I used to fantasize about having five children
Some I would make myself
Some I would end up with, not quite sure how
Boys or girls, most likely a mix
They would be as different from each other as
Songs on a good movie soundtrack
Today I learned some things.
I will need a nanny, or babysitter. No. Both.
Only one infant is allowed.
My lap can hold three toddlers
Children love digital cameras and screaming.
The service was half over when I arrived
Every pew was packed, from the alter to the balcony
I stood in the doorway, feeling as awkward as I probably looked
The old woman waved for me to sit with her.
It made me smile, since there was no room. I shook my head.
Her face straightened. She pulled me to the bench.
We connected at the hip, with her navy dress against my brown skirt
I watched her feet when she knelt down. Did she still shave her legs?
At the end, I shook her hand before I turned towards the door.
She kept my hand while we walked out of the church
And she held it as she led me across the churchyard.
We held hands while she spoke to another woman in Swahili
She finally let go once we got to the wooden booth by the gate.
Still silent, she pushed me into the plastic chair, gave me tea and fried dough.
After I had few bites, she was satisfied. She turned to a customer.
A boy sat next me. He stared at my book .
Do you speak English? – Yes. Can you Read? – No.
I read him a paragraph. His name was Phil
The tea and dough were finished. I stood, gave her twenty shilling
She spoke to the boy. Will you come next week? Phil explained
I told her, Yes, I would come see her. She laughed and laughed.
Maureen and Moses picked me up at the gas station. We drove half a kilometer, pulled over, and bought a soda. A truck arrived with four cows. As best man, Moses had to make sure the cows arrived safely to the bride’s father.
You must bring cows. No cows, no wedding.
We were introduced to the groom (Calvince) and Pastor Elijah. Moses took the truck, and the rest of us got back in the car. We drove for half an hour until we reached the home of the bride’s family in Nyahera, next to Kiboswa.
In general, A Luo family has a compound with one main house and several huts that surround a large yard. It looks like a miniature summer camp. The family lives together in the main house. When a son gets to be about 16 years old, he moves into his 2-room cottage, sort of like his own detached bedroom. I think this is genius. There were plenty of times in high school when I wished my brother lived in a hut in the back yard. (The girls are stuck in the main home to help with housekeeping until they get a husband – though this trend seems to be changing as Kenya becomes more modernized). The Luo property also has is a family graveyard with about 5 plots, a garden, several stalks of corn, some outhouses, banana trees, mango trees, and a very long clothesline. Lots of people, lots of laundry.
In an American wedding, there are dozens if not hundreds of guests. In a Luo wedding, the groom and his cows are formally presented to the bride’s family. In terms of guests, there’s only the groom’s entourage. Calvince’s entourage was Moses, his Pastor Elijah, my friend Maureen, and yours truly: “the camera lady from overseas”.
We were brought to the eldest son’s home. The daughters brought bowls of peanuts and bottles of soda. I met the bride, Bernadette. She was adorable, my age, busy accommodating her relatives. The groomsmen, Maureen, and I talked about Jesus, and why American women don’t move in with their husband’s family after marriage. An occasional aunt or uncle came in to shake our hands. I was introduced as Rose Adiambo from New York. Traditionally, a Luo’s second name is the time of day they were born. Adiambo – dusk (7:17 pm to be precise).
After two hours of peanuts and handshakes we went for a walk. It felt more like hiking in a state park, which happened to be inhabited by families in Luo complexes.
Meanwhile, back at the home, the cows were presented to the family. Luckily, the father accepted them.
The main meal was ready when we finished our walk. On the menu:
Stewed tilapia in greens
Cooked mixed vegetables
Fried chicken (killed that morning)
Stewed chicken (ditto)
Beef stew
Cooked beef
Rice
Seasoned potatoes
Chapaties
Ugali (like grits, but thicker)
Pineapples
Mangos
Bananas
I ate tilapia and potatoes until my stomach hurt.
