Marriage! (Not mine!)

Everyone! I'm back again after another week's journey. This time though, an actual journey. Katie and I went to Dogon Country for the last six days. I don't know how to describe it just yet, so while I write about it, Google Image Search "Dogon Country" and look at my life for the past week. That post is coming soon. Until then, here is a post I wrote today about Niang's wedding before I leave.

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One of the most important days so far in Mali has been attending Niang’s wedding (konyo). In a lot of ways, Malian weddings are like weddings in the states. The families come, the ceremony happens, and then everyone eats. Then again, there are also the subtle and amazing differences that make it memorable as being truly Malian. The entire day starts at approximately 8AM with a cortege from the groom’s house to the bride’s to pick her and her family up. Bear in mind this cortege is a strange and impressive assortment of motos, sotromas (public transport) that have been rented for the day, and cars, so the cortege basically shuts down traffic patterns everywhere it goes. I got to ride with the other interns, but this was an honor since there were so many people in attendance, so all five of us got crammed into the backseat of a station wagon. It was strange to see the people look at us so strangely as we passed them, as if toubabs should always have their own cars or at least ride civilly. Not.


From Maasi’s (Niang’s bride-to-be), the entire family went straight to the mayor’s office in Korofina to get the papers signed. It is important to note that technically, Maasi and Niang are already married in the religious sense. That’s a boring ceremony that only the man is present for and no one cares about, just like the legal ceremony in the states. So this is the fun second part of the wedding. And when I say fun I mean when you get out of the car, five griots (ritual praise singers) flock to you and start crooning about your greatness with delight. They also expect money, so you have to make your griot selection carefully. Also, as one of us found out, not all the griots in presence are actually supposed to be there. And if you pay one of them, watch out – the entire marriage entourage will chide you. Regardless, it’s worth it to get griot-ed.


When I say fun, I also mean that people are wearing the most ridiculous and sometimes hideous outfits you can imagine. I distinctly remember one woman who looked like a Dr. Seuss-ian valedictorian and Fifi was wearing an electric orange/blue ditty that looked like the flight attendant uniform for the future (except it covers your knees). Same with her sister Oumou, but in hot pink and blue. And every woman in the marriage family is wearing pearls in her hair with cheap glitter and hideous extensions that look like an animal that hasn’t quite died yet. But all the same, the final look is still stunning.


As the papers are being signed, all is quiet and the brides are all crying. I said brides because almost every civil ceremony here happens in tandem with a few other couples. So the mayor just goes down the line, one teary-eyed bride to the next. And when the papers are all signed, the griots attack. And the families attack with shredded paper confetti. And basically, all hell breaks loose. It’s amazing.


At this point, lives are at risk, so it’s time to return home. And the fun doesn’t stop there, either. Back at home, the bon (house servant) has been helping to set up the festivities: amazing Senegalese dancers with ridiculous grins and even more outrageous dance moves, a line-up of griots waiting to narrate the dances in chorus, a flock of drummers with their tam-tams in one hand and cigarettes drooping as they thwap. And fruity ice pops. So basically, it was a good scene. After the festivities die down a little, the family brings out a ludicrous amount of riz graisse (fried rice, kind of), which is the traditional way to get back the calories you lost running away from the griots so far. Everyone shares, everyone talks, and then thing slowly disperse. And it’s over – they’re married.


The fun part happens after the marriage. No, not that. Well, kind of that. After the ceremony, the bride and groom observe what’s called the konyoso (“marriage house”). The bride must veil herself to all but her husband for a week and live inside a tiny white mosquito net tent that is her marriage house. She cannot leave except to go to the bathroom, which actually happens a lot since the marriage counselor is constantly preparing foods that give her diarrhea to weaken her in front of her new husband during the konyoso. During this period, the bride is basically supposed to wait for her husband to come make babies with her intermittently throughout the day and sometimes, even with the help of a special sex teacher called a manyamaka. This is the strangest tradition so far, so I’ll elaborate here. There is literally an old woman in the room during the honeymoon to tell the newlyweds how to have sex. Like she gives them a play-by-play guidebook to having sex and then referees from the sidelines. This is supposed to be a training period for the couple more so than a period of intense sex, but still, it’s hard to imagine doing that (either watching or being watched).


And that’s the marriage. Life goes back to normal, except the groom’s friends come over to play cards while he is in konyoso and the manyamaka is running around preparing food for the bride. The end. They’re married. Yay!