My daughter, Nzinzi, who just turned 3 (tatu), came along, too. Because of the long car ride and possibly long church service which I knew Nzinzi probably would need some distractions. (She's a free spirit and doesn't like being confined to one seat for more than a few minutes.) I tried to pack some books, toys, and treats to keep her attention. One book that I brought had been a Christmas present to Nzinzi from my grandmother that we had never even looked at yet, but had stored away for just such an occasion. I saw that the book was by an author we like, but hadn't read that particular title yet, and packed it in our bag.
The church service was conducted by an American minister. It was quite reverent and adherent to the young couple's Christian faith. It also contained African elements, my favorite being the loud hooting and hollering of the congregants at key moments, like when the bride walked down the aisle, and the couple's first married kiss.
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| Thanks to Jim Gaylor for all of the wonderful wedding photos! |
The reception was very African and very fun. (And I'm so glad it was in Kinyarwanda and not English! That said, we appreciated the fact that they did translate most of what was said.) There was beautiful Rwandan traditional dancing by young women, in traditional attire, and more dancing (to rhumba music!) by younger boys, in black suits with white shirts.
There was delicious African food: beef, chicken, goat, greens, fried bananas, and rice. (Hey, we're mostly vegetarian, but we do make some exceptions!)
Nzinzi was happy that there were lots of children, and my heart was warmed seeing all of the babies on their mother's backs.
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| "Papa" means "carry (a baby) on your back." |
I even got to speak my broken Nyanja with a number people who had lived in Lusaka as part of their journey.
I spoke at length with some Rwandan boys who were born in Zambia to refugee parents. They started going to school in Zambia, but now they are going to school in Illinois. We talked about the transition from Zambia to America:
"Our Grandma wanted to go to the mall, but she was afraid of the escalators."
Later in the conversation:
"Are there a lot of Africans in your school?"
"Yes."
"Oh, that's good that you're not alone, but do you also hang out with the Americans?"
"Yes, we all mix together."
And that made me happy.
I thought about how wonderful it is that all of these people got to be resettled together, where they can keep their traditions (food, language, dance) while trying to assimilate to American life. It made me want to connect with more Africans in our area (or live in an area with more Africans) so that Nzinzi can have more chances to be involved in a community like that.
I thought about how far a lot of my refugee friends have come since 2005. Many of them have returned home and reunited with their families after 10 years or more. Many have received degrees. Some have big, important jobs. Others are in Europe and America. And some are still in refugee camps, living day to day life, or hoping for a better future. Many of them have gone through hardships others of us would never understand and won't mention here, but have survived (unlike some of their friends and family members) and are carrying on.
Nzinzi and I stayed in a motel after the wedding. Before bedtime, we finally opened that book in our bag, the one that had been on a hidden shelf since December. It was My Name is Sangoel by Karen Lynn Williams and Khadra Mohammed, illustrated by Catherine Stock.
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| (www.karenlynnwilliams.com) |
I started to read:
"Don't worry," the Wise One said as Sangoel prepared to leave the refugee camp. "You carry a Dinka name. It is the name of your father and of the ancestors before him."
(What?!?!?!? The book was about refugees!)
As I read on, Sangoel, a Sudanese boy, with his mother and his sister leave, an African refugee camp to be resettled in America. They have a number of challenges adjusting, and no one can pronounce Sangoel's name right, and Sangoel gets frustrated. But don't worry - the book has a happy ending. Please get a copy or borrow one from a library to find out the whole story.
As I read the story, tears streamed down my face. I was just moved by the hardship, the survival, the resilience, and the serendipitous fact that the first time we read this book was right after the Rwandan wedding.
It was a great wedding. Congratulations to Jean Baptiste and Regine! Here's to many years of happiness!
And, My Name is Sangoel is a great book. I want to give it to all of my resettled African friends, even
though most of them are adults. (So, I guess I'll start saving for that.) (Barnes and Noble, $13, shoot me an email or Facebook message if you'd like to sponsor some books!)
Vocabulary:
chikwati (pr: chee-KWAH-tee) = marriage
tatu (pr: TAH-too) = three
papa (pr: PAH-pah) = carry (a baby) on your back
Phrases to Practice (Zikomo for help from contributors Alinedi Daka, Margaret Chisanga, Mutale Bingley, and Robert Chembe Phiri!)
Nili mu chikwati = I am married.
Nifuna chikwati. = I want to be married.
Sinifuna chikwati. = I don't want to be married.
Tilyenji Banda bana mupeleka ku chikwati mu mwezi wa October chaka chapita." = "Tilyenji Banda was married in October of last year.
Eeh-eeh, bana bwinga, baoneka bwino! = Wow, bride, you are looking good!
Dayinesi Phiri alimuchikwati chabwino na amanager akuShoprite. = Dayinesi Phiri is in a good marriage with a manager from Shoprite.
"Chikwati sindalama/ chikwati ni chikondi" = "Marriage isn't money/ Marriage is love." (From Mathew Tembo's song "Chikwati Sindalama")
P.S. I would also like to add that I got to meet up with some great bazungu at the wedding, too. Was awesome to see Audrey, Nick, and Jim, and to meet Holly (beautiful name, I thought!). Here we are at Whitey's after eating some post-chikwati ice cream. (Hmm, we could open up a "Whitey's" in Zambia and call it "Muzungu's")
