I met a carpenter called Jimmy many months ago in Entebbe, and over the ensuing time he had been selected as the 'trial' carpenter for the village project. Fin and I were invited to accompany him to his Introduction (explanation follows later). This turned out to be close to the Tanzanian border at a place called Rugaaga, SE of Mbarara. This is the Ankole tribal region, famous for its long-horned cattle. There is a huge national park here but is set aside for refugees who have been living here for up to 15 years, from Rwanda, Congo and Sudan, managed by UNHCR. Seems like an intractable situation as they have greater property rights than Ugandans and so don't want to leave ....
All I knew was that I was effectively being asked to be a musee (dignified old man) at the Introduction, which meant a position of some honour. Since his dad was dead I was sort of acting in locus parentii. An Introduction is the point at which the Ugandan 'chap' asks the parents and family of the 'chap-ess' he loves if he can marry her - a sort of engagement negotiation. Because its all down to money and gifts.
Fin wasn't able to make it; Jimmy was broken hearted at all this as I think I was less of a draw. Fin is amazingly 'people-centric' and at over 2m high is quite a sight! So I set off in our Pajero along with 8 others, which is too many for the car, especially over a journey of some 250 miles on bad roads! Still BO-assimilation is a noble virtue to pursue. We travelled over the equator for the first time, through Masaka (just under half-way) on the west side of Lake Victoria, and on to Mbarara, where we picked up the 'fixer' ("There's loads of room" I roared!) and where we stayed the night in a motel. It was at this point that I began to understand why perhaps we had been invited. Jimmy clearly didn't have the budget for he Introduction and needed us to bale him out! I paid for the evening drinks and the meal for all of us. After negotiating with the motel manager, who wanted me to pay in full before even getting into my room, and to pay room service at each step (this is rather vague statement as I would say that the steps took about 1 hour each to get to my room), and having won, I switched on the TV (the main luxury of the room) to discover that there was one channel, comprising of soap of such dire acting and story line (albeit in Lugandan) that it soon sent me to sleep. I woke to take supper. After watching the others drink my money away on 'wanagee' a local lethal brew, the supper never arrived (2 hours) and so we moved on with great disgust and went over the road where the food appeared on our plates within 5 minutes: pocho (maize flour mixed with water - the staple), beans, chicken stew, matoke (savoury mashed banana - another staple), chips, rice, potatoes, sweet potatoes. Is there enough starch here, I asked myself? Back to bed.
In the morning it became clear that the 'fixer' was very worried that Jimmy had not bought enough gifts to win over the family. Off they went to buy paraffin, a huge sack of sugar, and laods of other bits and pieces. Oh, I think I paid again!! Imagine a Pajero now with 12 people and sacks and jerrycans loaded up making the final journey through the bush on the worst tracks I had seen so far!! Close fellowship. I should talk about the 'fixer'. He has to be a man of great repute locally who is known to the bride's family well, and also a friend of the groom. It is his job to lead the negotiations and to ensure that a good case is made for the match, incl
uding an acceptable speech.
uding an acceptable speech. We arrived at the village. This was on top of a vast rounded hill of ginormous propertions, and where no-one (they said) had ever seen a muzungu (white person) before!! I was the centre of attention especially when we all got out and went into the local hotel (hahaha) to change into my kanzu. This is long white robe, designed to make a man look like Jesus. Why am I laughing at the word 'hotel'? You need to imagine a tiny corridor, unlit, with an earth floor, off which is a room about the size of a coffin in which 
there is a persons entire possessions and onto which I step to change. Oh and there is no door and a queue of people stare at my semi naked and virulently white body......
So off we go to the house to the Introduction. Except that we are now very late and we take a wrong turn somewhere in the midst of sea of scrubland. I say 'turn' dear reader, because I don't mean 'take another road'. I mean that there are tracks about as wide as a a boda boda could ride on through thickets and scrub, miles from anywhere, which they are enthusiastically encouraging me to drive along, winding between trees about 3' apart. We are totally lost.
there is a persons entire possessions and onto which I step to change. Oh and there is no door and a queue of people stare at my semi naked and virulently white body......So off we go to the house to the Introduction. Except that we are now very late and we take a wrong turn somewhere in the midst of sea of scrubland. I say 'turn' dear reader, because I don't mean 'take another road'. I mean that there are tracks about as wide as a a boda boda could ride on through thickets and scrub, miles from anywhere, which they are enthusiastically encouraging me to drive along, winding between trees about 3' apart. We are totally lost.
