I went to wedding and almost got married

“Women enjoy themselves, while men are at work.”

I am invited to Gambian wedding. Costarod (I suppose derivative of “Coastal Road”) is a poor suburb of Serekunda. I am told to go to Turntable and there “ax people”. The local dialect of English never stops surprising. The words like ask, mask and task become ax, max and tax, and kitchen sometimes becomes chicken. So do not be surprised if offered a rental apartment with chicken. Anyway, I ax people and find my way.

By the dusk, the beautifully dressed wedding guests slowly gather in the central square of the village. Everyone is welcome, invitation is not necessary. But I see no white people. This place is impossible to find by accident. Strangers don’t wander here in the night, eventhough we’re only a few blocks away from main street.

Gifts are modest: a bag of rice or a bottle of oil will do. But I quickly realize my mistake: a bag of rice means not what I thought, but a 50-kg jute sack. Luckily, I brought some other things too. Everyone is glad to see me, I make friends in no time. The family invites me home, the bridesmaids pose for pictures, and offer to find me a fiancé. I laugh, saying why not, and the candidate arrives before I finish my phrase. Things go fast in the Gambia!

Later I also learn that things may go even faster. Allegedly, it may indeed happen that you arrive at a wedding, to learn that it is your own.

The music is exclusively local and traditional, performed by life local band. I enjoy it immensely: improvised vocal, drums, African fiddle, and kora. There is no DJ, no English-language international hits. No one needs this. The musical phrase is impossible to repeat, and it is also not even remotely close to whatever you will find at Spotify by searching for Western African tunes. At the level of rhythm and melody, it is something I have never heard. The dance is simple. The dancers, mostly middle-aged women, mothers and grandmothers, radiate extreme joy and happiness. The musicians receive plenty of cash. They leave, another band comes in and the dance restarts. The women of the family are dressed in robes that match in color, sewn specailly for the occasion, and pose for pictures eagerly. Men also wear beautiful local robes, however of different colors. People of the village dress casually, often jeans and T-shirt.

“Why only women dance?” I ask Sam, who invited me.

“Women always enjoy themselves more. Because they have nothing to do, when men are at work.”

Post Scriptum

I later inquire a lot to find to what extent the statement is true. I think it may be actually true to some extent. Gambia is Muslim, and the stereotypical role of young women, subjugated to men and their mothers-in-law, is unfortunately present. Please read Maral Salmassi’s article that explains it. But Gambian girls enjoy far more freedom than Arab girls: they wear colorfully, often do independent jobs, show no constraint speaking to strangers, and freely travel alone. It is true that it is the man who brings the money home. Work does not pay well. So there are two kinds of Gambians: some work hard to make ends meet, while many simply choose not to work. While men can stop working, which means parasiting financially on their relatives, women cannot stop their daily chores of cooking, cleaning, washing and taking care of kids. Many of those things are done together in the community, where women support each other and share obligations. All in all, in all the places I went, I found people, men and women alike, had plenty of time for me, and sharing an afternoon was never a problem.

To my unexperienced eyes, it appeared that people, including girls and boys, were in the mood of perpetual holidays, by which I do not necessarily intend to say something negative. I only spent a short time in the Gambia and this observation could be shallow and wrong.