Traditional Wedding / Engagement

The day before the traditional wedding does not get off to a good start: I depart work an hour and a half later than the time I was supposed to leave.  I travel with one of the employees at Hen Mpoano, who has agreed to act as my guide and escort me to my hotel, and he is delayed, thus delaying both of our departures.  I was originally hoping to get to my hotel by 6, in order to partake of some of the amenities there, and this possibility slowly slips away.  However, as it turns out, I would have been truly unable to get to my hotel by myself, so my guild was an absolute necessity, and one I was very grateful for. 

We get on a bus (the same kind of bus I took to Winneba the weekend before) and wait for it to fill up.  Once we get on the road, the bus driver puts in a show for the riders to watch.  Because we are seated close to the front, I am able to read the subtitles, and thus I watch all four segments of this many-hour drama.  It was, to say the least, a masterful expression of misogyny. 

Below is a description of the show I watched, which you are welcome to skip if you want to get to the wedding.  However, this actually seems like a relevant part of my consumption of Ghanaian culture, thus I include it here:

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The show is called “Adofoasa,” which is the name of the main character.  We are first introduced to two contradictory women: Adofoasa and Queen.  They are both raised by single fathers after the death of their respective mothers.  Queen’s father is rich, a police commissioner, and she is very spoiled.  She also has friends who indulge her selfish tendencies.  She doesn’t cook for her father (gasp!) and only focuses on her education.  Adofoasa’s father is very poor, elderly, and physically unwell.  Adofoasa is portrayed as very humble, generous, and a good cook.   She graduated high school but is unable to pay for the next level of her education, even though she wants to learn more.  She sells cassava to try to supplement her father’s income (doing what? We never find out).  Adofoasa is offered a marriage proposal from a wealthy farmer, but her father turns it down, saying he refuses his beloved only child to be the third wife of a farmer who has never left the village or made anything for himself.  Queen, unable to keep house as well as go to school (the horror), has requested her father to hire a maid.  You see where this is going… after much drama and deliberation, Adofoasa is hired as the made for Queen’s household.  Queen has a volatile relationship with her fiancé, Marcus.  Marcus and Queen’s father discuss how Queen’s attitude is terrible, and how she has friends! Oh no, not friends!!  Adofoasa has no friends whom could corrupt her, and thus she is pure and humble.  Adofoasa, of course, does an amazing job as a maid, and Queen’s father is very happy with her.  Queen hates Adofoasa, and insults Adofoasa’s father when he comes to visit.  Marcus, predictably, falls in love with Adofoasa, saying to her that she is “everything he’s ever wanted in a woman.” 

This is where sh*t gets crazy, folks.  After declaring his love for Adofoasa, Marcus rapes her.  Afterwards, he tell her “you should have told me you were a virgin” as if that would have stopped him raping her?  Queen comes home and suspects something.  So a few days later she sends Adofoasa off with a bag, saying that Adofoasa is to meet Queen’s friend at the bus station.  Then Queen calls the police on Adofoasa, saying that Adofoasa has stolen money from a police case Queen’s father is working on.  The police come and arrest Adofoasa!  The police commissioner does nothing to help her, now suddenly suspecting she’s a thief, even though the last we saw him, he was raving about how humble and amazing she is.  Can’t trust those women, amirite?  So Adofoasa goes to jail, with a sentence of 10 years.  Queen gets away with her crime. 

In jail, Adofoasa gives birth, because (of course) Marcus impregnated her with the rape.  She has to give up the child once it is born.  During this time, things out of jail get even crazier.  Queen’s evil friend starts sleeping with Queen’s father.  Another of the evil friends tells Queen about this, and Queen kills the father-sleeping-with-friend.  The remaining evil friends bury the dead friend.  Marcus goes to the states for a year so he’s just not in this part. 

Time goes on, and Marcus returns from the States and marries Queen.  One day, he overhears Queen and one of the evil friends discussing all of their evil deeds. Queen tells the friend: if you turn me in and I go down, I’m taking you with me!  Marcus films this all and goes to the police with the film evidence.  Proof that Queen framed Adofoasa!  Upon hearing the news that his daughter is evil incarnate, the police commissioner has a heart attack/faints/collapses, and we never hear from him again. 

Back to the village: Adofoasa is there, with her child, living with her father.  Marcus comes to visit and discovers the child is his!  The last scene is the three of them standing together, holding each other, looking down at their rape-child.  Everything is happy when you marry your rich doctor rapist who just turned in his previous wife to the police!  And the education she's been trying to pursue all story long... nah, no mention of that in the end.  Happy ending, y’all! 

The moral of this story: female friends make women evil, education is a good dream but not necessary to being a good wife, and marrying your rapist is a great idea.  I couldn’t believe I spent like four hours watching all of this.  After it was over, I put on my headphones and went to sleep. 

