Aunty P, who I work with, has finally received all her Lobola payments from her boyfriend and the festivities can begin in earnest. The Lobola is the payment that a man pays to a woman’s family when he wants to marry her, the going rate now is about 12 cows. So today a small gathering of us from here drove down into the valley to help her celebrate. In classic ‘African’ fashion, the timings went completely out of the window…
It took us about 2 hours to get to P’s house, from whence the procession started. There they loaded up the cars with gifts of food for her boyfriend’s family. Problem number one (after our delay, it should have only taken us an hour to get there) was that the person bringing her skirt had car problems and so P had to be whisked off to collect it.
After the traditional standing around for what seems like an inordinately long time, we set off up the bumpy track to make our way to P’s boyfriend’s house in Swayimane. We were blessed by the fact it’s not rained for a while, or that track would have been impassable in my Toyota, a combi and a little hire car, each one heavily laden with people and food.
Trouble was, in all the commotion, we kind of got cut off from P and ended up waiting for ages by what I like to call ‘the last house in Swayimane’ (as it’s the last one when you are driving out before you hit miles of sugar cane plantation.). Eventually she showed up, looking amazing in her traditional get-up.
And so we finally made the last procession down to her boyfriend’s house, arriving shortly after 2pm, when the original estimated time of arrival had been around 11am. In the meantime, one of our platters had to be sacrificed for the greater good of feeding a good number of people waiting around. There were still a couple of platters left so no-one minded!
The next job was to deliver the food and drinks to the family. This involved all of us processing in, singing in Zulu, with the offerings on our heads. I was handed a 5litre plastic bottle of cooking oil, possibly slightly easier than the 10kg bags of rice, or the crates of 12 bottles of coke/beer. In any case, it must have been quite a surprise for his family to welcome several ‘white’ girls attempting to sing the Zulu melodies. It certainly beats Saturday afternoon in front of the TV in the UK!
Only after all this had been accepted could we re-process in as a group escorting P to what will be her new family one day soon. They accepted her in and, after some Zulu dancing, some official and some less official from a group of guys who’d obviously been at the beer since 11am (when we were supposed to arrive!), we were escorted to the marquee which was just about big enough for all of her family and friends.
The Europeans were given the table of honour (something I’m not sure we’re that comfortable with, but you can’t really argue with the hosts) along with P and a few other friends. Our girls, who we’d brought from here, and everyone else just got chairs/benches. The traditional curry and rice combo was soon in coming, this time dessert wasn’t just custard and fruit, but also masses of cake…
The difference this time (from the other wedding/graduation etc ceremonies I’ve attended) is that the boyfriend’s family were all outside and only came in to present the sheep that they then proceeded to slaughter (thankfully, outside. And I politely declined the invitation to go and watch, especially as aforementioned sheep was presented at the same time as the curry!)
Perhaps I did miss something though as various parts of the sheep were brought in to be smeared onto P, and then whatever part of the animal that contains the bile was attached onto P’s dress. No one could explain what the significance of that was, but I hope it wasn’t horrible.
The meal was followed by lots of singing and dancing, quite spectacular. But all too soon it was time to head home, before darkness fell and the extremely drunk guys remembered they were carrying guns. I suppose there are certain risks taking attractive Zulu teenage girls and 20something yr old volunteers into a valley party, but it’s not as dangerous as some might think. Everyone was very smart and I think everyone knew where they stood. The men were interested, but wise enough to maintain a distance. However, some guy did hand me his cellphone and asked me to put my number in, but as he’d not bothered to really chat to me there wasn’t much hope for him. I’m also at a minor disadvantage that most people think I’m about 24, which I should take as a compliment that I look so young. I think they’d run a mile if they knew my real age!!
Despite my best efforts to get everyone back into the vehicles, we had to wait for the sheep to finish roasting which had to be consumed on the way back, in the dark. I’m so glad that I know those valley roads well, even in the dark. We only came across 3 lots of cows blocking the roads
It's on days like these that I really know I'm in Africa!
PS : apologies if this is slightly less coherent than normal, my cold has broken through into the most hideous sore throat, which I'm hoping to sleep off in a little bit...
PPS: my cellphone is fixed, I've found an even quicker connection speed ;-) and I'm back in the world of MSN messenger, Skype etc etc. So give me a nudge if you see me online!
