The Ugandan Adventure: Part VI: Meeting Nicholas Cage and Receiving Homage

One of the stranger things to happen to me of late was a discovery of a time portal, through which I (and a few friends) could travel to any point in history. Furthermore, it allowed us to communicate across the eras. One friend travelled through to the 19^th Century, at which point he walked into a shop to buy a sandwich, only to discover that the menu did not have any prices on. When the sandwich arrived, it lacked any bread (it was, essentially, a pile of chicken pieces) and cost £20. I, on the other hand, went to Ancient Rome where I encountered the Hollywood actor Nicholas Cage, who was a traffic warden. Furthermore, he was also a traffic warden in the 19^th Century, and the present day. He had gone for a career change to become the Doctor Who of road traffic.

‘I knew this would happen’ I hear you say. ‘Your great learning has driven you insane, Josh’ the distant voices cry. No, as it happens. This was yet another malaria-tablet-induced dream. Despite what the naysayer may say, I am completely sane, or at least my good friend the King of Assyria tells me so.

To move onto more sensible climbs, I will tell you about religion. Ugandan style. You see, when I first arrived in Uganda (at my hotel with a view of a million dollars in Kampala), I noticed there was a picture on the wall. Who was it of? Not the Pope, nor the Ugandan President, but rather the Archbishop of the Anglican Church of Uganda. For those who are used to the nice, cosy image of Anglicanism in the Church of England (where it would be rather unusual to find pictures of our dear Archbishop Justin Welby hanging around in the leading hotels in the country), Anglicanism in Uganda is a different kettle of fish. For one thing it is thriving. And I don’t mean ‘The-church-has-a-nice-new-young-couple’ type of thriving, but rather, ‘the-church-has-a-nice-new-large-village-of-two-thousand’ type of thriving. Although Roman Catholicism is still the largest denomination, Anglicanism is not too far behind.

I realised this when I went to a village in a Kuman region (a district near Soroti) for a Confirmation Service (for children and young people - and a few older ones as well - who are being confirmed into the Anglican denomination). Not only was the whole village present for the Confirmation (the church was packed to overflowing - it would make many a British ‘mega-church’ blush), but I also discovered that the local school was Anglican, its political representatives were Anglican, and I think even the animals were the ‘spiritual-but-not-religious’ type of Anglican as well. This is not the type of liberal incense and candles Anglicanism that you would find in the American Episcopalian Church, or the quiet little Matins Service in an English Country Parish. Instead, this is full-blooded African Anglicanism: a service can easily last five hours (with a two hour sermon), with a strange combination of a translated version of Cranmer’s Book of Common Prayer and hypnotic traditional African music (repetitive, with call-and-response, dominated by voices, drums and African harps). Even though the bishop was garbed like his European Medieval predecessors, his faith is full-throttle Conservative Evangelicalism. He preaches with an astonishing passion and energy and without notes. Sometimes he is so loud, the microphones start screeching. Once again, in contrast to much Western Christianity, his is a typically African sermon of death, judgment, and hope in Jesus Christ. A two hour sermon is quite usual for him.

The whole village processes to church

Indeed, with the village churches packed, the Cathedral in Soroti packed (easily over a thousand in each of its four Sunday services), and a total of 276 schools in the Soroti district alone, it appears that the author of the book ‘The New Christendom’, Philip Jenkins, is right: Christendom is no longer found in Europe or North America, but in Africa and South America (and increasingly in China and the Far East). Whilst religion in Europe has taken three centuries of battering by an increasingly confident secularism, introducing public secularism into somewhere like Uganda would probably cause the country (or at least the educational system) to collapse. The ancient tribal religions have mostly fled into the shadows of the country; Islam is a minority. Secularism is nowhere to be found. Christianity is culturally, socially and politically dominant.

I got a taste of how much things have changed. To a certain extent figures like bishops have taken on the traditional role of the tribal elders. Roles can take a long time to change in cultures; the gestures may remain the same even if the type of person in a social role has changed. In this village in the Kuman region, the whole church gathered into a line to shake the bishop’s hand. But where this differed from a Church of England model is that the bishop stayed seated at the front, and the church processed to greet him there. And when they did shake his hand, they would kneel before him, as if he were a tribal elder: not just the women - as is the custom of the Kumi - but the men as well. I also was greeted thus: people would walk up to my chair and kneel before me as they shook my hand. In a sense, I was paid homage.

This is a pleasant experience to have, despite my egalitarian principles, and I have decided to introduce this gesture as soon as I head back to the UK.

Tune in tomorrow to see more fun, sun and adventures in Penduck of Life’s Ugandan Adventures. Tomorrow we’ll be encountering the children of Uganda, and how Ugandan six-year-olds are better than me at football, and have an interested habit of staring at me… endlessly…

The Ugandan Adventure: Part V: A Tale of Two Weddings (Chapter Two: How I Almost Got Married)

Yesterday I referred you to a Ugandan church wedding in which I committed the unforgivable sin of taking numerous photos of the bride as she processed up the aisle. Today is quite different: a traditional Eteso wedding. Indeed, it is has given me a few ideas for my own wedding (which may have taken place a lot sooner than I had intended it…)


Wedding 2: Cows, goats, and mistaken identities
It took about three hours of travelling across pothole-ridden roads to arrive at a small village in the district of Palissa. Along the way, we merrily discussed my own status as ‘bachelor’; ‘What would your parents think if you brought home a black wife?’ I was asked. ‘I think they would have more questions over me bringing home a wife in the first place’ was my response. We all laughed. It was a witty little joke with witty little consequence.

