The Wedding (2 of 2)

Day 2

Fortunately, I went home to bed around 12:30 am.  Despite this, the morning came too early.  Around 5:40 a.m., to be precise.  I woke up to sunlight blasting through my windows and my cell phone ringing much too cheerfully for the time of day.  After exchanging greetings, Bee half shouted to me that he was slaughtering cows and wanted me to come watch.  He was half shouting because the cows were apparently objecting to being slaughtered in the background.  He told me he’d pick me up in 30 minutes.  Remembering his interpretation of 30 minutes from the day before, I went back to bed.  Fortunately, I convinced myself to get up and get ready 15 minutes later, because at precisely 6:11 a.m. my phone rang again.  Andile, Bee’s brother in law, was outside the church center gates waiting for me.  I slammed down the last of my cup of coffee and headed off. 

Slaughtering a cow

By the time I arrived at the groom’s house, both cows were significantly closer to being edible than they were 45 minutes before.  Naturally, I was fascinated by the butchering process.  About 10 men were working on each cow; one on each side of the kraal.  First, the men pulled and cut the hide away from the carcass.  It would be used as a semi-clean staging point for many other cuts of meat that would be removed from the cow later.  Next to go were the hooves, genitals, and cuts of meat from the flanks.  When this meat had been removed, Bee used a hatchet to break/cut his way into the rib cage.  Once the slabs of ribs had been placed to the side, the internal organs were removed and set aside.  The heart was cut into small pieces, which were then grilled on a small fire near the entrance to the kraal.  The gallbladder was carefully located and removed so it wouldn’t burst and spoil the rest of the meat.  Major internal organs, like the liver and pancreas, were removed and skewered on the sharpened posts that made up the wall of the kraal.  Later, portions of these would also be cut up and grilled on the fire, along with the small bowel.  The stomachs, which were about the size of a small bean bag chair and still completely full of partially digested grass, were hauled off to the side.  Three or four men began to remove their contents while the rest worked to remove the muscular hind legs.  As each cut of meat was removed, it was placed on pieces of plywood or piles of freshly cut leafy branches.  After all the major cuts of meat had been removed, Bee went to work with the hatchet on the spinal column and neck.  When all was said and done, the only things left were the jawbones and horns.  

Cuts of beef being stored on the edge of the kraal

Needless to say, I was impressed.  By 9 am, I had tried fresh liver, pancreas, heart, and intestines for the first time.  Add in tongue and stomach, and I’d blown my previous beef eating experiences out of the water since arriving in South Africa. 

The butchering process finally finished around 9:30 am.  Everyone recuperated for a half hour or so, and then people began to disperse to clean up and change for the wedding.  The first service, the western wedding, took place at a primary school about a kilometer from the groom’s home.  Bee had some trouble arranging transport to go back to his house to change, so I eventually walked down to the school with a group of other people.  I arrived about 45 minutes late, and the wedding was already in full swing. The double sized classroom where the service was being held had been set up set up for both the reception and service.  The bride and groom sat in two chairs at the front of the room, while the pastor presided on a small platform in front of them.  The rest of the room was crammed with long tables and chairs.  People were everywhere; it was impossible to tell how the room was originally intended to be arranged.  About 60 people were waiting outside, some listening to the service through the windows, some desperately trying to stay out of the sun.  In some ways, those outside were the lucky ones; the temperature reached around 32 C by midday and it was at least 10 C hotter inside. 

The service and all the associated speeches lasted for about three and a half hours.  After the service, lunch was served.  I appreciated the fact that the “Refreshments” line in the program literally had three exclamation marks behind it.  The food was delicious—yellow rice, beef, chicken, beet salad, butternut squash, baked beans, and a green salad.  Plus a banana pudding dish for dessert.  I had given up my inside seat to Bee’s wife, so we got the news that food was being served a little late.  Nevertheless, Bee marched me up to the high table and introduced me to his sister and her husband as they finished eating.  He then insisted that we eat with them.  So, despite my inhibitions, we settled into the recently vacated chairs of a couple flower girls and ate directly across from the bride and groom.  I was happy to take pictures of the couple and siblings, but was still embarrassed by Bee’s generosity and my instant celebrity status.  What can I say?  Bee is nothing if not an incredibly charitable host.   

Left to right: Bee, the bride, and the groom after the western wedding

As the guests began to finish eating, most went on their way.  The number of people who had arrived during the service had grown exponentially; there were probably 350 people in and around the school by the time dinner was served.  I returned to the groom’s house for the second act of the celebration: the traditional Zulu wedding. 

I could spend pages describing the traditional wedding, and I don’t even fully understand many of the traditions I witnessed.  Everything began with the ceremonial entrance of the bride’s family into the groom’s home.  A group of male friends and relatives led the way with Zulu shields and sticks, which we waved and banged threateningly while walking into the kraal.  I say we because someone thrust a shield and stick in my hands and insisted I join the group.  Everyone loved watching the tall white guy attempt to act like a Zulu warrior.  Once in the kraal, we were greeted by the groom’s father and welcomed to his home.