Eventually we find a house belonging to the uncle of the bride but are told that if we continue we will come in via the 'back door' and 'kitchen'. The mind boggles; how can there be qback door inthe middle of the bush? . We are directed back around another circuitous route and finally (trumpets) get to a place where we are screamed at to back up as it is a rule that you are not allowed within sight of an Introduction venue until they give consent. And it is also rule that you have to wait an age just to test your resolve, even if you are hours late (which we were).
Immediately an intense debate started to take place between all the male members (except me) on the track where we had parked in view of the banners and festivities. It seemed that every possible problem or objection that the bride’s (Beatrice) family might raise was being covered by some sort of strategy. Copious notes were being made on paper. Jimmy was sweating buckets. I tried to pull him away to look at the scenery and have a joke or two, but suddenly we were being invited to the gathering, and within a few seconds we were entering the decorated area and sitting down at a row of seats facing about 60 of the family’s friends across a table with a cake and decorations on it. As always in Uganda there was an MC with a dreadful PA system which crackled, whistled and hissed and was far too loud. He loved his own voice (being the local headmaster) and bossing everyone around and cracking interminable jokes about the mzungu (me) there in my kanzu. In-between music of all types was played, from Abide With Me to the latest Ugandan disco-reggae number. What a racket echoed down the valley.
Ugandan ceremonies are very formal; formal, protracted and tedious! Because we were late they apparently had cut down the ceremony but boy it was still long! Firstly the ‘fixer’ did a speech introducing everyone, during which various key people for the bride’s side came and went down our line shaking our hands; the women kneel as they do so. I do so approve!! Next the ‘arranging aunt’ did a brief speech ‘giving away’ Beatrice; strangely in Uganda it is the aunt and not the mother that conducts most of the ‘rites of passage’ events for a girl. Aunts and uncles are very mportant here. Then another speech is given in which the ‘fixer’ sets out the offer to the bride’s family. He and the family elders plus the musees from our side (they didn’t invite me!!) go out to haggle and barter. This took ages and in the end the family decided that they needed more paraffin and I was duly asked to stump up the cash for this! During this time I was invited out to say a few words; as I said many had never seen a mzungu before, so I was quite a novelty.
The match agreed a game is played where various women of all ages, from ancients to children, come out in procession pretending to be the bride, and the groom has to reject them all and ensure that he selects the right one. Finally the bride comes out with her splendid retinue and proceeds to pin a flower on the lapel of her fiancée, to prove that she knows which one he is also. In our case this was a flashing electric pom pom flower which was quite excessive and gross in my opinion.
The next sequence of events was a preach by the
local minister, followed by hands being laid on them and a simple blessing and dedication of their lives during which rings were exchanged.
At this stage, feeling very faint, we were at last invited to go out and eat a meal! Sighs of relief. Great meal consisting of goat stew, beef stew, goat liver and kidneys (this is a delicacy and treat and meant to prove that the goat has been specially slain for the event, or summat). All served up with the normal matoke, posho, rice, sweet potatoes, various vegetables, plus millet porridge/bread (a sort of gritty mush that is very sticky - like dough).
Having filled our tums, there was a huge palaver
about the bride- Beatrice - cooking the last meal for her eldest brother and family, and she and he cut a big cake that she has made (not) and dish it out together to everyone there, starting with us lot, then their parents and close relatives, then everyone else.
Final speeches and lo! It was time to go. We wended our way back through the wilderness and it was now getting dark. They all wanted me to drive back to Kampala (we would have arrived at about 3am) but I was driving a car of 12 people and was in incredibly tired and knew that I would probably never see my family again if I
did! So muggings paid for everyone to stay in the same motel in Mbarara another night (plus a meal), and the nest morning we drove back in a leisurely fashion to Kampala, stopping at the equator for photos, and just after Masaka by the Lake to buy very cheap and fresh (alive) Tilapia (fish). These were strung to the radiator in the normal fashion; everyone you pass has Tilapia across their grilles!
