Same but (very) different

We have recently returned to Uganda after spending some time in the UK to celebrate our daughter Jo’s wedding to John. It was a wonderful day – the sun shone brightly, the bride looked radiant in a beautiful white dress, there were bridesmaids, everyone wore their best clothes, flowers were carried, photos were taken, the service in church was followed by feasting and speeches, there was music and dancing in the evening before the bride and groom left to begin their lives together.

Six weeks previously we had attended another wedding, this time in Moyo, in the north east corner of the Diocese and a stone’s throw from the Sudan border. It was also a wonderful day – the sun also shone (but it usually does, and the temperatures were in the 30s), the bride’s dress was also white, there were bridesmaids (about 12 of them), flowers were carried (but they were artificial), photos were taken (by us anyway), the service in church (which lasted a mere two hours) was followed by feasting (the entire village came along to share in the food), there were speeches, music and dancing followed, with a local live band and middle aged dancers who performed wildly under the scorching sun until they had worked themselves into a frenzy.

Jo and John’s wedding went pretty much as they had planned, with the bride only ten minutes late (she blamed the wedding car’s late arrival), and there were only minor hiccups later like forgetting to cut the wedding cake until well into the evening – but who cares?

At the hour the wedding in Moyo was due to begin, nothing appeared to be happening except some early preparations for the church service and open air reception. Then the bridegroom appeared – it seemed the car they had planned to use for the wedding party had broken down, so could they use ours? Our trusty Land Cruiser was hastily bedecked with ribbons and flowers, and our driver became the wedding chauffeur. Allan, still recovering from his broken ankle, had to walk! There was an enthusiastic and lively band providing music in the church, so nobody minded the two hour delay in the start of the service. Much clapping and ululation took place throughout the wedding ceremony, which Allan conducted accompanied by a translation into Madi, the local language. The food afterwards was, of course, enya (the cassava mash we love to hate), accompanied by meat, potatoes, rice, beans, cabbage and salad. It was served on long tables in the centre of a piece of grass, with the guests sitting on all sides on plastic chairs (the children sat in school benches) and shaded from the sun by trees or by homemade canvas awnings sporting the UNHCR logo.

Both were significant and enjoyable events, although for us of course Jo and John’s wedding was extra special. But it’s amazing how things can be the same but not the same. The future of the two couples will be dramatically different, but the institution of marriage holds the same significance in both cultures, and both couples were making their vows before the God they know and serve.

For our part, we are privileged to have taken part in both. But we rejoice particularly in Jo’s marriage to John, and in seeing their happiness together. We look forward to sharing many years ahead with them, as with our son and daughter-in-law Ben and Bethan, and are delighted to welcome John into our family.