Twenty four relatives came for the ceremony. Being the only one with a camera, I was asked to be the photographer. I felt a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment. On the one hand, it seemed intrusive asking people to pose for pictures. On the other hand, I was honored to be allowed to come to such an important event, when I was a total stranger. Eventually I decided I would take portraits, and give them in an album as a wedding present at the church service next month.
My mother is obsessed with genealogy. Having been raised on the legends of my maternal great-great grandmother and her descendants, I get a little overwhelmed at multi-generational family functions. I also think this is why I loved mitochondria so much when I took cell biology. But anyway…
Finally, after six hours of eating and walking and sitting and more eating, the ceremony began. It went like this: The relatives sang to the groom’s party, and shook all of our hands. We went around the room and introduced ourselves. More singing. Speeches. Praying. More speeches. More singing. More handshakes. Family photos.
Here are a few clips. Hope you enjoy them.
AJWS Volunteers In Orientation
My closest relative (?)
Taxi Park
Birds as big as me
At the fish market
The men asked the young women,
“Why do condoms break?”
I sat in Flora’s hut for the second time
We brought a scale to weigh her son
30 years old
40 kilograms
50 breaths per minute
100 heartbeats in the amount of same time.
Flora is a community health worker.
That means she takes care of her son, and her neighbors too
As long as their huts are in walking distance of each other.
When her son has been measured, as best we can do, she takes me to the others clients. By now, one month in, I feel ready for this.
The huts smell like fish. In the midday heat it’s stronger than usual
A stream follows a shallow trench of motorbike tracks through the village
There are plastic bags embedded in the ground,
Held down by rocks and my own footsteps
I am told – you stay close. This place is bad.
A man my age with ugly teeth says something ugly to me
Flora hits him and he goes away.
My mind wanders.
Yesterday I talked to the woman who sells me tomatoes
I like her because she has a baby girl
When her son was killed in the post election violence
She gave birth to the daughter
So, now, the baby is named Kevin, after him
She told me where they lived
I asked if she knows a community health worker like the ones I work with
She said she didn’t, but would like to meet one eventually
Back at Flora’s home, when we’d finished the afternoon
I put the scale into my backpack
Capped my pen, and closed my notebook,
Flora’s son rested on the couch, his knees formed sharp peaks upward
It turned out Flora knows the woman
Who sells me tomatoes. She knows Kevin too. Both of them
The one who is gone, and the one who arrived 6 months ago.
Their hut is in walking distance.
I promised to bring a wheel chair to take her son to a doctor
She promised to bring a bag of baby porridge to Kevin
Back to Kisumu
Hello! Apparently in Kampala – in spite of its larger population and bigger buildings – the Internet access is more difficult. I extended my stay in Uganda through the weekend. The pizza is good, the friends I made through AJWS are better, and Ugandan taste in music impeccable. We fed Chimps. We watched a dance performance called “Heartless Desire”. We checked email … twice.
Photos Soon To Follow. Check back later.
One Story I heard
He was fleeing at that time
And the police arrested him by the river
From there he was taken to a prison
Where he stayed for a long time
With others; there were so many of them
One day they had a riot – broke the doors
The guards heard the noise and came
He was standing in the back
When the bullets rained on them
His friends washed over him
Like an ocean wave
But he was not hit by the storm
When the thunder was over
He knew he was still alive
A voice him two or three times
To run
So he listened
An AJWS Haiku:
The Club has a pool
Free internet, and a lounge
Skipped lunch to use them
The sunset is scheduled for 6:53 pm here in Uganda
One hour and thirty-four minutes of daylight left.
We were taught history:
More than once,
A dictator with good intentions
–to make his country holy, to save his people–
Gained Power.
I thought this over,
“I would cover my arms and my hair
To have an airport, a railroad, a hospital.
I could try to be happy as a wife
To a state that gave me these luxuries,
On the condition that I had to accept them.”
Then I thought:
“If my friend fled, I would too.”
For a few minutes, I the imagined ways
That would convince my friend to
Flee, so I could too
If such a situation ever arose.
