Liberian Wedding

I have a housekeeper. Most of the ex-pats do.  Mine comes in for a few hours once a week (used to be Thursday mornings, now Wednesday mornings) and she’ll do the dishes, clean the bathrooms, vacuum the place and take the trash out.  For $10.00 a week it’s a bargain.  Anyway, my housekeeper’s name is Massa and she’s a very quiet and sweet person.

A couple of Wednesdays ago I found this sitting on my computer.

I spoke with my colleague Kristin (who also hires Massa and who recommended her to me) and asked her if she was planning to attend the wedding (Kristin has a car).  Sure enough, yes, so yesterday I went to a Liberian wedding!

Neither of us knew where we were going exactly (I just tried to find it on Google Maps and while you can find GSA road, I assure you, there is no street sign and definitely not one on the turn off (think dirt road between two buildings) into the community up on a hill set way back from the road) so one of Massa’s friends met us near there to guide us to the wedding.

We found out the wedding was, in the Bassan tradition, they were getting married in their home.  Like many Liberian homes, part of it was completed and part was under construction.  The wedding was being held in the construction part of the house so we had dirt floors and concrete walls decorated with palm leaves and colorful plants (I’ll leave out the lime-green balloon arch, which was a bit much).  

Kristin and I were escorted to a covered porch with a great view (I should have taken a shot from it . . . oh well), that we later came to realize was the place for special guests, because that’s where we were to have our meal later.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  After a few minutes we were invited into where the wedding was being held, again, Kristin and I were sat at the far wall facing the wedding guests, think right of the lime balloon arch with the preacher to the left.

First Roosevelt and then Massa came in and sat down by the entry doorway to the room.  They looked stunning.

Folks then rearranged some chairs and . . . the negotiations started.  Kristin and I thought we were coming to see a wedding, and, well, I guess we were, it was just a Liberian wedding.  

The man who I quickly figured out was Roosevelt’s father welcomed Massa’s father, mother and other family members to the community.  He then said a benediction (I think I’ve said enough “Amens!” during this wedding to last me a few years!) and Massa’s father said a Muslim prayer (I even recognized it as being said in Arabic).  So far, so good.

Then Roosevelt’s father started out with saying that this was a coming together of two cultures, the Bassa and the Muslim culture, and that they will need to come to learn and respect each other on this occasion.  (I thought the wording of that was funny, but . . .).  He continued, saying that under proper tradition in both cultures, “we” should have both met with each parents to ask permission to be together, and they should have brought both parents together to agree for them to be together, but “we” did not.  (I was thinking, yeah, sometimes Liberian English has an odd way of phrasing things . . .).  Then Roosevelt’s father said, “I have been living with your daughter these past five years and have fathered two children with her, and . . .”  At this point, Massa’s father jumps up and yells, “What!” and Roosevelt’s father’s eyes bulge out when he suddenly realizes that one side understands the ritual and the other doesn’t.  Roosevelt’s father quickly adds, stammering, “I, I ROOSEVELT BONNARD . . .” looking over to Roosevelt, “Wish to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”  Massa’s father quickly realizes that Roosevelt’s father is negotiating on behalf of Roosevelt and that when he says “I” he actually means “Roosevelt”.  

So it goes on for a while, “Roosevelt” apologizes for not visiting Massa’s family in Sierra Leone, enumerating all of the different “offenses” and paying for them (20 Liberian here, 20 Liberian there, 40 for this offense, 10 for that offense, oh, and here’s 20 for each of the family members in attendance for their embarrassment).  Massa’s father seems unsatisfied and makes a comment about how can he be adequately compensated for Roosevelt’s flaunting of tradition and taking Massa without parental permission (understand that Massa has two other children as well and Roosevelt has another child too . . .).  Roosevelt’s father says tradition requires that he consult his “elders long since dead” for guidance and to please excuse him as he steps outside, he’ll only be a few minutes, and here’s 20 Liberian for your patience.  He returns a few minutes later saying he’s spoken to his deceased relatives and they say that Massa’s father’s claim is just and that proper compensation is . . . 100 Liberian.

Massa’s father leans back to talk with his wife, Massa’s brother and uncle, then turns around and makes more demands.  A few more Liberian get put on the plate for this offense or that offense.  Eventually Massa’s father and mother excuse themselves to talk with Massa outside.  They come back and declare that Massa has agreed to the marriage!  Then Massa’s father says, very loudly, “Now, for her dowery!”

Massa’s father starts out “For her dowery - 350 dollars - US!  And for each of the children she has bore him, $25 - US! Each!”  Kristin leans over, “So that’s $400 American?”  In case you aren’t up to speed on the exchange rate, it’s about 72 Liberian dollars per US $1.00.  The Liberian 20’s from earlier were about 30 cents a pop, $400 US is more than what the average Liberian makes in a year.  

The negotiations go back and forth.  Roosevelt’s father totally ignores the $400 US comment and starts in on payments to compensate their travels (all in Liberian dollars of course), and to help out Massa’s home community.  Oh, they want to offer Massa’s mother a present, so they give her 5 bolts of cloth (basically enough for 5 outfits), and three more for the community.  They extend a peace offering by giving Massa’s family a bag of kola nuts (disagreements are traditionally settled by eating a kola nut, it’s also a form of welcoming outsiders into the community - it’s pretty bitter tasting).  Roosevelt’s father has to go outside again to consult with his deceased elders again (and here’s another 20 L for your patience), and says he’s been told to offer $200 and beg forgiveness.  (I couldn’t tell whether the 200 was US or Liberian, it was in a wad and was not crisp new bills).  Massa’s father mumbles, agitated looking, his family members whisper in his ears, pats him on the back and . . . he accepts!  Wedding on!

As far as weddings go, it was a wedding.  I suspect it was much like any US wedding held in a very evangelical church.  I noticed that when the preacher, who was very enthusiastic in the way he preached, was talking about how the woman needed to be submissive to the man (share your money with him, if you work, make sure you’re home in time to welcome him with a good dinner, don’t bug him, it’s your job to take care of the children and the home, blah blah blah) the women weren’t so into the “Amens!” yet when he got to the responsibilities of the man (mainly - now that you’re married you’re not supposed to sleep around) they were quite vocal with the “Amens!”  We were lucky that it was held indoors because, mid-way through the service . . . I don’t know which analogy to use so I’ll say both . . . all hell broke loose/God turned on the AC, and a massive thunder storm blew threw.  With rain blowing in side-ways through the window, I was suddenly glad to be in the farthest corner from it.  Other than a shuffle of people moving away from the window, it didn’t phase the wedding at all.  20 minutes later it was stifling again.

All’s well that ends well.  Following the wedding folks went out to take photographs.  Here’s one of the Bride, Groom and their son.

And the family portrait.

As with all celebrations in Liberia, there was music, lots of people and kids running around.

And the wedding photographer taking everyone’s picture.

I took one of Massa and their daughter Rachel who was born last year.

After the photos were done, it was time for the meal, and back to the balcony we went.  Of course, following the meal (fried chicken, jallof rice, pasta salad and potato salad [no thank you]) was the cutting of the cake.

And, like I said, much of the wedding was just what we’d expect at home!

Though I can’t imagine we’ll ever adopt the practice of negotiating “offenses” as a pre-marriage ceremony.