“Go for it!” That’s the phrase that Chris heard when he sat down for dinner at a diner across from my father to ask my hand in marriage. He was wracking his brain to come up with some small talk to begin with or some way to broach the subject. Not my Dad. He wasn’t about to tiptoe around what he knew was coming. “Go for it!” And that’s how Chris got to just jump in and ask for and receive his blessing.
Living here, there are so many reasons to be cautious:
Young kids and their needs.
Transitioning. I think transitioning might be just a constant state of being here.
Safety concerns of one kind or another in our region.
Language barriers.
Cultural barriers.
Time constraints from the business or homeschooling.
So, when we get the chance to do something, my first thoughts are often why it won’t work. Take last week. We were invited to spend the night and attend a wedding at the village. Immediately I thought how I didn’t know what village weddings -- or any weddings in this area -- were like. I didn’t know what the expectations would be for our family. I thought of the innumerable Aunties and Uncles and Big Brothers and Big Sisters that would push themselves at my unsuspecting children, wanting to hug them, pinch their cheeks, carry them around, practice English words on them, take photos of them, etc. I thought of the food that might be hard to get down politely (have you ever tried to make yourself smile while eating a hunk of goat fat, realizing that someone put this on your plate as a special treat?) I thought of trying to prepare my kids for this and the impending tantrums that MUST take place just for the newness and sheer intensity of the situation. I gulped. I said we should, “Go for it.”
Yes, in the first few years, I was more cautious. I protected my and my children’s early sentiments by trying not to push past boundaries. I tried to cushion the many cultural blows they were experiencing. I wanted to fit in some safe experiences along with the perceived scary ones. Now, we’re ready to go for it. We won’t do every crazy thing that comes along, but we’re branching out. It’s good for our hearts and for our attempts at making this place truly OUR home. Besides doing this with our family, we brought along a young man who has been in the area for only a few weeks and a woman who is a professional photographer that we happened to meet in the airport a few weeks ago. Funny, huh? So, we went for it. We packed up sleeping bags and lots of warm clothes and a few toys and coloring books that we didn’t mind leaving there, and headed out to the village.
Upon arrival, we were quickly ushered in to our friend’s house where we had the use of their main room as our bedroom and common area. We could retreat there with only his kids to follow us if we needed a place to get away from the busyness of wedding preparation.
After that, we were shown the tent where several cooks and helpers -- about 7 men in all -- were preparing the feast that would be served the next day. They had huge copper-lined pots simmering delightfully spiced meats over an open fire pit. As they ladled out spoonfuls of the contents for our photographer friend to capture with her camera, you could see the pride and anticipation in their faces. This was the Thanksgiving Turkey Feast of village life. Except more extreme.
After this, the ladies (Lucy included) were ushered in to see the bride. She was sitting demurely in a corner of a large room with about 50 local women around her. Everyone was waiting for the evening meal to be served -- a small taste of tomorrow’s feast. All the women wanted to know who we were, why we were there, and what in the world happened that my new friend was 50 years old and wasn’t married and didn’t have children. You could see the shock and confusion on faces. Boy, did she handle it like a pro. “A man has to have a good heart. If you can’t find a man with a good heart, it’s better to be alone.” True and wise words for women around the world! Then, she proceeded to make them laugh and fall in love with her by trying to copy their phrases and mannerisms -- even though she didn’t know a stitch of the local language. I spent my time trying to piece together bits of conversation I was hearing, since the language in the village is similar to the trade language that I know pretty well, but is just different enough that I know pretty much nothing that’s really being said.
We excused ourselves to put the kids to bed and then returned to watch the henna party. Basically, ladies sat on the floor and talked while the bride’s hands were decorated with henna. Then, too, other sticks of henna came out and others got their hands done. My friend and I were asked by the bride to come sit by her and, in broken English, she chatted with us while getting her hand painted. She hadn’t met the boy she was about to marry, of course, but thanks to the amazing smartphone, she had been able to chat with him after the engagement so they could get to know each other. This girl of 18 and boy of 21 at least knew a little of their future spouse. Just then, she received a video message from him: a Bollywood song with pictures of flowers, animals, babies, and pretty girls. Apparently it was some message of love for her and pretty sweet. Reminded me of jr. high love notes. (No, of course not my own as my classmates will attest to, but I saw some that my friends received!)
