I waited in the car outside while bride-to-be and her attendants did what females do in an African wedding prep-hut. Excited giggles found their way past thin walls to the outside.
Turning my attention again to the outdoor place where the feisty papa of the bride had parked himself for the verbal contest, I noticed what appeared to be an attitude shift. The gray-haired man, in his effort to extract more dowry treasures from the groom’s family, raised his hand slowly. The patriarch tilted his head downward and nodded – signaling, I thought (and hoped) a civil concession. Glancing to the east I winced. Those gathering clouds look headed our way.
An outbreak of measured laughter sounded from the gathering of elders near the old man. Then, excited jostling and laughter as the open lorry took in more eager passengers. All was good. My passenger doors swung open. The bride and three of her maids squished themselves with their bright billowing dresses into the vehicle.
Due to the drawn-out dowry bargaining, the ceremony got a late start. It was indeed rainy season and the early afternoon downpour began pounding the church’s tin roof. The volume rose, all but muting the voices of the bride and groom pledging their mutual devotion.
Africa weddings, I smiled, Nothing quite like them. Drenched celebrants – including those trying in vain with colorful umbrellas to stave off the blowing torrent – hooted and sang and celebrated on.
The deluge finally passed. Despite the wet conditions and the dowry drama, the knot had gotten tied for the couple. . . all was well.
Festivities drawn to a close, the Peugeot – her wet and weary navigator at the wheel – sloshed and slid along muddy rivulets to the main road.
Reentering our home six hours after parting for the nuptial event, I gratefully received the mug of hot chai my bride offered me at the door. Moving toward a room where dry garments awaited, I chuckled back to her as I went,
“Even at 38 cows, darlin’, you would have been a great bargain!”
©2018 Jerry Lout