A Muslim marriage is really just one (or two) big party(ies)...

Disclaimer: this post is PG-13 rated, so if there are children in the room, send them to bed :P

I woke up at 9am on Saturday thinking it would take us hours to get ready before leaving for the wedding at 11, but silly me, I forgot we are on Africa time! At 11:45 (with none of us dressed and Maman needing to have her hair and makeup done) she came in to remind us we were leaving at noon. (We actually left around 12:45). She helped us dress in our bubus and that in itself was a cultural experience! The skirts tie very tightly- which is surprising considering how comfortable they look- at the true waist (not the just-above-the-butt waist style that girls these days are wearing...haha). Then the loose shirt goes over that, generally with no undergarments. (I opted for a bra since my outfit was white eyelet fabric!) One thing that I was sort of prepared for but shocks me nonetheless is how open women here are about their breasts. For such a religious people who insist on covering so much of the female body, they sure could care less about boobs! Maman regularly walks around upstairs without a shirt on and Matou (my sister) is not shy about changing in front of us. Furthermore, on the way to the IFAN museum we saw a laundry woman on the sidewalk, topless, nursing her child, who was climbing all over chest, while she washed clothes! At any rate, Maman had us all change in her room, and it was actually freeing to be half naked and know that no one thought twice about it…

Anyway we got to the wedding around 1:00 and proceeded to do absolutely nothing for the next 3 hours. People filtered in and out, greeting each other and talking, shaking hands and snapping pictures. It felt a lot like a family reunion. There was a big tent set up between the houses on either side of the street, completely blocking it and people just camped out underneath- DJ, photographers (whose pictures you have to haggle for and pay for out of pocket!), and guests in hundreds of white plastic chairs! The women all looked absolutely fabulous in their grand bubus and the men looked regal in theirs. I wish I were a better artist so I could sketch them! After a couple of hours the bride made a brief appearance: she arrived in a shiny huge SUV and walked about 20 feet from there to her house. The women set out carpets on the ground like a red carpet for her to walk on and all the older married women in her family surrounded and escorted her while men clamored around snapping photos. Her hair was done up and she was wearing an ornate pink dress. It was clear the day was all about her, one definite similarity to Western culture. She left soon after that and then came the exchange of gifts, part of the terranga of Senegalese culture. The bride’s family had amassed pounds and pounds of food- baked goods, vegetables, meat, drinks, etc.- to give as gifts to the groom’s family. They brought it all out to display and then packed it up in the car to take to the groom’s house.

Right about then we went to eat. Now, I’ve seen a lot of food in my life and I’ve experienced big families, but I never could have even imagined so much food in one place! Enormous bowls of cebbu jen, one after the other, it was absolutely overwhelming!

After lunch we returned to the tent for a few more hours until the bride returned in her white dress. Same process- SUV, carpets, photos- but the excitement was equal not greater (as I would have expected) than the last time she came. Apparently the bride does not play a role in religious unions: all the men go to the mosque and arrange things. So when she got there the second time, she was technically already married without ever having formally or publically acknowledging her husband. Maybe it was just me projecting, but she looked sad, really sad. She cried the first time she came in her pink dress, but I assumed that was normal- brides are always crying- but she never smiled once at the reception, even when her husband joined her family's celebration later (the bride and groom's families celebrate separately). But there was no shortage of music and dancing- the griots were all over! At one point they came over to us to get us to dance and I gave them money, as you’re supposed to, but apparently you’re also supposed to dance if you do, and I didn’t. A faux pas for sure! They stopped playing and one dropped his drum stick with a look of amazement and disappointment. It was very embarrassing.

We finally left around 8pm when people flooded the tent- there must have been 300+ people there- to see the parade of gifts, which I’ve heard can go on for hours. Maman stayed until the end, which I'm sure was well past midnight, but we went home. I don't know if I've ever been so glad to see a bed...