A Wedding -- on Tanzanian Time

This blog turned out to be so long that I decided to make two separate posts.  The one below will discuss logistics and timing, and a separate one will detail the ceremony and reception.

One of the teachers at our school got married last weekend, and we attended the wedding in a suburb of Arusha.  At least a dozen teachers planned to go, so one of them arranged to hire a dala-dala to take us from our town directly to the church.

The wedding was scheduled for 11:00 a.m., and the reception was to be at 3:00 p.m.  We were told that we would leave from the school approximately at 9:00 and likely return around 6:00.  That was good, as it is not wise to travel at night here.

Mark and I showed up at the school gate at the designated time, in our punctual American fashion, to find no one there.  We located the transportation organizer in the school kitchen, and he told us he would call us when the dala-dala arrived, probably around 10:00.

We did actually leave at that time, and jiggled and jolted our way to Arusha.  On the way to the church, we stopped at a small shopping district.  Two teachers hopped out and purchased a glass-topped coffee table with two matching stools as a wedding gift from the group at the school.  They loaded it into the dala-dala, and off we drove to the church.

We arrived at noon, only an hour late.  The bride arrived at 12:30, in a car adorned with roses and ribbons.  Her car was preceded by a pickup truck with a brass band in the truck bed, tootling away to herald her arrival.

The guests and wedding party made their way into the sanctuary and the ceremony started.  It was a long service. Afterwards, an announcement was made that the wedding party would go to a hotel in central Arusha for formal photos before returning for the reception.  Off they went, again preceded by the pickup truck of musicians playing as loudly as they could.  The time was 3 p.m.

While we waited, the guests relaxed and chatted in the field surrounding the church. We enjoyed the clear view of Mt. Meru to the northwest.  Some guests organized their gifts -- a queen-sized, carved wooden bed frame was assembled, as were wooden-framed loveseats with upholstered foam cushions.  One group released a refrigerator from its packing crate.  These are gifts that large groups of guests pitched in together to purchase.  No bridal registries exist here, but families have always been able to get the word out about what a young couple needs.            

The wedding party returned at 5:00.  I was starved, since I had not had lunch, but, happily, there was a small shop near the church, where several of us purchased drinks and sweet crackers to hold us over.  Besides being hungry, I had an uncomfortable feeling about the trip home.  The dala-dala driver had been told that we would call for pickup at 6:00. That obviously wasn't going to happen.  However, I decided to relax and enjoy the evening.  We were with a large group of people who were familiar with how things work in this country, and it was not up to me to organize things.

The reception was at least as elaborately choreographed as the wedding ceremony, and dinner was the last item on the agenda.  The groom was aware that we needed to return to our small town, so we were directed to the buffet line after the wedding party and immediate families.

As soon as we were finished eating, our group of teachers headed out the door.  It was now 7:30.  On the way to the road, we learned that the dala-dala driver who brought us had given up on hearing from us and gone home.  Here we were in a dark, semi-rural suburb of a city that is 40 km from home.  It is not considered safe to travel at night here.  No street lights.  Bad roads.  Crazy drivers.  Occasional bandits.  (Yes, bandits!) 

We were fortunate that a dala-dala stopped in front of the church when the driver saw our group standing there.  He took us back into the city and dropped us off at the spot where the buses that go to our town make their pickups.  Of course, there were no vehicles waiting.  The normally bustling street was nearly empty.  The shops were shuttered and padlocked. The academic head of our school strode off in the direction of the main bus station to find transportation, and most of the rest of us settled in to wait.  A few teachers had friends in the city that they arranged to meet and with whom they would spent the night.  I was beginning to think that we would have to find a guest house ourselves, when a dala-dala pulled up.  Hooray!   We loaded up.  The trip home was uneventful, after our long day.  As Mark unlocked the door to our house by the light of the flashlight on my cell phone, I reflected on the wealth of cultural experiences we had had since morning.  And, it was only 9:30 p.m.