a wedding!

This weekend, I rode on a motorcycle for the first time ever. Isaiah had invited me to a Maasai wedding in Oloshoibor, which I was very much looking forward to. I left Nairobi quite early in the morning, but when I reached Ngong Hills, I was stymied. There were no matatus, and no taxi pick-up trucks with their uncomfortable wooden benches. There weren’t even any cars which I could convince to drop me down at the school. However, there was a row of motorcycles, or piki-pikis as they’re called. The bikes are always there – usually their operators are very friendly, and have helped me to arrange transportation in the past. This time, when I asked, the men just shook their heads. “No matatus today, sister. Jioni pekayake [only in the evening]. Si, you let me help you?” It did take some convincing to get me on the bike – the road to Oloshoibor is extremely dusty and bumpy, and it involves descending a hill. But I had no other option. I got on the bike, made the driver, James, promise to go slowly and promise that I wouldn’t fall off, and we were off.

For the first ten minutes, I was terrified and had a death grip on James’ waist. But once I got used to the sensation of moving along in such an exposed manner, I started to enjoy it. I don’t think I’ll become a bike addict, but I can definitely see the attraction. On a motorcycle, you feel much more integrated with your surroundings than in a car. I hardly got dusty at all – just the backs of my legs – and it was such a pleasure to feel the wind moving around me. Plus the view was spectacular. James kept his word: he drove slowly and avoided the major bumps, and I never even felt close to falling off. It’s a good thing I went with him first, because on the way back I went by motorcycle again (no cars to speak of!), and that driver was not traveling at such a leisurely pace. Though I did end up closing my eyes a couple of times, I enjoyed that ride as well. I must say that I had much less of a sensation of impending doom on the motorcycles than on some matatus (though really, that’s not saying much).

I met Isaiah at the primary school where he teaches, and we walked to the boma (homestead) where the wedding was to be held. The area is quite sparsely populated, and most neighbouring bomas will be between twenty and forty minutes’ walk from each other. We walked for about an hour and a half, and the place was buzzing with activity when we arrived. As it is currently a school holiday, there were quite a number of youth around, greeting each other and catching up before they must head back to their respective schools. A group of old men were sitting off to the side under a circle of trees. Women, both young and old, were the ones doing all the work (as usual!). They were fetching water, cutting up meat, cooking a ridiculous amount of food and serving chai to the guests.

Isaiah and I entertained ourselves by playing with a couple of children, who like the majority of kids in rural areas, were initially too shy even to greet me, but were eventually overwhelmed by their curiosity about this strange-looking person in their midst, and were won over by tickling clapping games and a bit of dancing. I don’t know if you’re familiar with an American tv show called ‘Dance 360’. I wasn’t before I came to Kenya, but it’s very popular here. It’s a hip-hop dance competition show, and during the dance-off segments, the crowd chants “Head to head! Head to head!” while the competitors break dance in the centre. The kids were apparently fans, because at times they would chant something approximating ‘head to head’ (sounded something like ‘Tachi-ed’), and would imitate break dancing moves by stomping rhythmically, doing hand-stands and sticking their legs out at odd angles. It was pretty bizarre to see – keep in mind that this was all taking place in an iron shack in a dusty homestead where most of the huts are made out of mud, and people in traditional dress are looking on in vague amusement. The younger of the two kids, who was maybe three and could already count to ten in English, also had a habit of repeating “Raila Odinga” at odd times, which was a bit disconcerting.

I also had the chance to meet some of Isaiah’s friends while we waited for the bride and groom to arrive. One of them was a guy called Amos, who is also attending teachers’ college. He was very funny in a philosophical and perhaps unintentional way. When we were talking about the seven wonders of the world, he said, “Yes, but what about this – the table has legs but cannot move, yet the snake has no legs and can move. Is that no also a wonder?” Indeed, wonders are all around us!