Or so I thought. Or so I thought.

But first, the wedding. In an Eteso wedding, it is the groom who comes to the bride’s village, rather than the other way round (as in some other cultures I have been to, such as South India). The groom enters the village ‘square’ with his whole family (essentially most of his village); after cutting a ribbon, nearly a hundred people streamed through a little archway. What is more, there was a bubble machine. (I say this was a ‘traditional’ wedding: it had a traditionalist ritual and was next to a few mud-huts. Other than that, it had a DJ blasting out Ugandan Christian RnB Afro-pop - which is quite an interesting concept, to say the least). Nevertheless, it turns out the groom was late; accordingly, the Master of Ceremonies called for him to pay a fine to compensate the guests, which I think is an excellent idea. In Western weddings, brides so often turn up late that I think it is high time they gave financial compensation to us the poor and miserable waiting guests.

Once the groom was seated (hidden in the crowd of his family - we’ll see why in a bit), the bridal procession began. Sorry, did I say ‘procession’? I meant ‘processions’. You see, at an Eteso wedding, there is not one, nor two, but five bridal processions. And the bride only turns up in the last one. To explain: in the first procession, the bridesmaids (who effectively act as servants throughout the whole service) processed up, and knelt before the groom’s family. To the sound of Afro-pop, the groom’s aunts then got up and circled round the bridesmaids, looking for the bride (it felt akin to a marital version of pass-the-parcel). When they finally realised she was not there, aunts decided upon whether the bridesmaids themselves should be the bride. (I like this idea of having alternative brides in case the bride doesn’t turn up. Perhaps I shall include it in my wedding liturgy). Nevertheless, the gathering wholeheartedly said, ‘No’, after which the bridesmaids responded, ‘We shall go look for the bride, but we need money for transport!’ The groom proceeded to give them money.



Is the bride amongst these
young girls?

This was all good fun. And it happened another four more times. And each time, the aunts would circle round, looking for the bride, and each time the group who had processed in would ask the group for money for transport. Considering that it was obvious that the bride was in one of the nearest huts, I thought this was a bit harsh on the groom, who had already paid a fine for being late. Nevertheless, in the words of Sean Connery in the film, The Man Who Would Be King, ‘Different cultures, different customs’. The second procession consisted of young girls from the village; the aunts thought this would not be a good match as it would be ‘defilement’ (i.e. paedophilia - never expected that mentioned at a wedding liturgy). After the young girls had left, the elderly ladies of the village processed in; once again, the same ritual followed.

Is the bride amongst these
elderly ladies?

After this, the bride’s distant cousins processed in. It was here that I almost got myself into a bout of trouble and, were it not for my cowardly nature and the good graces of the Lord, I may have been writing this as a married man now. You see, some of the bride’s cousins were exceptionally beautiful - one, in particular. I turned to my guide and translator from the village, and jokingly asked him,

‘Who is that girl there?’ said I. ‘She is very beautiful! Is she married?’

He laughed. ‘Ah, no, no, no, she is not.’

He was then silent for a while.



In an alternative universe, this girl
is now my wife.

‘Would you like to talk to her afterwards?’ said he.

‘Well… maybe…’ said I, still naively flirtatious.
‘Ok…’ he said, more serious and sombre previously. ‘Shall I ask for her parents to be brought as well?’

I was confused. ‘But why should you bring her par-’ And then I realised. In the Ugandan cultures, if you are considering marrying a girl, you would meet her parents at the same time. ‘Er…’ said I, ‘probably not! We do marriage a little differently in England…and my parents would be somewhat upset…’ I added hastily. He seemed disappointed. For my thought, it was a very close call.



The bride is found

It was in the final procession with all the groups combined that the bride was present. Once found, she proceeded to search for the groom. And upon finding him, everyone started singing a song called, ‘Mr Handsome’, as he was presented to the gathering. For my future wife, if you happen to be reading this, know that this is the song I want played for me at my wedding.

The song I want sung at my wedding, as I enter the church [the song begins after one minute, though the music video is objectively the greatest ever made): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y2XZAc_TMk8
The groom subsequently discussed the dowry with his father-in-law (once again, unlike in other cultures, here the groom, not the bride, pays the dowry), which added up to a total of nine cows, nine goats and three million Ugandan shillings (just less than a thousand pounds). ‘Why nine cows and not eight?’ I hear the full multitude of you cry (for you are well acquainted with Eteso culture). Well, it because the groom had had a baby with the bride without the bride’s parents permission, and thus had to pay for the dishonour. Naughty boy.