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OK, back to real life: after we get to Accra, my guide and I get off the bus and onto a tro tro.  We ride this for another 30 minutes, and I marvel at how huge Accra is.  It reminded me of Los Angeles in how sprawling it is.  I could see hills dotted with lights from houses, and with a pang it reminded me of how cities look in America at night (it was like 9:30 at this point).  I don’t see anything like that in Takoradi, because the jungle obscures the light from the houses, but the ecosystem of Accra is different, more arid and open.  After we get off the tro, we catch a taxi to my hotel.  I get there at around 10:30.  I find out the restaurant has just closed, and at this point the last time I had eaten was 11 hours earlier.  I was starving, and my stomach pains had stopped a few hours earlier, which is always a bad sign.  So the porter asked if the restaurant would make me some chicken and rice, and they agreed!  I get to my room and in about 10 minutes my food and the beer I requested were delivered.  It was the best tasting dry chicken I’ve ever consumed, and I ate it ravenously.   Earlier upon entry to the hotel, I’d seen a bar/lounge downstairs, where people were smoking hookah.  “After I eat, I’ll go hang out for a while!” I thought to myself at the time.  In reality, once I finished eating I basically passed out.  The bed was as long as I was, with my feet touching the baseboard.  Luckily it was very wide, so I slept diagonally.  I turned on the hot water heater so I could take a hot shower – my first in a month! – in the morning, and went to blissful sleep.

The next morning, I woke up and started getting ready for my 8:30 AM pick up.  I was going to be gathered by either my guide from earlier or the director of Hen Mpoano.  So I got ready for my hot shower – only to discover that the two temperature options were “cold” and “luke warm.”  So I took the most disappointing shower of my entire trip, and got dressed.  The hotel offered free breakfast with a room, so I went to the restaurant.  I was the only person there, and I felt super awkward.  I was asked if I take coffee or Milo (pronounced mee-low, and is a Nestle hot chocolate that is very common here).  I responded “Milo” and then wondered if I was to get food, or just a drink.  I was pleasantly surprised by the breakfast: a vegetable omelet, two huge pieces of toast, and the Milo self-serve station, which included two packets of Milo, hot water, milk, and sugar.  It was delicious, but I was dying of heat by the time I had finished.  How does anyone drink hot drinks in this climate?? I usually make Milo cold when I make it at home.  Also, as an aside, a part of me dies every time I see how prominent Nestle products are in Ghana and how they are marketed as “part of a healthy diet” for children.  Especially when I see signs for Cerelac, I feel simultaneously like crying or hitting something (Cerelac specifically caused the deaths of millions of children in third world countries, because it is mixed with water which was often contaminated.  Nestle had a huge campaign to “teach” women that they should not breastfeed and should instead use their products, which directly caused the death of children who did not have the antibodies to protect them from the contaminated water.  So when I say “Nestle is pure evil,” I really mean it).  Here's an add for it:

I never, ever buy Nestle products at home, however I more or less have to consume them here because they are everywhere.  But a part of me dies every time (even though chocolate milk for breakfast is a great tradition, and one that America should get on ASAP).  OK, enough of my Nestle rant.  I haven’t even gotten to the wedding yet!

I get picked up for the wedding without a hitch (though my start time is delayed by half an hour, which allows me blissful time to enjoy the air conditioning and cool down after my hot-Milo breakfast).  At the wedding site, I hang out with the groom’s family and friends. 

You’ll notice that I have chosen to not include any names of actual people in my blog: this is to attempt a degree of anonymity for the people I write about.  My host has given me permission to write about him, but I still think it’s most respectful to not name him my name.  Thus, my writing sometimes becomes awkward to accommodate this. 

Before the wedding, the women gather around a truck with a variety of gifts that are part of the wedding ceremony.  All the women are given a gift to carry into the wedding – including me!!  I’m given a plate holding two bottles of fine alcohol, and wrapped very prettily.  We walk around to the area next door, which is set up with two large canopies.  The bride’s family is already in place, and are seated facing the central area.  In the front row of the bride’s family is a row of comfy couches upon which the prominent members of her family recline.  There is a table in the middle where the gifts are to be placed, and then another set of plush chairs, directly facing the bride’s side.  Behind this row of plush chairs are the general chairs that we, the groom’s family and guests, sit in.  So we face the Bride’s side the entire time.  I enter as part of the procession, and there are lots of gasps when people see me, and many whispered “Obrumi!” as I walk by.  I get lots of pictures taken of me.  I have to struggle to hold back tears at the honor of being part of the gift-procession.  I place the gift and take my seat.  The wedding begins!

