Wedding Bells are Ringing

Potatoes: 100 kg
Rice: 250 kg
Sheep: 5
Chickens: 50, minimum
Bulls: 1
Tomatoes: 500, approx.
Cube Maggi: don't ask
Drinks: open bar
Kitchens: 5
Cooks: a small army

Slaughter, chop, roast, and serve.

This is the recipe for a large, successful Burkinabe wedding. The Zidas invited 200 or so guests to the wedding but everyone knew that another two-hundred people - at least - would show up although they weren't invited or even informed. And they were factored into the food preparations. Wedding crashing doesn't seem to be perceived as a problem here.

The food detailed above is only what the Zida family provided. Mama Zida's family in Manga contributed 5 pigs to the wedding feast and Yako's Naaba made a contribution of several sheep.

I was put in charge of filming the wedding preparations with Papa Zida's video camera. I guess they figured it was a Western device and I'm a Western girl, so there should be no problem. But the problem was precisely that I was a Western girl trying to film a Burkinabe wedding. How was I supposed to know that Auntie's arrival with a large basket of cook-ware for the bride was a hugely important ceremony? And when the nuns showed up to congratulate the proud parents, I just didn't realize that I was supposed to drop everything and run to film them. Most of the time I was alerted to my filming duties when someone started yelling, "Mais, ou est Erica/ la nasara!!" But all's well that ends well, and the most important thing is that I managed to film the entire 4 hour wedding ceremony even though the video camera battery only has a 90 minute life span.

The wedding was a typical Catholic wedding (read: long, with a strong emphasis on the joys of monogamy) but there were some twists. There was lots of drumming and joyful ululating, for one, and the priest went out of his way to make the service really funny. There were two choirs, one to sing in Moore and the other in French, and at the end of the service the entire wedding party conga-lined down the aisle dancing and singing while the crowd ululated some more. I think conga lines should be a part of all wedding ceremonies!

It should go without saying that it was hot. I'm not sure what the temperature was, but 44 or 45 feels like a safe bet. I spent the whole day on my feet running around and filming things, but despite my exhaustion I was far from the tiredest person there. That prize went without a doubt to Adama and Armelle, neither of whom had slept for 48 hours. They looked like they'd been bitten by zombies. I had at least managed to grab 5 hours of sleep every night that week by avoiding late-night planning meetings and making myself scarce after 11 pm.

The celebrations continued long into the night of the wedding. After the church service all 200 official guests went to Wend Panga for lunch and gift-giving, and after that we joined the 200 unofficial guests who were waiting at the Zida household. There were large tents set up in the courtyard and outside the property to accommodate everyone, and we ate until we nearly burst. The DJ kept the beats pounding and as the sun went down the Moore choir showed up with their djembes. That's when the party really began.

Around 9 pm most people went home and we wrapped up the festivities because we had to get Armelle ready to go to her husband's house. (After the reception the groom went to his house while the bride went to hers and waited to be called). Mama Zida and the Aunties made sure that Armelle had everything she would need - the pots, the millet flour (for making to), the bowls made from gourds, the cooking utensils, etc. And then all 100 of us sat down for a well-earned break.

Adama's brother came over around 11 to tell us that they were ready for their new family member. There was another flurry of activity while we got Armelle and her culinary materiel into a pickup truck and packed about 40 of her closest relations into a bus (hire for the occasion) to see her off. Armelle couldn't help because she had to be totally veiled so that no one but her family and her husband whould see her that night. Auntie guided her into the pickup and off they all went, leaving Papa Zida looking a little teary.

I took a nap for an hour and then went to an Uncle's house with the rest of the under-30 crowd. Uncle had kindly offered his courtyard up as a makeshift disco and we danced until 4 in the morning.

I guess marriage was on the mind, because I got an unusual amount of propositions that night. Most of them were pretty standard (like, "You're pretty. I've always wanted to marry a foreigner." Forget about getting to know me or anything like that). But there was one proposal that stands out as worthy of mention. I got proposed to by somebody's mother. She was one of the Aunties who spent a little more time drinking dolo and a little less time helping, and she came up to me endearingly tipsy. She put her arm around my waist and whispered confidentially, "I've been watching you and seem like a nice girl. I want you for my son. He's been to university, you know, and he has a good job with the state telephone company. You talked to him earlier, do you remember? No? That's OK. Come, we'll go ask Papa Zida to give you away."

Papa Zida had been fielding requests for my hand all day - mostly joking ones from his friends - so he just informed Auntie that there was a queue and he would see what he could do to get her name bumped up the list.

The next morning I overslept and missed my bus back to Ouaga. Luckily my plane didn't take off until 8 pm, so I was able to hitch a ride into town with an Uncle and Auntie and their small kids. This meant there was ample time for a now sober Auntie to reiterate her request and remind me to take her son's contact info. I also learned what we do with sheep's heads in Burkina. All parts of the animal must be eaten, nothing is wasted. I left the room when Armelle started chowing down on an eye and Adama dug into a brain.

I made it to the airport in plenty of time and said goodbye to Burkina in the relatively cool twilight when I love it most. I was feeling a little sad as I went through security, but then my stomach made that ominous, all too familiar sound and I had to make a break for the bathroom while the guard was searching my carry-on. There are some things I won't miss.

Goodbye Burkina, I'll miss you.