It's All Happening

As most of you know, there was a wedding ceremony between myself and my girlfriend Larissa on April 11th. We aren't what you could call married, exactly, certainly not legally. If you saw any of the photo albums on Facebook, you probably noticed the word "Fwedding," our barely creative euphemism for "Fake Wedding." The best way I can think to explain the purpose of having the ceremony would be to say that it was a celebration of our relationship in its Togolese context. Obviously, that's its only context currently, but the future is better left to itself than to speculation.

We showed up to Agou on Thursday, two days before the wedding. Larissa had been just a few days before, on Sunday, to give money to our wedding planner, the neutral Edith, to start buying supplies. Between Sunday and Wednesday, though, there was a bit of a spat between our host mothers and Edith. This was the first thing we dealt with on Thursday. Sitting the mothers down at the Afrikiko bar, we explained that Edith had done nothing wrong, and that where we are from we use a third party wedding planner. The moms felt that the responsibility (dispensing and holding our money) lay with them, and not someone outside the family. We quelled the unrest pretty easily, and from there on, it was all smooth sailing.

After spending the rest of Thursday and Friday shopping for food, the alcohol for the dowry, etc., Saturday arrived, and with it plenty of our volunteer friends to help us celebrate. As the morning turned into afternoon and the hour of the ceremony approached, Larissa retreated to her mother's house with her bridesmaids (and one bridesman) while the other volunteers, including my groomsmen (and one groomswoman) hung out at the bar. I got dressed in a white lace pagne outfit that had been made on the quick by the tailor next door to my mom's house.

When it was time, Maman Afrikiko kicked everybody out of the bar and took up place at the head of the procession with me and my mom and the women carrying the dowry. An old woman had the alcohols in a bucket on her head, and two teenage girls wearing traditional skirts and palm frond ankle bracelets, their skin dusted with chalk, carried the pagne. David, a groomsmen, had some sweet iPod speakers, so we marched to Larissa's house dancing to various Michael Jackson songs. When we arrived at the house of her uncle, where the ceremony would take place, the guests took their seats, and my mom and I, along with a host-uncle, sat down on one of two couches facing each other. The other was reserved for Larissa and her family. At the first sound of the fanfare, the drum and brass band of the village, David stopped the music and we listened as the sounds of Larissa's procession grew louder. She finally entered with her entourage, the fanfare on their heels, aunts and other host-moms tossing confetti into the air.

The ceremony was pretty cool. The chief supervised, speaking in Ewe, and a man in the audience translated for us. The chief spoke about the connection between individuals, and how our connection to each other was the result of our connection to our families, and the connection of America and the beautiful Agou-Nyogbo. The chief then requested that the dowry be presented. He gave it his approval and Larissa was asked to choose one of the drinks from the amongst the liquid portion of the dowry. There were gin, whiskey, a wine called Dubonnet, rum, five liters of palm wine, four liters of sodabe, three types of beer, an orange soda, a fruit cocktail soda, and a Coke. Larissa got up, picked the orange soda ("Because it's your favorite," she told me later) and put it on the table. The chief declared that by picking the orange soda, Larissa was ensuring that our home together would be refreshing and sweet, and that we would always remain even-tempered and calm.

Now, he said, as Larissa sat back down, we have heard that the son of Hadzi [me], has found a beautiful flower in the village of Nyogbo, and he desires to pick that flower to guard with him forever. But, he continued, in a village like Nyogbo, there are so many beautiful flowers. Which one would he like to pick? Because even though he has indicated the beautiful flower sitting across from him, it is necessary that we verify this for the village. The chief then invited all the "beautiful flowers" present to get up and present themselves to me. The fanfare began playing and one by one, two of Larissa's bridesmaids, two volunteers from the audience, and my groomswoman got up, bowed before Larissa, and then danced in a circle around the table between our couches. They lined up near where the chief was sitting. When they had all danced, Larissa got up and made her twirling way around the table and in front of me, shaking her hips to the rhythm of the big drum. When she was lined up in the middle with the other beautiful flowers, the chief invited my mother and I to indicate to the village which flower I would like as my own. When I took Larissa's hand in mine, the audience exploded in applause, confetti was thrown, and the fanfare upped the rhythm. We then went back to my couch, where my host-uncle left his seat and Larissa sat between my host mother and me.