For the next hour and forty five minutes, the gifts are presented to the Bride’s family, as part of the bride price.  Many of the gifts are things that my host has bought for his fiancé, and are showed to demonstrate his financial ability to take care of her.  The traditional gifts are: alcohol, non-alcoholic drinks, money (to the family), cloth (to the family), and, very importantly, a jewelry box for the wife.  I’d estimate there were about 30 gifts altogether.  Many of the gifts to the wife were things that I had seen her bring from the house to bring to Accra at an earlier occasion – so I’m sure she picked them out for herself.  During the gift-giving section, at what seems like random intervals to me but I’ve been told are specific ones, songs are sung.  This entire section is done in a local language – later I learn that it is “Ga,” the language of the Bride’s tribe.  My guide from earlier plays the role of the representative for the husband, because his family is from that tribe and he speaks Ga, which the rest of the groom’s family does not speak, as they are from a different tribe.  Twice during this part of the ceremony he calls me out – once at the very beginning – by saying “There’s an American here!” which prompts me to stand up and wave to everyone, to applause.  It’s very sweet and overwhelming.   The people seem touched that an American is here at this traditional wedding.  I am the only white person present. 

One of the women speakers leading the wedding in Ga

The man standing on the left is the speaker for the groom, my guide from earlier, and the person who announced to all that "there is an American here!"  

An unrelated picture of an adorable baby sleeping

Finally, at almost two hours in, the gifts are cleared away and two chairs are placed at a perpendicular angle to the two sides facing each other.  Some AstroTurf is laid out in front of the chairs. 

First, my host is lead in with a procession of his family members.  He makes his round, shaking all the hands of the important figures in the comfortable seats.  Then he sits in one of the chairs for about twenty minutes, while the program continues.  Next the bride is escorted in, this time with her own escort.  Her dress is beautiful, made of traditional fabric called Kente.  She does the same greeting of important guests, this time handing out handkerchiefs to help keep the guests cool.  She then sits in her chair. 

Groom procession

My host being gestured at by our co-worker

The bridal procession 

After some back and forth between the two speakers, the bride and groom are asked to kneel on the AstroTurf as the guests bless them in the name of Jesus.  We reach our hands out to them and pour good will and blessings in their general direction.  I think “this makes me wish I would have a religious wedding, even though I’m not Christian, as this is very touching.

Gazing lovingly at each other!  Awwwww

The bride and groom resume their seats.  The singing in Ga continues, until at one point a female minister is brought forward from the Bride’s church.  I later learn that she is Nigerian (an accent gives this fact away to the Ghanaians, but I am unable to tell the difference between a Nigerian and Ghanaian English-speaking accent), thus she does not speak any of the tribal languages and speaks in English.  During this section, she decries the evils of gender equality, and goes on at length about how the wife should never consider herself equal to her husband.  My eyes threaten to pop out of my head, but I manage to keep my jaw off the floor.  I wish that she wasn’t speaking English – ignorance is bliss.   I think “I take it back - I’m so glad I’m not going to have a religious wedding!”

The ceremony wraps up and music is played while the table is cleared away.  Buckets are handed out to every person so that they may keep all their belongings in one place and off the floor.  Then gift bags are passed out, which contain a bowl and a dish towel.  Beers and sodas are passed around.  I take a “shandy,” which I have yet to try in Ghana, and which I find out, to my dismay, is only 2%.  This will not do.  I down it and acquire a Club lager.   One of the women makes a comment about how too much beer isn’t good for a lady.  I say “I have been good drinking beer so far, cheers!” and merrily drink away.   The women think this is hilarious. 

  

    Bucket of goodies                         My "thank goodness for beer" face

The couple take pictures, and it’s at this point I discover that I’m a very popular person to take pictures with!  While I’m waiting for the couple to take a picture with me (at their suggestion), I acquire a line of gentlemen who want the photographer to take pictures of them with me – no wedding couple included!  So after my photo shoot, I bail from where the photographer has set up, hoping that this will avert some of the male attention.  Every time they want to take a picture with me, the hug me very close, and sometimes squeeze or pet my arm.  I’m less than thrilled with this.  So I return to my previous chair and make myself busy on my cell phone.  This does not work as various men approach me and take selfies with me.  One leaves and gleefully announces that he will see me next weekend at the wedding in Takoradi.  Oh, joy. 

Food is served, and the wedding couple eat first.  It’s a veritable banquet – there is fufu with light soup with crab, banku with okro (okra) stew, and a table with three kinds of rice (plain, jollof, and waakye), as well as a choice of fish or chicken, and salad.  I should have gone for the fufu, as I have yet to try it, but instead I wanted something I knew I would like, and went for (you guessed it) a heaping mound of jollof and fish.  I find a table with my co-workers sitting at it and eat with them.    There is a cute little cat trying for scraps, and I attempt to feed her some of my fish but the wife of one of my co-workers is feeding her first, and my offering to the kitten is quickly consumed by ants.  Oh well.  Then my co-workers head off, leaving me knowing no one besides the very busy bride and groom.   

