Iliya's Wedding

Saturday, one of David's best friends from med school got married, so we attended his wedding... sort of.

The fact of the matter is that we were only in the service for about 45 minutes, even though it had begun an hour-and-a-half before we arrived and probably lasted another hour or two after we left. And that's only the church service.

David's brother James called around 9AM to tell us he was at the motor park (kind of like the free-for-all bus depot) and had found us a car and driver to charter. They arrived just after nine, and we piled in with a bottle of drinking water, two cinnamon rolls, some bread, a book, and my miniature electric fan (thanks to Scott Davidson). David had said the trip would take a little less than two hours, as it was in a village off the plateau.

Well, the problem was that we didn't actually know where the village was. We knew its name (Katsit) and that it was near this other town (Kafancan), but that was it. Iliya had told David to call when we reached Kafancan, and he'd send a driver and vehicle to come get us. Ha. By the time we reached the town, Iliya was already in his wedding, and thus didn't answer David's call. So we asked some policemen where Katsit was, and they directed us along the road another 10km. Finally, we saw a sign on the right advertising Iliya and Deborah's wedding. (The sign was attached to a small sapling that had been pulled across the road to make a sad-looking arch; our car barely fit beneath!) After driving a few moments on a bumpy dirt road, we asked again for the village of Katsit. "Keep going," we were told. So we did, for another half hour. The dirt road got bumpier and bumpier, and the driver we'd hired began to laugh about our situation, insisting we owed him more money than we'd settled on. We heartily agreed. We came across a man walking along the road and asked him (in Hausa) where Iliya's wedding was taking place. He directed us to the primary school. A few moments later, we turned into the primary school yard. We arrived around 11:45, purposely late, as the wedding had been supposed to start at 10AM. (Keep in mind Nigerian weddings never start on time.) David told the driver we'd want to leave by 2:30, and the driver agreed to wait rather than travel that dirt road again. We were met by Iliya's brother, who walked us across a grassy field to the tiny Anglican church.

David wanted to stand outside, but I told him I couldn't stand for three hours. So he found us seats on a wooden pew a few rows from the back of the church. I was shocked at how pleasant the temperature was (considering we were off the plateau in April, one of the hottest months of the year). We were just in time to hear the conclusion of the sermon and the beginning of the Eucharist. The women around us (we were sitting on the women's side of the church) were dancing to the music and doing the nasal high-pitched yip that I'd gotten sick of at my own wedding. The drums beat constantly for several minutes, and I found myself caught up in the celebratory mood. The women around me were of all ages and sizes, and their outfits were brilliantly colourful. I suddenly realised I was moving my feet and swaying my shoulders to the drums.

The "passing of the peace" differed from any Anglican church I'd ever attended; we danced aroudn the sanctuary, grasping hands and singing loudly, everyone all smiles. For the Eucharist, the bride and groom left the church, shaking hands as they went, then re-entered with bottles of non-alcoholic wine and pieces of bread. The "President" (as he was called on the programme) announced that all believers were welcome to share in the holy communion, a rare thing here among churches that exclude all but members from taking communion. But most of the congregation still remained seated, singing, singing, singing.

By 12:30, I was hungry and told David so. He went outside to see if he could get the bread from our car. Alas, the driver had disappeared. By the time David returned, a large lady with a small boy had taken his seat on the bench beside me. (What could I do? We were already maxed out in the tiny space.) He told me he'd be outside. I lasted another ten minutes before I got entirely claustrophobic and got up to leave. Besides, there were three ladies who had just walked in and needed seats. David was in the shade of a tree, chatting amiably with two friends from medical school. I began to feel ill, so he talked to another of Iliya's brothers (none of whom were in the church for the ceremony) and said we were leaving soon. We walked back across the grassy field toward the primary school. I felt like I was out in the middle of the bush, like a missionary of old. The land was brown for the most part, and a few rocky hills rose from the fields around us.

When we reached the canopies and chairs set up for the reception in the primary school yard, Iliya's brother brought us a bowl full of meat and a jug of juice. He told us to sit inside the classroom and eat while we waited for the driver and car to return. The meat was sooo good. Half of it was chicken, and the other half was beef, which had been boiled and then fried. Yummy! We didn't dare try the juice, considering we didn't even have cups. David's brother James got us a sealed bottle of water since I was parched and our water was in the missing car. It was sweltering in the little classroom, but we'd been told to sit there, so we did. David didn't fit on the little wooden bench, so he sat on the attached desktop that stretched halfway across the room. The windows had no glass or screens, just wooden shutters that kept blowing open and shut in the wind. On the far wall to where we sat, there was a "blackboard," which consisted of a stretch of black paint covering part of the wall. No, I'm not sending my kids to government school, thank you very much.

At around 1:15, the driver returned with the car. I staggered out to it and collapsed in the backseat, guzzling our water. While David went to fetch James and say goodbye to Iliya's brothers, I shied away from a cluster of Fulani women who were gathered under the tree by which our car was parked. They spoke to me in Hausa, and I was embarrassed not to understand. When David returned, he told them that I was Fulani (since I have light skin) and then spoke his few words of Fulfulde to show off. Silly boy.

By 1:30, we were on the road. back along the same bumpy, rutted dirt road. Several cars passed us going the opposite direction, and we realised they were guests coming to attend Iliya's wedding reception. ("I'm only here for the food" comes to mind.) Once we reached the paved road, we all breathed a little more easily. We stopped for petrol, and I insisted we get a baggie of roasted groundnuts, as I was hungry at that moment for groundnuts. Then I asked for bananas, so we stopped and bought a humongous bunch of bananas (at least 20). Mmm mmm good.

We drove back without incident. As we drew near the plateau, I drank in the beauty of the stormy grey clouds ahead of us, almost black in contrast to the yellow-brown weeds of the savannah. As we climbed higher and higher, the temperature dropped several degrees, and rain began to patter the windows and windscreen. Total bliss. We were home by 4:00, just in time to pack an overnight bag and drive out to Miango for dinner.

So I've still never been to a Nigerian wedding reception. If I decide I'd like to go, I think I'll have to leave David behind. But another of his good friends is getting married in May, and this time it's far enough that we'll have to spend the night, so... who knows? Maybe I'll get to see what a reception is like after all!