The wedding itself was quite a brief affair. Two trucks arrived, one bearing the bride and the other the groom. A procession of women came dancing from the house, while another procession danced around the trucks. Delegations from each family lined up, facing one another, while a preacher said a few words. Then the bride got out of the car, which was quite a production – a group of women gathered near the door were singing, but were also fighting among themselves in what appeared to be a ceremonial fashion. Isaiah told me that they were arguing over who would let the bride out, and that her family was also asking to be given something in return for her. Dowries, often in the form of livestock, are normally paid to the bride’s family by the groom, so this must just have been an extra negotiation (or maybe a mock negotiation?). When the bride finally made her way out, the women lay lesos in front of her, and she walked slowly over the clothes towards one of the houses. I didn’t really have the nerve to ask whether she had been circumcised (it would have been rude, since I was a guest and all, and it’s a very political and contentious issue), but the bride was walking extremely slowly and wasn’t looking too happy, so I suspect that might have been the case. On the other hand, she was much too old for circumcision – probably in her late twenties, whereas female genital cutting/mutilation is generally performed on girls who are between 12 and 16 years old, so it could just be that she was moving slowly because it’s tradition. After all, when young, just-circumcised girls are married, I’m sure they move very slowly, so it that would become part of the ceremony. The bride was dressed in lesos and a ton of beaded jewelry, and had two bridesmaids with her. They wore modestly cut dresses in a shiny red material, and carried raggedy-looking plastic flowers. The groom and his best man were both wearing olive green suits, and had strands of beads which crossed over both shoulders and joined in the back with a big white button. So it was a bit of a mix of traditional Maasai and Western traditions.

After the bride reached the hut, we all had lunch. It was goat with rice and potatoes, chapatti, and mashed potatoes. I’ve never had the latter in the rural areas before, so it must just be for special occasions. Plus soda (Fanta), of course. As much as I sniff at the outrageous amount of carbs that Kenyans consume, it really is the most satisfying thing after you’ve been walking through the dust and heat for hours. At that point, your body needs all the energy it can get.

After lunch, we went to sit under the circle of trees where the elders had gathered. The older folk and the wedding party were sitting in a semi-circle on plastic chairs in the shade, and the rest of us were left to sit on the ground or lean up against trees behind them. For about an hour, different elders stood and spoke, giving advice to the newlyweds. After the speeches, a man stood with a large bag in the centre of the circle and asked people to come and make donations for the new couple, which they did. Then the gifts – a wood and glass cabinet, a sheep, and several jerry cans for fetching water – were presented. The priest said a word of blessing, and that was it. Seeing as they’re older and educated, this couple will also likely go to the city and have a legally recognized marriage. However, it is still very common to just have a customary marriage in most areas of Kenya.

We walked back to Isaiah’s place, which took another couple of hours, and had a relaxing evening. The kids in the homestead are getting used to me visiting, or at least the older ones are. Some of them have started to call me “auntie”, which just melts my heard into a puddle of sentimental goo. The younger ones don’t seem to recognize me from one visit to the next, and have to be cajoled into friendship all over again. In the morning, we took a short hike up a small mountain and sat atop the rocks, looking down at the gorgeous land spread out before us. We watched boys herding cows and goats, and saw a few antelopes grazing. Listened to the birds, the cowbells, the rustling of the trees. It was so peaceful. The quiet was only broken at one point by a race car driver, who was ripping down the dirt road at top speed, leaving clouds of red dust spiraling lazily into the sky behind him.

The walk back to the main road was brutal – it was a cloudless day, and at that point, the sun was blasting down on us. Standing in the doorway of the house, I could feel the heat radiating off the ground outside, and from the air itself. The heat made the air in the distance quiver, making the world seem insubstantial, illusory.

I made my way back to Nairobi via motorcycle, bus and matatu, and threw myself into the shower the moment I arrived home. The power was out again, so it was a cold shower, but for once I wasn’t complaining.