After my hand was decorated, I begged off, knowing that my kids would be up early. It was 1 AM as I covered my hand with a bag so the henna wouldn’t stain my clothes while I slept, crawled into my sleeping bag, pushed Jed around until he stopped snoring, and fell sound asleep. 6 AM comes early in the village, and we were up, changed, and had the room cleared out for a quick breakfast of tea and bread.
We spent the morning trying to keep the kids entertained and manage their moods -- which were all over the place. From elation at finding a tree to climb, to disappointment that the village kids weren’t sharing (how do you explain to a 4-yr-old that a value that is highly regarded in your house isn’t regarded here in the same way while trying to protect their attitude toward these new friends?), to downright tantrum. Yep, Jed finally had one. Right as the cooks were spreading out the feast for some of the men on a front veranda, Jed had had enough. Chris had to carry him kicking and screaming through the village and I wasn’t sure if we’d see them again. But, thanks to a concerned phone call from our friend who invited us and, probably, a lot of grace and patience from Daddy, Jed joined us for the noon meal.
We were served the wedding feast in the room that we slept in . . . alone. I wasn’t sure if we were in that room by ourselves because of our special status as foreigners, our host’s understanding of our preference of eating dinner as a family rather than men, women, boy kids, and girl kids, or his fear that we would shame him with our sloppy and wasteful eating habits. Some people say we do well in eating with our fingers and others say we don’t. Also, how in the world can 2 adults finish off a huge platter of rice piled with 5 kinds of meat dishes? We were given doggie bags . . . this also alleviated the need to swallow hunks of fat!!
From that time on, it was a waiting game. The groom was coming to take the bride away, but they were coming from another village. This meant that they would obviously be late, but how late? No one wants to be driving after dark on mountain roads. We had about 2 hours to drive home after the ceremony ended. My photographer friend and I were sitting in the room with the women again as I watched Jed and Abe happily playing with sticks and climbing around on ledges that some Moms might freak out about. At least they were happy! Then, Lucy came in, followed by the daughter of our host. This girl had been hounding Lucy since we arrived, calling her name, trying to pick her up, meowing at her, giving her little presents, everything she could think of to make Lucy like her. I tried to encourage her to give Lucy some space, but of course, that didn’t work. So, Lucy, exhausted and peopled out, crawled into my lap and grabbed my shawl. She promptly put it over her face and pretended she wasn’t there anymore. I love that coping mechanism!!!! The girl was a little less pushy since I was holding Lucy, and with that quiet and peace, Lucy fell asleep in about 2 minutes. When the girl realized Lucy was sleeping, she went to find someone else to play with. That’s how we were sitting when some vehicles pulled up.
Out came several very important looking older men who were representing the groom -- probably his father and uncles and the holy man. Then, the groom himself. You knew he was the groom because of the turban, the embroidered tunic he wore, and the stone-cold, scared-stiff expression on his face. This procession entered the house next-door and I only know this because I was in the swarm of ladies that jumped to the windows and pressed their noses against the glass when someone yelled out, “Here comes the boy!!!” I didn’t know what happened in that house, but Chris said the men all drank tea and did some sort of service and signed some papers -- I think part of it was acknowledging receipt of the dowry. The dowry was immediately loaded into a truck that was brought for that purpose and then the groom and his entourage was loaded into his car and the bride got up with sobs, hugged her female relatives, and walked up the road to get into the car that would take her to her new village. Some of her male relatives came along to see and approve of the house and family, and the Mother went with tears back to her empty house.
That’s about all we saw because we had to rush out or we’d be trying to dodge street dogs and shepherds in the dark -- not fun. All in all, I’m so glad we went. I got to strengthen my friendships with some of our village friends. My kids got to have another opportunity to stretch themselves in this culture. My husband got to show honor to his local friend by attending the wedding. I pray that young couple will grow in love and respect and commitment in their marriage. And we added one more experience that will make it easier to say the next time: “Go for it!”
