He was on the beach, a place he particularly liked to go in the evenings. Looking out over the ocean off to the horizon inspired a kind of hope in him. Somehow the vastness of the water seemed to bring the rest of the world closer. Anything was possible, and it was possible out there in the world. Somewhere where dreams come true.
It was here on the beach that he met her. Not the woman of his dreams, not his future wife or mother of his children but suitable. Interesting enough for the moment. They shared laughter, a sunset and visions of their future. One of them reveling in vacation, the other struggling with the day to day.
When the inevitable time came for separation, they reached an agreement. He would meet her back in her country and she would find a place for him to stay. Had, in fact, a place in mind already. An old family hotel, abandoned after the time of Mobutu, raided by the new regime and left empty. The place had recently been returned to and was slowly in the stages of repair. It remained palatial and liveable.
He set up camp there, waiting patiently for a small cook stove and pots to prepare meals with, eating mangoes and bananas in the mean time, turned off of the bland foufou and wary of the unknown sauces simmering in streetside stalls. He told everyone he had arrived to work in the boating industry, having promised to keep his affair under wraps. She was the daughter of a general. A connected family, back in the time. She's a widow with three grown children scattered around the globe. She has power and influence in this new Kinshasa and she's promised to help this young African man get a step up in life.
Aside from the room in the empty palace and living in secret, their agreement includes the financing of his project- it really does involve a boat of some kind. He was in the fishing sector back home in Dakar. Maybe in a few years he will have enough to set off for Europe, search for a wife, find a small house and begin the next part of his African fairy tale.
2.1.13
A Communal Engagement
We'd stopped to inspect the eggplant when the woman behind the table said something to Souleymane. He turned to me and laughed. "She says she assisted at our marriage," he told me. "Assisted" is the French word. I guess it means something like "attended" but whenever I hear it, my American mind always thinks the speaker is giving more importance to his or her presence than was the reality. Or maybe it is apt. It is often the guests who add the ambiance and the memories.
We shook our heads as we walked away, remembering the bizarre event that was our civil union. That seemed to be the final proof. (I'm not completely positive, but I suspect only in Kinshasa could you be...) Walking down the street on a perfectly normal, sunny day, browsing for healthy purple eggplants when a complete stranger informs you that she witnessed your wedding.
We both imagined the civil union to be not much more than a problem of paperwork. Sign a few forms, present some I.D. bring a few witnesses. Nothing was ever clear and we struggled to understand various parts of the requirements (Do we really have to bring a white plastic chair? I've never seen anyone else bring a chair? None of the chairs in the place are white? What do they do with all those chairs? Whiskey? We need to bring a bottle of whiskey.....? Really?)
Finally, we'd managed to navigate the bizzare mandates, nail down a price, and secure all of the forms (or create our own) for a reasonable(-ish) fee. We debated how early to show up on the day of ceremony as we'd been given an 11:00 start time but figured it could begin hours earlier or later than anticipated.
The commune is always bustling with business on the weekends. Weddings abound. This particular Friday was no different. We arrived to find a traditional "band" playing in the "parking lot." I realize the need for quotes because neither of those words conjures up images of the reality. The parking lot is a dirt lane littered with rocks bordering on boulder size, trees with roots larger than my arm and potholes the size of small ponds - erosion effects from the recent rains. The band was under the tree, their belongings scattered behind the trunk and piled up next to the cars. They filled up the lane just in front of the building with their dancing and drumming. Their costumes were raffia, beads and bare skin. They had white painted faces and feathers sprouting from their heads.
A wedding had already begun....a "special" wedding. We'd seen this choice outlined on the fee sheet. $450 for a special wedding. We chose the "normal" affair for more than half off the price. Turns out the normal people have to wait for the special people to finish their ceremonies. Special= private, we learned. So we went over to a nearby stand and had a drink while deciding what to do. There were 7 private engagements scheduled before us normal folk. It could mean a 2-3 hour wait.
We decided to go home and wait, since the commune was only a 10 minute walk from our house. Souleymane talked with one of the commune employees and seemed convinced she would call us when it was time. The rest of us had no faith in that system. We debated about what time to return, having been isntructed the ceremony would begin "before 3:00." We walked home, prepared rice and continued with our day.
It might have been around 2:00 or so when we decided to call the woman and see how things were progressing. Turns out the ceremonies had already begun and we were late for our own wedding. We quickly changed, gathered our things and made our way back down to the commune. We began to wonder if they would make us pay more for missing the regular ceremony.
It was crowded, hot and stuffy. We climbed up some stairs and started across a metal bridge that seemed certain to collapse under the weight of the witnesses. "Follow me," the woman said as she disappeared into a mass of people. I didn't really see how I could possibly follow. People turned to look at me and motion with their hands. She said to follow her, what are you waiting for? they seemed to be saying. I felt like Alice in Wonderland as I took a magic step into a seemingly impassable crowd.
Inside, two women were asked to give up their seats to us and we melted into a small rectangular room impossibly full of people.
And then the comedy began. Strangers stood before us, giving vows, sharing a kiss, presenting their union before a room full of .......? Friends? Family? Neighbors? I couldn't tell if the loudest cheers were from family members or just a show of popularity. It seemed like a reality T.V show. We shook our heads in amazement that we would have to get up there. Our witnesses, along with the kids, were lost in the crowd outside the door, leaving us virtually alone.
When it was finally our turn (having arrived late, we were the last couple) the crowd was so loud that the official was forced to ask them to quiet down. Only he said, " This is not a market place. Quiet down or you'll be asked to leave." I'm still not sure what all the noise was about, or why such a stern response. People had been yelling, blowing whistles and making a general ear deafening racket since the beginning of the ceremonies. After our acceptance of each other as husband and wife, we returned to our seats where we were instructed to take the opposite seating from before. A symbolic gesture of......? It reminded me of graduates who flip their tassle to the right after they receive their diploma.
