Umbondo

Sorry I am writing about this a few weeks late. It is because I wanted to have pictures so I had to wait until I had a the chance to go to an internet cafe.
So a few weeks ago Thabani asked me if I wanted to go with him on the 6th of February for his sister's "pre-wedding thing." That was about all the detail I had about the occasion, but I said yes nonetheless. I had no idea what I was really getting myself into, but I was ready and waiting at 7am on Saturday morning. I jumped into the front of his truck where I saw in the middle, squished between the slim Thabani and is very large wife, the stick shift between my legs. A hot and sweaty day, we drove for what seemed like hours past small towns and into rural villages with a truckload of food we had picked up before.

Thabani parked the truck load of food on the top of the hill and all the women got out of the kombis. One by one they picked up bags of beans, rice, samp, pap, butternut, and even full crates of glass-bottled soda to put on their heads. I had the cry corn kernels of samp and flour placed on my head and I joined the line of women as we walked down the dirt road to the house of the groom. Apparently you can't just drive the food down, the women have to carry the gifts over there. This ceremony comes after the father of the groom gives labola to the brides family; this time, the brides family is giving gifts to the grooms. The women I followed not only perfectly balanced these things on their heads while wearing heels, the managed to sing and dance while they were at it. Every time we got to the grooms house the gogos there would great us with ululations and take the food from us with smiles. The men sat back and watched. This ceremony, as I am told, is a "woman thing."

The bride-to-be entered the family's rondeval on her knees, holding the hand of her young son who clenched to the traditional beadwork around her waist. The women all sat on the floor against the wall as the few men that were there sat in the chairs, drinking Zulu beer out of the traditional pot. And like every Zulu occassion, there was song. There was dance. And there was food.

I spent most of the time sweating to death as I sat on the floor of that swealtering hot rondeval. I didn't really know what was going on because everyone was speaking Zulu, but I asked questions and enjoyed learning about it. At one point they brought in a sheep. "Oh dear," I thought as I watched the poor guy shake uncontrollably in fright, "he definitely knows these are these last minutes." I secretly hoped that this was a leftover part of the labola and maybe they were just presenting the terrified animal to the family. Nope. This guy was for dinner. They took him to the back, out of site from all the women [although they told me to come along for the "cultural experience"] and the sheep was so scared that they ended up having to carry him because he wouldn't move. He knew. And a few minutes later he was no more.

Now I will admit, watching this process really changed my opinion on the "barbaric slaughtering of animals in African culture." First of all, they didn't kill the sheep just for the sake of it-- he was dinner. Just... fresh dinner, as opposed to the kind you may get from the freezer in the grocery store that was, oh, 45 minutes away? Secondly, they tried to get it over as fast and painless as possible. There was no ceremonial torture-- they laid the sheep on its side, one guy held its front legs, one held its back, one held its head, and the other cut through its throat as fast as humanly possible. Pain was minimal considering the resources available. It didn't stop me from thinking that the desperating baaaing from the corn fields a few hours later was that of a sheep looking for its friend, and realizing he wasn't coming back. Call me dramatic, but I really believe that.

Anyway, after the sheep was killed, sheered, and cooked, it came back in the rondeval and the cut the meat off the bones and served it to us with steamed Zulu bread and salt. And I ate it. Didn't like it much, though. Only had a small piece.

The father of the groom later came with some part of the intestine, the "bile" or something, and pinned it to the bride's clothes with some money. Eww. Haha.

I was really happy to be able to be a part of something like this. I love learning about other cultures, and as you saw from the Valentine's Day post, the courting process into marriage is pretty elaborate. But when you go through so much trouble to get married, this process sometimes taking years, divorce is nearly unheard of and marriage is much more valued. I like that.

Here are the pictures I took from that day in slideshow form... I will warn you that some of the pictures are graphic and I advise sensitive viewers to close their eyes. :)