Zulu warriors entering the kraal to begin the traditional wedding

After the welcome, the ceremony featured Zulu dancing in traditional dress.  A group of young girls went first, singing, dancing, and stomping their feet while hundreds of people watched.  They wore the traditional dress of Zulu virgin girls-izigege (short beaded skirts) and ubuhlalo (beaded necklaces, bracelets, and other jewelry).  The bride and her bridesmaids took the stage next, performing dances that were symbolic of the bride choosing her husband, leaving her family, and being welcomed by his.  The bride was resplendent in her traditional attire.  She wore a heavy isidwaba (leather skirt) around her waist, many pieces of ubuhlalo, and had several ivovo (cylindrical reed filters used to make Zulu beer) slung over her shoulders.  She also proudly wore an isicholo, a hat shaped like an upside-down cone that signified her marital status.  Finally, the groom, his brothers, and their friends took their turns.  They carried ihawu and ibhoko (Zulu shields and sticks), and were dressed proudly in their iqhele (fur headbands), ibheshu, and isinene (leather coverings worn around the waist for the posterior and anterior, respectively).   When the dancing was complete, the gifts for the bride and groom were brought out to the kraal.  In Zulu culture, a new bride and groom must start everything fresh—they cannot sleep on an old bed or mattress.  In addition to these gifts, the couple also received a wardrobe, mirror, and other pieces of furniture.  The bride’s family also brought gifts for all the relatives of the groom.  Each female relative received a blanket, reed mat, and pillow, while the male relatives received a pot for drinking sorghum beer and a grass basket.  These gifts literally filled up the kraal. 

Zulu girls in traditional dress

After the gift giving, the celebrations began in earnest.  Leftover food from the wedding earlier in the day was dished out, and everyone sat around the groom’s home for hours talking, eating, and drinking.  As Bee’s guest, I was an honorary Dladla for the day and was constantly being offered food and drinks.  It was a truly incredible experience.

Home Away From Home

Most people who live or have spent time in Umphumulo would agree that it is, in addition to many other things, a very quiet place.  Personally, this bit of information was made crystal clear to me during my first few weekends in the area.  Beginning around 1 pm every Friday, the majority of activity in and around the church center grinds to a stop.  Projects are put on hold, tasks are set aside for the next week, blinds are drawn, doors are locked, and the power in the office is shut off.  Even the hospital is operates on a bare-bones staff for the weekend. 

All this I expected.  I didn’t expect that about a half an hour after finishing work for the week, many of the workers in the area pack up a bag and head home for the weekend.  First, I was surprised that Umphumulo wasn’t home for the people who worked here, particularly after witnessing how so many people associated with the ELCSA in Pietermaritzburg hold Umphumulo in such high regard.  Second, I was surprised that so many people in this community had another home to go to on weekends.  I was even more surprised to learn that many of people who work here live apart from their children and families.  I guess I had expected that members of a culture that valued family so highly would have been more likely to live with their children and loved ones. 

Over the next few weeks, these questions set off a series of inquiries in my head.  Why did families live apart?  How hard is it to leave children in the care of relatives or grandparents?  How does the structure of households in rural KwaZulu-Natal differ from those in the Midwestern United States?  How does the prospect of a steady job affect family life and togetherness?  Wouldn’t it be more efficient (and make for better family dynamics) for everyone to live together, close to where jobs are?  And last but not least, why are people’s homes where they are? 

I won’t pretend to have answers to most of these questions, but a recent conversation I had with my site supervisor shed some light on the subject.  I learned from Rev. Khathi that one of the most significant factors that contribute to the separation between families and breadwinners that I’ve experienced in Umphumulo is a direct legacy of apartheid South Africa.  During apartheid, the white minority government went to great lengths to reduce the morale, strength, unity, and supposed danger of the native African population.  One of the measures they took involved restricting where Africans (and other ethnic groups, for that matter) could live.  Blacks were assigned homelands based on their tribal and clan affiliations.  Supposedly the homelands would strengthen the tribal communities among African societies, but in fact these homelands were often little more than arbitrarily selected, had few natural resources, and were far from sources of employment.  In addition, many African families were forced to relocate from the land that their families had originally lived and farmed because of these laws. 

After the apartheid regime was voted out of power in 1994, these laws were quickly repealed.  However, the intentions of the original lawmakers had already done a tremendous amount of damage.  Many families could not afford to move again despite the shortage of job opportunities near the areas they were forced to relocate to under apartheid.  When coupled with high unemployment, often the most viable option was for one member of the family to live as cheaply as possible near his or her job and send money back to support the rest of the family.  Even 18 years after the end of apartheid, this trend has not been completely broken. 

Terribly, this separation between workers and their families has had other consequences.  Many people credit this separation as one of the reasons HIV has spread so quickly in South Africa.  Workers, who are often male and live alone, bring the virus back to their families.  As a result, the virus can cross distances of hundreds of kilometers and enter communities that had been previously untouched.  This also may be one reason that women continue to outlive men in SA. 

The picture I’m trying to paint is far from the big picture of life and the legacy of apartheid in South Africa.  I’m still learning new details and gaining new insights on a daily basis, and hope to be able to answer and ask many more questions as continue to I walk with my friends in the months to come.  In addition, my mathematically inclined friends will be the first to point out the statistical insignificance of the sample size I draw on as I write… Regardless, I look forward to new questions and more unforeseen conclusions, and appreciate your thoughts and prayers on this journey.

