A Ugandan Wedding

The invitation stated the service was 'scheduled for' 10 a.m., a hint that reality might not conform to this vision. My friend advised me it might not start until 10.30. I walked to the church from town but took a couple of wrong turns, had to ask for directions and tramp around the dusty roads by the airstrip finally to arrive at 10.35. I was wearing smart blue linen trousers, a very sweaty white shirt and fortunately had finished the ensemble with trainers. My tie was in my bag.

Marquees were set up and preparations were in progress. Most of the seats were empty, though a large number of children was waiting patiently. Some young girls came to chat and quiz me about my family, my age and my camera. Two were twins called Grace and Mercy. They looked so perfect, clean, happy, thriving and confident, a huge contrast to some children I have been meeting. I later was told they were sponsored through Compassion. English worship music played over the mighty sound system. Someone fixed the power cord to the keyboard and amps. I hoped it wasn’t going to rain as the cables were lying in the grass where the wedding was to be conducted, and he made the connection by twisting the strands together and separating them with shreds of a polythene bag.

I had stowed a big bubble making kit in my bag and decided this was the time to get it out. A mass of children formed to grab for their turn but were eventually formed into a disorderly queue and happily made and burst bubbles for as long as I was willing to continue.

By 12.00 things were looking a bit more ready, white cars arrived with the bridegroom, hazard lights and horns going. Enormous excitement, running about, waving of arms and that African noise of female celebration, ululation, which was to recur frequently during the day. The groom emerged, stiff and sweating in a dark suit, mopped down by the best man. An elaborate welcome from the MC to the accompaniment of punchy chords on the keyboard. After a while the choir, musicians and the gathering congregation managed to agree a tempo and clapping and singing accompanied the groom, best man and page on a very slow dance/march to the front, with more ululation. One lady danced provocatively close to them whilst doing this. Probably an ex-girlfriend I thought. The MC gave another long address in Ateso with responses from the crowd. The children’s choir sang, clapped and swayed along with the band for another 35 minutes with diminishing congregational participation, while the bridal arch with ribbons and swags of white tulle was assembled and installed, as well as flower stands, tables and more decorations.

Squadrons of dragonflies gather and flit in the space. Occasional light planes land at the airfield. The local water pump next to the marquee is in constant use; people arrive with one or many twenty litre jerricans to fill and cart off. Suddenly the booming off-key bass stops and we enjoy a few minutes of unaccompanied singing and clapping until a shriek of feedback announces the restoration of power and normal service resumes. At 13.00 there is a pause in the music. Four young men stride across in a vaguely menacing way but take their places with the other guests. The marquees are filling up. I am still in the children’s area. The white cars set off again, a hopeful sign. Another long address in Ateso. The only words I understand are “Edeke” (God), Amen and Hallelujah. Eventually the chairman asks me to sit in the proper place. He assures me it’s not at the front but it could not be more prominent and I feel really uncomfortable. I’m the only white person present and don’t want to be singled out for special treatment. Family members are placed near me and the empty row of seats in front of me is removed. I move near the back. The choir starts again. Adults and babies surround me, we smile and sing along as best we can. The MC interviews a lady but she only gets to say one word. A stately lady guest in a colourful dress arrives carrying her wedding gift, a live chicken with its legs tied up. The talk goes on, the breeze drops and it’s getting hotter. I am thinking about lunch. Then at 13.35 the bridal cars return. More shrieking and running and another slow procession to the front through the arch, this time with 9 bridesmaids, one wielding a fan for the bride. As far as I can see, under the veil, she looks the person least happy to be here. Of course all of this requires to be photographed and video-ed. 

Finally, Pastor Job gets up to conduct the wedding ceremony itself in the hot sun. The couple’s attendants try to keep them cool. Much of the ceremony is like one in Britain. The differences are interesting. The groom is invited to lift the veil to check it is the right person he is going to marry. He does this very slowly, to much enjoyment, rounding the process off with a big hug. In the vows, emphasis is placed on the wife’s submission and service to her husband. The bride’s and groom’s relatives come forward to conduct the transfer of the bride to her new family. A baby starts crying and a breast emerges from a white dress in front of me to feed her. Rings are exchanged and a woman jumps up to yell, startling the baby, knocking over her chair and then sitting on the ground. When Pastor Job completes the ceremony, close family and pastors gather to pray blessings on the couple. The groom looks delighted but the bride is still tense. During the signing of the register at 14.30 I notice how sore my bottom is getting. Then the sermon starts. It is actually one of the best wedding sermons I’ve heard and I can learn a few things from it, but with introductions and greetings it takes almost another hour. Then I can get up and walk about a bit.

Fortunately there was only simple photography to be done and short speeches by both heads of household. Finally Pastor Job made me come and be photographed with the pastors and then sit with him at the front. There were many cakes, topped with fireworks, which combined with spray confetti seemed hazardous. The bride knelt to serve her husband cake symbolising her submission. At 16.30 more cakes were distributed by the couple to be taken to their village churches and as gifts for those who had helped with the wedding. Then guests came forward to greet the couple and give their gifts. Everything done ceremoniously. By now the bride was in a glittering red dress and smiling broadly. Finally, food was served. There were two sorts of rice, two sorts of potatoes, two sorts of cabbage and three sorts of goat, and soft drinks only. I’m always impressed by how much food people can pile on their plates on these occasions, more justifiably than some of us at home, and the work the women put in to the catering. By the time I had eaten it was 18.00, time to take my leave if I was to walk back to my digs before dark.

Though it was a long, hot and at times boring day and I did not know many people there, it was worth going to my first African wedding and I think my presence was appreciated. I might not turn up so early next time, though.