We’ve had some interesting
cultural experiences recently.
First was an invitation one
evening to a college graduation party. The graduate, Arsene, is a friend from our
Bible study group, and also one of Chuck’s former readers with Let’s Start Talking back in 2008.
I did some grumbling because
our friend Moses (from Bible study) wouldn’t give us the directions—he said he
just wasn’t good at it. Instead, Arsene told
us to go to the roundabout in front of the U.S. Embassy, and call from there. We ended up parking at one end of the
roundabout –still on the road!—until a friend of Arsene’s came up on a moto and
got in the car to guide us. It turned
out that Moses was justified in refusing to attempt directions, because the
house was nowhere near the Embassy and we never would’ve found it on our
own. We parked the car and hiked up a
steep hill—alas, not a good time to wear my sandals—zigging and zagging between
houses and through alleys until we arrived at someone’s back yard.
Rows of plastic chairs were set
up in a square; nearly every chair was full—and we were A) the only Americans,
and B) the only ones with no idea what to do. We quietly tried to find places
at the back, but instead were led to the middle of the front row. Other guests
even got up to give us their seats. No
one around us had gotten their dinner yet, so we intended to follow their lead
and wait until they got in line, but instead Arsene led us to the front of the
line for our meal. The home-cooked
African food (beans, carrots, spiced rice, and meat sauce) was very good, but we
would’ve preferred to have been slightly more anonymous.
While we enjoyed our dinner, Arsene,
his mother, his primary-school teacher, and other family members took turns
speaking—all in Kinyarwanda. (A man sitting
nearby took pity on us and whispered a general translation of what they said,
which boiled down to: God has blessed us very much and we are very proud of
Arsene.) Shortly afterwards, several of
Arsene’s friends joined him to sing a worship song. It was a very moving experience, even though
we couldn’t understand much of what was being said (pretty much only “Yesu.”). And all along, photos were being taken of the
guest of honor, with us squarely in the middle of the scenery, and not blending
in a bit.
Before the party, we’d also
asked Moses what the cultural expectations were for gifts. We finally learned that it is okay to give
money (although he wouldn’t give any clues about the amount), so Chuck had a
handful of Rwandan francs in an envelope: no cute gift cards here! Since we were also unsure about the protocol
for giving the gift, we watched everyone else for clues and hoped no one was
watching us too closely. Fortunately,
Chuck spotted another guest walking up to Arsene and handing him an envelope
with a casual handshake. Chuck followed
suit, and either that was correct or else everyone was being very patient with
us. Probably both.
As the party was breaking up,
Arsene and his family began gathering to take pictures, and he insisted that we
join them—so every family photo, with grandparents, cousins, siblings…has us in
the middle: glowing in the bright camera flash with our demon red-eye.
Event #2: A few weeks later,
our house worker Jacky handed us a wedding invitation, and we didn’t recognize any
of the names. Our first hypothesis was
that it was Jacky’s wedding (since “Jacky” isn’t her Rwandan birth name), and
she said “Yes” when Chuck asked if it was for her. However, Jacky speaks only slightly more
English than we speak Kinyarwanda, so we discovered later through a mutual
friend that the wedding was actually for Jacky’s niece, to whom she is very
close.
We decided to attend—this
time better prepared with our envelope of gift money. The wedding was on a Sunday afternoon at one
of the many churches in Kigali. When we
arrived, we showed the invitation to the usher at the door, and he led us in to
sit down. Once again, although there
were plenty of pews at the back, we were seated in a row by ourselves just
behind the wedding party, so we’re in the background of all the photos of the
bridesmaids during the service.
We scoured the crowd looking
for Jacky, but we never did see her, although our mutual friend said she was
there. Our communication with Jacky mostly
has to go through third parties, so we don't know if she knew we showed up,
either. We’re sure, however, that we
didn’t know anyone else there, so nobody we saw had any idea who we were or why
a pair of random Americans were attending a Rwandan wedding!
The service lasted about an
hour and a half—once again, all in Kinyarwanda.
Occasionally, everyone in the audience responded to the preacher by
raising their hands high in the air and waving, so of course, we did, too. Who knows what we volunteered for? There were two impressive performances by an a
cappella men’s choir on either side of a very long sermon; apparently the bride
and groom expected it, since they had chairs on stage and were seated most of
the time with the best man and maid of honor, all wearing what we consider
traditional wedding attire in the U.S.
After the sermon, the bride
and groom signed their marriage license and exchanged rings, holding up the
other’s hand for the audience to see once the ring had been placed on it. Then they lit a unity candle and walked back
down the aisle outside. Many times, we’ve
seen caravans driving through town with large ribbons and flowers on them to
celebrate a wedding, and this was just the same.
We faced a dilemma at this
point. The invitation mentioned a
reception afterwards, but the only real reason for us to go would be to give
our gift. Since we couldn’t find Jacky,
we had no one to walk us through the proper customs, so Chuck made the
executive decision to do what we did at the graduation party: go up to the
groom before he got in the car, shake his hand, congratulate him, and give him
the gift envelope. The groom probably
never knew why we were there or handing him money.
Then we went home.