Since most of the photos were taken by our friend, here's just one shot Chris got of Lu getting to know some friends that day.
Living here, there are so many reasons to be cautious:
Young kids and their needs.
Transitioning. I think transitioning might be just a constant state of being here.
Safety concerns of one kind or another in our region.
Language barriers.
Cultural barriers.
Time constraints from the business or homeschooling.
So, when we get the chance to do something, my first thoughts are often why it won’t work. Take last week. We were invited to spend the night and attend a wedding at the village. Immediately I thought how I didn’t know what village weddings -- or any weddings in this area -- were like. I didn’t know what the expectations would be for our family. I thought of the innumerable Aunties and Uncles and Big Brothers and Big Sisters that would push themselves at my unsuspecting children, wanting to hug them, pinch their cheeks, carry them around, practice English words on them, take photos of them, etc. I thought of the food that might be hard to get down politely (have you ever tried to make yourself smile while eating a hunk of goat fat, realizing that someone put this on your plate as a special treat?) I thought of trying to prepare my kids for this and the impending tantrums that MUST take place just for the newness and sheer intensity of the situation. I gulped. I said we should, “Go for it.”
Yes, in the first few years, I was more cautious. I protected my and my children’s early sentiments by trying not to push past boundaries. I tried to cushion the many cultural blows they were experiencing. I wanted to fit in some safe experiences along with the perceived scary ones. Now, we’re ready to go for it. We won’t do every crazy thing that comes along, but we’re branching out. It’s good for our hearts and for our attempts at making this place truly OUR home. Besides doing this with our family, we brought along a young man who has been in the area for only a few weeks and a woman who is a professional photographer that we happened to meet in the airport a few weeks ago. Funny, huh? So, we went for it. We packed up sleeping bags and lots of warm clothes and a few toys and coloring books that we didn’t mind leaving there, and headed out to the village.
Upon arrival, we were quickly ushered in to our friend’s house where we had the use of their main room as our bedroom and common area. We could retreat there with only his kids to follow us if we needed a place to get away from the busyness of wedding preparation.
After that, we were shown the tent where several cooks and helpers -- about 7 men in all -- were preparing the feast that would be served the next day. They had huge copper-lined pots simmering delightfully spiced meats over an open fire pit. As they ladled out spoonfuls of the contents for our photographer friend to capture with her camera, you could see the pride and anticipation in their faces. This was the Thanksgiving Turkey Feast of village life. Except more extreme.
After this, the ladies (Lucy included) were ushered in to see the bride. She was sitting demurely in a corner of a large room with about 50 local women around her. Everyone was waiting for the evening meal to be served -- a small taste of tomorrow’s feast. All the women wanted to know who we were, why we were there, and what in the world happened that my new friend was 50 years old and wasn’t married and didn’t have children. You could see the shock and confusion on faces. Boy, did she handle it like a pro. “A man has to have a good heart. If you can’t find a man with a good heart, it’s better to be alone.” True and wise words for women around the world! Then, she proceeded to make them laugh and fall in love with her by trying to copy their phrases and mannerisms -- even though she didn’t know a stitch of the local language. I spent my time trying to piece together bits of conversation I was hearing, since the language in the village is similar to the trade language that I know pretty well, but is just different enough that I know pretty much nothing that’s really being said.
We excused ourselves to put the kids to bed and then returned to watch the henna party. Basically, ladies sat on the floor and talked while the bride’s hands were decorated with henna. Then, too, other sticks of henna came out and others got their hands done. My friend and I were asked by the bride to come sit by her and, in broken English, she chatted with us while getting her hand painted. She hadn’t met the boy she was about to marry, of course, but thanks to the amazing smartphone, she had been able to chat with him after the engagement so they could get to know each other. This girl of 18 and boy of 21 at least knew a little of their future spouse. Just then, she received a video message from him: a Bollywood song with pictures of flowers, animals, babies, and pretty girls. Apparently it was some message of love for her and pretty sweet. Reminded me of jr. high love notes. (No, of course not my own as my classmates will attest to, but I saw some that my friends received!)