The whole weekend had been a quite unique and extraordinary adventure. How the other half lives! And had cost me about £150, which for us is a fortune!! The relatives all solemnly promised to pay me back but one learns here that it is more about effect than substance, and in the end, a week later, Jimmy and Beatrice came round with a live cockerel in a plastic carrier bag and a big and very heartfelt ‘thank you’! But I put it all down to a very rewarding educational experience!! I named the cockerel ‘Barry’ (after Mbarara) and he spent the next 3 weeks waking us up at some ungodly hour because I wasn’t allowed by the rest of
he house to serve him up for a meal - which was specific the purpose of the gift. Oh well. Read on ….
Ugandan ceremonies are very formal; formal, protracted and tedious! Because we were late they apparently had cut down the ceremony but boy it was still long! Firstly the ‘fixer’ did a speech introducing everyone, during which various key people for the bride’s side came and went down our line shaking our hands; the women kneel as they do so. I do so approve!! Next the ‘arranging aunt’ did a brief speech ‘giving away’ Beatrice; strangely in Uganda it is the aunt and not the mother that conducts most of the ‘rites of passage’ events for a girl. Aunts and uncles are very mportant here. Then another speech is given in which the ‘fixer’ sets out the offer to the bride’s family. He and the family elders plus the musees from our side (they didn’t invite me!!) go out to haggle and barter. This took ages and in the end the family decided that they needed more paraffin and I was duly asked to stump up the cash for this! During this time I was invited out to say a few words; as I said many had never seen a mzungu before, so I was quite a novelty.
The match agreed a game is played where various women of all ages, from ancients to children, come out in procession pretending to be the bride, and the groom has to reject them all and ensure that he selects the right one. Finally the bride comes out with her splendid retinue and proceeds to pin a flower on the lapel of her fiancée, to prove that she knows which one he is also. In our case this was a flashing electric pom pom flower which was quite excessive and gross in my opinion.
The next sequence of events was a preach by the
local minister, followed by hands being laid on them and a simple blessing and dedication of their lives during which rings were exchanged.At this stage, feeling very faint, we were at last invited to go out and eat a meal! Sighs of relief. Great meal consisting of goat stew, beef stew, goat liver and kidneys (this is a delicacy and treat and meant to prove that the goat has been specially slain for the event, or summat). All served up with the normal matoke, posho, rice, sweet potatoes, various vegetables, plus millet porridge/bread (a sort of gritty mush that is very sticky - like dough).
Having filled our tums, there was a huge palaver
about the bride- Beatrice - cooking the last meal for her eldest brother and family, and she and he cut a big cake that she has made (not) and dish it out together to everyone there, starting with us lot, then their parents and close relatives, then everyone else.Final speeches and lo! It was time to go. We wended our way back through the wilderness and it was now getting dark. They all wanted me to drive back to Kampala (we would have arrived at about 3am) but I was driving a car of 12 people and was in incredibly tired and knew that I would probably never see my family again if I
did! So muggings paid for everyone to stay in the same motel in Mbarara another night (plus a meal), and the nest morning we drove back in a leisurely fashion to Kampala, stopping at the equator for photos, and just after Masaka by the Lake to buy very cheap and fresh (alive) Tilapia (fish). These were strung to the radiator in the normal fashion; everyone you pass has Tilapia across their grilles!The whole weekend had been a quite unique and extraordinary adventure. How the other half lives! And had cost me about £150, which for us is a fortune!! The relatives all solemnly promised to pay me back but one learns here that it is more about effect than substance, and in the end, a week later, Jimmy and Beatrice came round with a live cockerel in a plastic carrier bag and a big and very heartfelt ‘thank you’! But I put it all down to a very rewarding educational experience!! I named the cockerel ‘Barry’ (after Mbarara) and he spent the next 3 weeks waking us up at some ungodly hour because I wasn’t allowed by the rest of
he house to serve him up for a meal - which was specific the purpose of the gift. Oh well. Read on ….Photos from top: Standing in East and West one small step ......; what children look like when they see their first white man; all the 'musees' in their 'kanzus'; rehearsing the questions and agreeing the strategy; Jimmy - sweat pouring off his brow - will his offer be good enough?; the bride and her retinue; pinning the flower on the right man; getting the cake; the most beautiful girl there; hands laid on for the blessing; Barry the coskerel from Mbarara.
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