After food, I acquire a harem of children who wish to poke at me and stare at me.  It seems that after a few hours of looking from afar, they are now bold enough to come up to me directly and get my attention.  I much prefer them to the men who were previously hounding me.  My favorite “obruni” interaction though is a woman who was sitting on the bride’s side who comes up to me.  She is, I believe, totally sober, and gives me a huge hug and a kiss on my neck, and tells me “Thank you so much for being here! I love you!” at which point I blush and say “Thank you so much for having me; I’m so happy to be here!”  If only all of my interactions were this endearing! 

My new friend!

So at the end I’m sitting by myself, occupied with my phone, beer, and children.  A couple of dudes sit at the table next to me and I think “oh no,” as I can tell that one of them is conventionally attractive and full of “swag,” thus likely is used to positive attention from women.  I try to look as uninteresting as possible, hoping that they will ignore me.  You see where this story is going – they don’t.  About 15 minutes after they post up next to me, swag-bro takes a chair next to me and announces that he wants to sit next to me because I’m alone.  Great.  So I say “sure” and go back to my phone.  We sit in blessed silence for a little while, then he starts up a conversation.  I don’t remember exactly what is said, because about five sentences in he asks for my phone number.  Thank goodness I don’t have my Ghanaian phone number memorized, because my knee jerk reaction is to be amenable and I may have just offered it up!  So I say, “no, sorry” and the following conversation occurs:

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Why don’t you want to?”

“Because I don’t. Sorry”

“Well then give me your number!”

“No”

"Why not?” …. Etc., about 10 times like that in a row. 

Then I try the “I have a very jealous boyfriend and he would not like it if I gave out my number” route but I tell the truth and I say that he’s American, not Ghanaian, which the swag bro takes as a sign that my boyfriend is of no concern to him.  I was hoping that I could rely on the sexist trope of "I’m claimed by a man, leave me alone” to get him off my back, but no luck.  Then he tries a different route:

“I promise I won’t bother you! Just give me your number!”

“I know you will not bother me because I am not giving you my number!”

“Why won’t you give me your number?”  Etc. 

Finally, I look him straight in the eyes and say “I do not like people who do not take no for an answer.  I will not give you my number. I do not want to be your friend. I want you to leave me alone.  Right now.  I do not want to talk to you.  I was better sitting alone. Please let me sit alone!”  And finally (!!) this works and he goes back to sitting with his friend.  His friend looks highly amused at how little success swag bro has achieved at getting my number.  I am livid and so ready to go home.  Men reading this: taking “no” for an answer is key!  No is a complete sentence and no one should have to explain “why” they are saying “no” to anything!  End rant.  

So finally my host grabs me and says that we are all leaving to Takoradi.  Hooray!  We pile into his friend’s car and we get a ride to Accra.  Again I am astounded at how sprawling Accra is – it takes about an hour to drive directly to the bus stop.  Finally we are there and we pile on a waiting bus.  My hosts sit in front of me and I sit directly behind them with a seat open next to me.  You see where this is going – a young man sits next to me and strikes up conversation.  I’m friendly, so I chat back.  Then it comes: “I very much like your stature, you are tall and –" here I cut him off, in no mood for this. 

“Look.  I’ve had to fend of men hitting on me for hours today.  Do not do it.  I do not want to sit next to someone who will bother me.  I just want a peaceful bus ride back to Takoradi where I can sleep.” He looks abashed and asks if I don’t like compliments, to which I reply “not from strangers.” 

And low and behold – he takes no for an answer!  He changes the subject and we talk for some time about his schooling and ambitions.  Turns out he’s a smart kid who wants to study oil management and offshore drilling in America.  Despite the fact that he works for an industry I consider evil, I say that it’s true that with my background in marine management, I could be a potential networking source for him in America.   We stop chatting and fall asleep, and before I get off at my stop on the bus (5 hours after we departed – it’s almost midnight now) I give him my email address so that I could be a potential networking contact.  My faith in men is restored!  I’m fine having male friends in Ghana, I just need them to understand that I’m not interested in a romantic liaison whilst I’m here!  I don’t think that’s so hard to get – and my new friend proved that indeed, that is true.  Whew.

Midnight we are back at the house and I am exhausted.  I wash my feet to make myself feel clean after a long day (something my mom used to do for me when I was a little girl) and I send some texts, then I pass out. 

This upcoming weekend is Wedding Part Two: The Church Wedding!  Wish me luck…