After my hand was decorated, I begged off, knowing that my kids would be up early. It was 1 AM as I covered my hand with a bag so the henna wouldn’t stain my clothes while I slept, crawled into my sleeping bag, pushed Jed around until he stopped snoring, and fell sound asleep. 6 AM comes early in the village, and we were up, changed, and had the room cleared out for a quick breakfast of tea and bread.
We spent the morning trying to keep the kids entertained and manage their moods -- which were all over the place. From elation at finding a tree to climb, to disappointment that the village kids weren’t sharing (how do you explain to a 4-yr-old that a value that is highly regarded in your house isn’t regarded here in the same way while trying to protect their attitude toward these new friends?), to downright tantrum. Yep, Jed finally had one. Right as the cooks were spreading out the feast for some of the men on a front veranda, Jed had had enough. Chris had to carry him kicking and screaming through the village and I wasn’t sure if we’d see them again. But, thanks to a concerned phone call from our friend who invited us and, probably, a lot of grace and patience from Daddy, Jed joined us for the noon meal.
We were served the wedding feast in the room that we slept in . . . alone. I wasn’t sure if we were in that room by ourselves because of our special status as foreigners, our host’s understanding of our preference of eating dinner as a family rather than men, women, boy kids, and girl kids, or his fear that we would shame him with our sloppy and wasteful eating habits. Some people say we do well in eating with our fingers and others say we don’t. Also, how in the world can 2 adults finish off a huge platter of rice piled with 5 kinds of meat dishes? We were given doggie bags . . . this also alleviated the need to swallow hunks of fat!!
From that time on, it was a waiting game. The groom was coming to take the bride away, but they were coming from another village. This meant that they would obviously be late, but how late? No one wants to be driving after dark on mountain roads. We had about 2 hours to drive home after the ceremony ended. My photographer friend and I were sitting in the room with the women again as I watched Jed and Abe happily playing with sticks and climbing around on ledges that some Moms might freak out about. At least they were happy! Then, Lucy came in, followed by the daughter of our host. This girl had been hounding Lucy since we arrived, calling her name, trying to pick her up, meowing at her, giving her little presents, everything she could think of to make Lucy like her. I tried to encourage her to give Lucy some space, but of course, that didn’t work. So, Lucy, exhausted and peopled out, crawled into my lap and grabbed my shawl. She promptly put it over her face and pretended she wasn’t there anymore. I love that coping mechanism!!!! The girl was a little less pushy since I was holding Lucy, and with that quiet and peace, Lucy fell asleep in about 2 minutes. When the girl realized Lucy was sleeping, she went to find someone else to play with. That’s how we were sitting when some vehicles pulled up.
Out came several very important looking older men who were representing the groom -- probably his father and uncles and the holy man. Then, the groom himself. You knew he was the groom because of the turban, the embroidered tunic he wore, and the stone-cold, scared-stiff expression on his face. This procession entered the house next-door and I only know this because I was in the swarm of ladies that jumped to the windows and pressed their noses against the glass when someone yelled out, “Here comes the boy!!!” I didn’t know what happened in that house, but Chris said the men all drank tea and did some sort of service and signed some papers -- I think part of it was acknowledging receipt of the dowry. The dowry was immediately loaded into a truck that was brought for that purpose and then the groom and his entourage was loaded into his car and the bride got up with sobs, hugged her female relatives, and walked up the road to get into the car that would take her to her new village. Some of her male relatives came along to see and approve of the house and family, and the Mother went with tears back to her empty house.
That’s about all we saw because we had to rush out or we’d be trying to dodge street dogs and shepherds in the dark -- not fun. All in all, I’m so glad we went. I got to strengthen my friendships with some of our village friends. My kids got to have another opportunity to stretch themselves in this culture. My husband got to show honor to his local friend by attending the wedding. I pray that young couple will grow in love and respect and commitment in their marriage. And we added one more experience that will make it easier to say the next time: “Go for it!”
Since most of the photos were taken by our friend, here's just one shot Chris got of Lu getting to know some friends that day.
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