Now the floor was open, the chief said, for people to speak. David, my best man, gave a brief speech, and then Golda, Larissa's maid of honor, got up to speak. David's speech was a standard best man speech, good, touching. Golda's was a little different. As these two begin their lives together, Golda said, we want to make sure that they keep no secrets from each other. If there are any secrets from their lives before they were together, let those secrets come to light, so that they will not spoil their future. Then, one of the male volunteers stood up, walked up to Larissa, and sheepishly threw a pair of underwear into her lap. The audience roared. He sat down and yet another guy stood up, walked up to her, threw underwear. Hearty laughter turned into a rumble of approval. A third volunteer walked up, did the exact same thing. Larissa was laughing to the point of tears, the chief was chuckling in his seat, the whistles and the applause from the audience were deafening. Again, a fourth male volunteer stood up, walked in front of Larissa. This time, though, he sheepishly threw a pair of underwear into my lap. Explosive, uncontrollable, nobody-can-breathe laughter.

This is wonderful, said the chief, stifling further giggles. Now, he said, because you [talking to me] have taken the daughter of the Koffi family, they must be assured that she will be happy always with you. Larissa's host-father then rose, draped in his traditional kente cloth, and said, "You have taken our daughter, and we are happy that she has accepted you. In our home she received all that she required, and in your home this must also be so. We must know that she will never go hungry; that she will never be cold for lack of clothes; that these clothes will never be allowed to turn to tatters and rags; that you will not in any way harm this flower you have picked; that you will never neglect her for another woman. If you guarantee these things, we accept with full gratitude, the union of our families." Naturally, I said yes.

He then reached into a bag he had kept under the couch, and pulled something out and walked over to us. He presented us with a wooden chain, the ends of the chain being small wooden statues, one of a man, one of a woman. "Take this chain," he said, "as the symbol of your bond." We each took the statue of our respective genders, and he said, "Now, ensure that, no matter what force may arrive, this chain, and this bond, will never break." We pulled against the chain. It held tight, and the fanfare erupted again.

After that, the rest of the dowry was opened, starting with the gin, and then quickly moving into the palm wine and the sodabe. Shots were poured for nearly all present, and the fanfare played, and everyone was invited to dance. When the gin was gone (that took like three minutes) Larissa and I led the procession from the ceremony all the way through the village and down to the house where, when we first arrived in this country, we used to do our training. The fanfare followed, with the volunteers and the village, dancing, singing, laughing.

At the house, Larissa and I were arranged on a couch, and chairs were set up facing us. Someone read a small bible passage and prayed, and then my host-uncle made a brief speech. Following that the cake was presented to us. We cut it together, and, as is custom, shoved it into each other's face. Food and beer were then passed out, and the cake was cut for everyone. When everyone had eaten and drank, our bridal party declared that, according to American custom, Larissa and Tony had to arm wrestle to see who would have the power in the relationship. Once again, laughter from the audience, cheers when I let Larissa win. More beer was passed out, and the families and the volunteers retreated to the back yard to take photos. The ceremony was over.

The villagers had, for the most part, retreated to their homes, or to their small stands along the road. The volunteers headed up to the Afrikiko, and began the party that would last most of the night. Larissa and I went to our respective homes to change before heading to the party. Maman Afrikiko had set up a grill, and her son/employee was grilling beef kabobs, chicken, goat. Throughout the night volunteers would come up to me, put their arms around me, and say, "This was one of the best things I've ever been a part of." I told them for me it was the best thing. And we left it at that, our faces hurting from the smiles that refused to leave our faces.