The ceremony was not finished. One of the officials began reading a long and personal sounding document. I didn't catch every word but I heard birth dates, addressess, family lineagae. What could they possibly be doing? I wondered. Were they going to read out such personal information for each of us?
Luckily after her 10 minute declaration, she simply began to call the couples up with their witnesses to sign the big book, a perfect addition to my Alice in Wonderland adventure. Souleymane signed first and I was instructed to stand next him with my hand on his shoulder. Oh the pomp and decorum of Africa. We all signed and posed for pictures. After leaving the commune, they wanted us to pose for more pictures in three or four different places (all presumably with various aspects of the official communal building in the background.)
We decided we had enough marriage photos (feeling our real ceremony had been officiated in Dakar and our celebration was already behind us, complete with beautiful photo memories.) We clearly disappointed the burgemeister and company as we left on foot, sans photo ops.
We shook our heads as we walked away, remembering the bizarre event that was our civil union. That seemed to be the final proof. (I'm not completely positive, but I suspect only in Kinshasa could you be...) Walking down the street on a perfectly normal, sunny day, browsing for healthy purple eggplants when a complete stranger informs you that she witnessed your wedding.
We both imagined the civil union to be not much more than a problem of paperwork. Sign a few forms, present some I.D. bring a few witnesses. Nothing was ever clear and we struggled to understand various parts of the requirements (Do we really have to bring a white plastic chair? I've never seen anyone else bring a chair? None of the chairs in the place are white? What do they do with all those chairs? Whiskey? We need to bring a bottle of whiskey.....? Really?)
Finally, we'd managed to navigate the bizzare mandates, nail down a price, and secure all of the forms (or create our own) for a reasonable(-ish) fee. We debated how early to show up on the day of ceremony as we'd been given an 11:00 start time but figured it could begin hours earlier or later than anticipated.
The commune is always bustling with business on the weekends. Weddings abound. This particular Friday was no different. We arrived to find a traditional "band" playing in the "parking lot." I realize the need for quotes because neither of those words conjures up images of the reality. The parking lot is a dirt lane littered with rocks bordering on boulder size, trees with roots larger than my arm and potholes the size of small ponds - erosion effects from the recent rains. The band was under the tree, their belongings scattered behind the trunk and piled up next to the cars. They filled up the lane just in front of the building with their dancing and drumming. Their costumes were raffia, beads and bare skin. They had white painted faces and feathers sprouting from their heads.
A wedding had already begun....a "special" wedding. We'd seen this choice outlined on the fee sheet. $450 for a special wedding. We chose the "normal" affair for more than half off the price. Turns out the normal people have to wait for the special people to finish their ceremonies. Special= private, we learned. So we went over to a nearby stand and had a drink while deciding what to do. There were 7 private engagements scheduled before us normal folk. It could mean a 2-3 hour wait.
 |
| Showing off her nails while we wait for the marriage |
It might have been around 2:00 or so when we decided to call the woman and see how things were progressing. Turns out the ceremonies had already begun and we were late for our own wedding. We quickly changed, gathered our things and made our way back down to the commune. We began to wonder if they would make us pay more for missing the regular ceremony.
It was crowded, hot and stuffy. We climbed up some stairs and started across a metal bridge that seemed certain to collapse under the weight of the witnesses. "Follow me," the woman said as she disappeared into a mass of people. I didn't really see how I could possibly follow. People turned to look at me and motion with their hands. She said to follow her, what are you waiting for? they seemed to be saying. I felt like Alice in Wonderland as I took a magic step into a seemingly impassable crowd.
Inside, two women were asked to give up their seats to us and we melted into a small rectangular room impossibly full of people.
 |
| All the couples in front of us are waiting to be married as well After the marriage, the women sit to the right of the husband |
And then the comedy began. Strangers stood before us, giving vows, sharing a kiss, presenting their union before a room full of .......? Friends? Family? Neighbors? I couldn't tell if the loudest cheers were from family members or just a show of popularity. It seemed like a reality T.V show. We shook our heads in amazement that we would have to get up there. Our witnesses, along with the kids, were lost in the crowd outside the door, leaving us virtually alone.
When it was finally our turn (having arrived late, we were the last couple) the crowd was so loud that the official was forced to ask them to quiet down. Only he said, " This is not a market place. Quiet down or you'll be asked to leave." I'm still not sure what all the noise was about, or why such a stern response. People had been yelling, blowing whistles and making a general ear deafening racket since the beginning of the ceremonies. After our acceptance of each other as husband and wife, we returned to our seats where we were instructed to take the opposite seating from before. A symbolic gesture of......? It reminded me of graduates who flip their tassle to the right after they receive their diploma.
The ceremony was not finished. One of the officials began reading a long and personal sounding document. I didn't catch every word but I heard birth dates, addressess, family lineagae. What could they possibly be doing? I wondered. Were they going to read out such personal information for each of us?
Luckily after her 10 minute declaration, she simply began to call the couples up with their witnesses to sign the big book, a perfect addition to my Alice in Wonderland adventure. Souleymane signed first and I was instructed to stand next him with my hand on his shoulder. Oh the pomp and decorum of Africa. We all signed and posed for pictures. After leaving the commune, they wanted us to pose for more pictures in three or four different places (all presumably with various aspects of the official communal building in the background.)
We decided we had enough marriage photos (feeling our real ceremony had been officiated in Dakar and our celebration was already behind us, complete with beautiful photo memories.) We clearly disappointed the burgemeister and company as we left on foot, sans photo ops.
 |
| No limo needed, happy to walk home in the Kinshasa sunshine |
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