-of-the-bride in thanks for having given birth to her, and two cows are for the bride: symbols of her virginity and the future children she will bear in the marriage. But here's the thing: if a girl already has a child (the only time her virginity can conclusively be said to no longer be present), the man only has to pay nine cows. I suppose this can be seen as either a good thing or a bad thing depending on your point of view. Like everything else, recent historical events have had a direct impact on the practice. With the introduction of apartheid, the population became more and more poverty-stricken, making marriages less common as men were unable to pay the lobola. With this, more and more women had babies prior to becoming married, so much so that now I don't think it's considered in any way a detriment or shameful. Instead, it's just another thing to be taken into consideration, like if a fiance' has a lot of student loan debt (that's me!). But this may not be accurate, and instead a mistake on my part due to language and cultural barriers. Regardless, there's a lot of people raising children while unmarried.

Heads up: ever since I've been here, there has been talk of little else but someone paying lobola for me, as in, oh, haha, we'll find you a husband, oh, haha, this man will pay lobola for you, etc, etc. However, whosoever should embark upon this task would find it a difficult one to accomplish, as my host mother has now made the stipulation that he should have to pay fifteen cows for me; eleven to her and the family here (I presume for being here so that I could come and find a husband) and four to my real family in the States (I was told four is just a good number). But don't worry, Mom and Dad; for people who live in cities, or, for example, overseas, it's not necessary to take the cows, as nowadays money can change hands instead.

All that being said, to the wedding. The first night, generally a Friday evening, a large party is given and the two families exchange gifts. Many of the presents are what we would recognize as more traditionally wedding related, but others are historically tribal based, such as food and blankets. I haven't actually been to one of these parties yet, but I've been told there is a tradition of wrapping the women of the families up in thick, heavy blankets one by one (remember, this is South Africa, where the temp is in the 80s or above for 10 months out of the year with no air conditioning at these events), while they're all smiling and having their pictures taken. I'm not sure what this symbolizes, but I'll update if I find out. It is at these parties that one of the cows is slaughtered in celebration, and also to assure that there will be enough food at the wedding the next day (generally there is no guest list, everyone is welcome). Apparently, this has become a source of conflict, especially in areas where blacks and whites live relatively close to one another. The whites don't slaughter cows, see it as cruel, and complain that it's messy and brings in flies. Even some of the young black South Africans are developing mixed feelings about this particular tradition, so I'm not sure how much further into the 21st century it will last. As for my part, I couldn't stand to watch an animal be slaughtered and then say, "Oh, yes, this is delicious, good thing we murdered it in front of our little ones," but I also don't want all the traditions of the world to slowly be replaced with McDonald's and Coca-Cola and Wal-Mart.

The next day, Saturdays, are usually reserved for a Westernized ceremony, complete with white dress and veil, bridesmaids in matching dresses, cutting the cake and tossing the bouquet (which I almost caught). Even the decorations were similar, with white chair covers tied with sashes and draped guazy material everywhere (although the colors were African themed--white with black, brown, yellow, and leopard-print touches; very pretty). However, the ceremony was spiced up with the fact that the wedding party all danced down the aisle and back, there was a much more free-flowing atmosphere to the entrire thing,and the reception seemed an extension of the ceremony itself. There is a great sense of excitement and a feeling that all are responsible in some part for making the ceremony complete, as music and dancing are much more organic at these kinds of events, and people join in and often take the lead as they feel compelled.

Sundays are reserved for the capstone of the weekend, the traditional African wedding. Unfortunately, I have not yet been able to attend one of these, but be assured I'll post when I do. So you may be wondering how I responded living with a new family (the third so far) for a weekend while experiencing all these new and fascinating sights? Well, this little social climber didn't disappoint. Firstly, I was not exactly appropriatly dresed, as everyone here dresses much more fashionably than we Americans do--looking nice is of utmost importance here and shows your respect for others, and they were all dressed in cute little dresses and skirts, and I had my dowdy, long black skirt (which I actually rather like). I then managed to spill a bottle of sparkling red grape juice all over my white sirt and the white tablecloth when I was asked to pop the cork. Later, we went home and I managed to lock myself in their bathroom (oh, sweet, hot, running water), then break the key off in the lock trying to get out. My colleague had to rescue me by taking the handle off the door. The to top off the day, I managed to recreate Becky Sharp's little scene of choking on the hot chilies while trying to impress the host family--"oh, yes, I'm a Southerner, we just love spicy food." Lastly, several times this weekend I walked into the room where I was staying and noticed a strange smell. I didn't know where this was coming from as the room was clean, my clothes were clean, I was clean, etc. Then I had a terrifying thought--am I the stinky foreigner now?

Anyway, that's it for this entry. One last thought--I just explained to the father of the family that no, American wresting isn't real in the sense that he thinks it is. I felt like I was telling a five-year old there was no Santa Claus.

Enjoy the pics, although they don't relate to this post. The first is of myself and friends Claire and Ryan in our first ever khumbi ride--this was one of those death traps on wheels, but we made it fine. As you can see, this was a sweaty day for me. The second is of a vervet monkey, one of the many at the nature reserve where we had classes for the first eight weeks. They were bold enough to steal lunchboxes, and I even got one to eat out of my hand (I know it's bad, but I was having a bad day and needed some animal cuteness). The next is of several gogos (grandmothers) in their traditional Ndebele clothing. These were drumming while several other did a dance for us when we first met our host families (if I'm ever able to post the video I took of them, I will). The last is...wait for it...the pit toilet. Yes, this is it, complete with enormous spiders and lots of flies, though, surprisingly, not that stinky.

Hope you're all doing well. Love hearing from you, and yes, I can get email now if anyone wants shoot me a line.