The Wedding (1 of 2)

Amy Johnson and Kaleb Becar were married on Friday, October 21 2011 in St. Louis, MO.  A unique combination of circumstances (a seven hour time change, internet unavailability, the Atlantic Ocean, and a $1500 airfare) prevented me from sharing their day and offering my congratulations in person.  Instead, I was able to do the next best thing: celebrate a wedding a little closer to home.  My friend, Bee Dladla, invited me to attend the wedding of his sister, Salisiwe, on the 21^st and 22^nd of October.  I was excited about the invitation, especially since the wedding was held only 6-7 km up the road from Umphumulo.

Bee called and said he would pick me up after the work day ended around 1pm at the church center.  More specifically, I heard through the grapevine that he would stop by sometime between 30 and 45 minutes after 1.  After a standard hurry up and wait fashion, we finally left Umphumulo a little after 3:30 in Bee’s small white bakkie.  As one of two passengers in the tiny cab, I was given a unique seat—literally straddling the gear shift with one foot on each side.  The short drive was relatively uneventful, but 2^nd and 4^th gears were a more than a little uncomfortable.  After driving on the main road for 10 minutes, we turned onto a small dirt road that led into the countryside.  Bee’s parents’ home was about a kilometer and many unnecessary gear shifts down, at the very end of the road.  As I extricated myself from the cab of the truck, Bee happily informed me that I would now experience “the real South Africa.” 

Bee’s home, like so many others in rural KZN, was built into the side of the hill.  The family lives in four peach colored houses, all built within about 30 yards of each other.  Below the main house was the kraal, where cattle are kept at night.  The home was the epitome of rural; chickens, dogs, goats, and their respective young wandered in and around the different groups of people.  A chicken coop and car park were off to the side of one of the houses, and the space between the main buildings had been designated as the cooking center.  The home was not connected to the power grid; the only electricity was provided by a small solar panel on the roof of the main house and was used to power a couple light bulbs.  As a result, cooking was done in large three legged iron pots over open fires.  The Dladla family had slaughtered a cow that morning, and friends, family, and guests had been eating, drinking, and celebrating all day. 

Cooking over an open fire at the Dladla's home

When I arrived, a group of young men introduced to me as Bee’s neighbors were sitting in the kraal, eating braai (grilled) meat and boiled beef off of a slab of wood.  Near the main house, about 25 older men were sitting in a circle sharing meat and Zulu beer.  I was introduced to everyone, and given a seat on an overturned 5 gallon bucket with the old timers just as the next round of meat and steamed bread was taken off the fire.  None of the old men spoke any English, but they all seemed happy enough to have a white boy less than 1/3 their age join the circle. Since the party had been going all day, I assumed that there would only be a few cuts of meat left.  Nevertheless, I was somewhat surprised to see a cow’s head (minus the horns, vertebra, and lower jawbones) plopped down onto the plywood cutting/serving board.  Dinner was served.  One of the younger men knelt by the board with a knife and proceeded to cut the meat into pieces and pile it on the board.  Everyone dug in without hesitation; the meat was served with small piles of salt on the corners of the board that were used for dipping.  Turns out cow tongue isn’t as bad as I had previously suspected. 

After the meat had been polished off, a clay pot containing home brewed sorghum beer was passed around.  Zulus don’t drink their beer from glasses; everyone drank straight from the pot.  Sorghum beer is a very creamy, pinkish whitish liquid.  It has a relatively low alcohol content, and tastes sweet and tangy.  The beer is a Zulu favorite; Mrs. Dladla brewed around 25 gallons for the occasion. 

I spent most of the evening relaxing and talking with the few friends and relatives who spoke some English around the cooking fire.  After dark, we moved into one of the rondavels and watched some of the young men show off their traditional dance skills.  Zulu dance involves lots of rhythmic singing and clapping, while the dancer moves slowly to the music.  When the dancer feels ready, he or she kicks a foot as high as possible and brings it stomping back to the ground.  Most dancers can easily bring their feet above their heads; it’s quite impressive to watch. 

Showing off traditional dance skills

Around half past nine, Bee and the other male friends and relatives led a caravan from the Dladla’s home to the home of the groom’s parents.  On arriving, the men snuck into the homestead with sticks and traditional Zulu shields.  They ran around some of the buildings, beating their sticks on the shields and yelling.  When the female friends and relatives arrived, everyone from the bride’s family gathered at the entrance to the groom’s home and started singing, chanting, and slowly moving forward.  The object of this charade was to allow the bride to enter one of the buildings of the groom’s house without being recognized.  Many of the women covered their heads with blankets to add to the confusion of the groom’s family.  Fortunately, the bride made it inside without incident, and everyone else followed her lead.  After 10 minutes, what seemed like the entire family of both the bride and the groom was crammed like sardines into a medium-sized rondavel.  After a few hours and several welcome speeches, drinks were brought for all the guests.  The singing, dancing, and celebrating lasted until 4 am.