The DRC has managed to make the question of getting married into an elaborate ritual that is so expensive you have to postpone it until you are nearly dead. For example, in the case of the first wedding we attended the bride had five children. The second one had three.
The ritual goes something like this. Wedding 1: traditional; wedding 2: civil; wedding 3: church, wedding 4: party.
This time we’re invited to wedding 3 – except that it was in a garden, not a church and it was called a “benediction”.
Interestingly enough the ritual of the vows, exchange of rings, all that, was a translation of a form of service that would be completely familiar to British ears. So while the form of service, the words and the sermon talked about marriage as if the happy couple were about to have carnal knowledge for the first time that night, and were entering into a completely new commitment, the couple’s three children were playing happily around their mother’s ankles.
Following the fiction that this was the first time that they would share their lives, the priest then went on to give them a lecture about the need for love and responsibility in the long path ahead. But of course, he would be not be doing his duty if he didn’t also admonish the bride to bring up their three children well. No self respecting priest can forgo a little homily about the role of the sexes, so he went on to explain that the husband’s job was to be the master of the household, and look after his wife; while her role was to look after the children, have more of them (what respectable family has only got three?), clean the house and cook for him.
It was all pretty silly in light of the fact that she’s much brighter than he is, not to mention the gender stereotyping, but we held our tongues and smiled sweetly.
We may joke about it, but it was a very nice ceremony. What was challenging about this wedding was the time culture. The invitation said the ceremony would start at 3 p.m. but when we arrived on the dot they were still putting up the marquees. Then there were the chairs to put out, and the food for the reception afterwards etc etc. Eventually it started at 4.30.
Later the same evening was Wedding 4 – the party. It was a completely separate event even though held on the same day as Wedding 3. It was to be held at one of the international hotels, and the invitation said it would start at 8.00. When we asked the bride about what time she thought it would really start she said, with a knowing we Congolese are not very good at time look that it would probably be more like 8.30, so we arrived at 8.45. Nothing doing. Not even the room was ready by then.
By about 9.30 we were allowed into the room. Our hearts sank as we noticed that the centerpiece of the party was a sit down dinner – not at all the casual drinks that we had expected and by ten only about half the seats were occupied. When dinner finally started at 10.30 most seats were occupied, but it was not until midnight that the party really started. Meanwhile, the bride had changed into a different dress so that dancing would be easier, the music warmed up and the married couple started proceedings with a solemn solo, with everyone staring. It ended in a big kiss at which everyone shouted for joy and clapped.
Then they started a dance in which they were the centre-piece while other people did a sort of conga shuffle around them. They were mimicking the sex act and everyone was urging them on to do so with maximum enthusiasm. After that people joined in enthusiastically and before long the little dance floor was packed.
The interesting fact is the degree to which the “white wedding” model has become the norm. It’s as if you have to do it to be accepted socially. The standardization of the world gathers pace – what a pity! But no, I’m wrong. This was definitely different – the world has not standardized on being two and a half hours late.
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