The price of impatience: an extra
cow for the dowry

You're getting engaged?
Congratulations! Have a lollipop

Finally, the couple got engaged (yes, not married yet, but engaged). They presented each other with rings, and then sat down together. At that point, they were officially married, though not technically: that would happen later in the evening (if you get what I mean…). Presents were brought en masse to bride and groom (the usual: suitcases, chairs, fruit, lots and lots and lots of coca-cola). Finally, seven hours after it had begun, we all feasted.

And that, ladies and gentlemen (in an unusually long entry for my Ugandan blog) is an Eteso wedding. It is also the story of how I narrowly missed getting hitched myself. What does tomorrow’s entry have in stall? Let’s just say it involves dozens of people paying me homage whilst I sit upon a throne…

'Different cultures, different customs'
Coca Cola as a wedding gift

 



The Ugandan Adventure: Part IV: A Tale of Two Weddings (Chapter One: The Day I Brought Shame Upon Myself)

It appears that across the Christian world (which includes post-Christian to those who are sensitive about these things…) that Saturday is still the preferred day of choice for weddings in that, for my last two Saturdays I have been in attendance for festivities. Last week was a church wedding; this week, a traditional Eteso ceremony. In which case, for your entertainment, amusement and interest, I shall regale you with the finer details.


Wedding 1: When Thomas Cranmer met Afro-Pop Wagner

 

The Procession of the Groom

Sometimes, cultural accommodation can take a step too far. One often finds this among those who have spent far too long in an alien culture: upon returning to their mother culture, they have feelings of shame, guilt and regret over some of the friends they may have made, spouses they may have taken, or activities they may have participated in. My dear readers, I now share this shame. ‘Why?’, you may ask. ‘What possible, horrific thing could you have done that makes you feel in such a way?’ Others may ask, ‘Have you taken on a Ugandan wife? Have you taken part in some ancient sacrificial ritual?’ No, neither of these. But, in order to justify myself in what I have done, the story needs to be told.

The beginnings of the bridal
procession

I had been invited to a wedding in St Peter’s Cathedral, Soroti, by Bishop George. Whilst waiting for the service to start, I happened to meet two German girls who are here in Soroti for a year doing charity work with Soroti Diocese (when you encounter fellow Europeans in Africa, you always have the urge to talk to them). Furthermore, I was being given honoured greetings by everyone (a sure pull towards the failings of pride). And then, everyone told me, ‘Remember to take pictures!’ A certain rebellious spirit arose in me - ‘unlike in churches back home’, thought I, ‘pictures shall be taken of this wedding! And during the service as well!’ And so I did: whence the groom processed up the aisle (for yes, in Uganda both bride and groom get processions!), I took photographs from the side of the church. Yes reader, I was not an official photographer, but I still snapped away. I beheld the simple Afro-pop melody with the older ladies dancing around the groom as he processed, shrieking their pulsating falsetto (which is a sign of joy), and I happily took more and more pictures.

Yes, dear reader, I processed in front
of the bride...

Perhaps I was trying to impress the German girls (‘Look at me! I can be incultural too!’); perhaps it was the rising heat that caused evil thoughts to emerge in the chambers of my mind; perhaps it was a sheer sense of fallen rebelliousness that drove my vaulting ambitions. But oh! I went too far! The ushers said to me that when the bride comes I was allowed to stand in front of the procession. I could process in front of the bride. And so I, callous and unthinking of my dear ones back at home, followed their advice. Whence the bride processed up the aisle - to the sound of an Afro-Pop version of Wagner’s ‘Here comes the bride’ - I gradually walked backwards ahead of her, taking pictures and even a video. Yes, I broke that ancient unwritten English law: I blocked people’s view of the bride. I took their attention. In doing so, I became an Other to myself. I now realise the wretch that I am.

The rest of the service was a curious mixture of Thomas Cranmer’s Book of Common Prayer (1662 version), translated into Eteso, with Afro-pop hymns (and a long, long, long sermon from Bishop George: he sure can preach!). One of my favourite points of the wedding was hearing a young lady reading the scriptures in a 1950s Church of England style, but in a strong African accent. At the point at which each of the couple said, ‘I do’, the whole of the congregation would cheer (including whistles, vuvuzelas, horns, and pulsating falsetto shrieks). Everyone had a tendency to wave flags over the couple as well. And after only two hours, it was over.

This was in mighty contrast to the second, traditional Eteso wedding…

But that, I’m afraid, will have to wait until tomorrow. Be sure that it contains many elements I now want included in my own wedding (including a song sung about me plus the presentation of alternative brides) and a few things I don’t want (myself having to pay a dowry plus the paying of fines if I am late).

The Ugandan Adventure

So, first things first: who am I, and why am I writing this blog? I’m Josh Penduck, an ordinand (trainee Anglican priest) at Cranmer Hall in Durham. I’m currently in the Diocese of Soroti in Uganda for a month, on a placement (as part of my training) observing the Anglican Church in this part of the world. I thought a few people might be interested to read some of my experiences…

Second, when I was about to start a blog, I discovered I had already begun a (very) short-lived one several years ago (2009). I had forgotten about it, and I was almost certain that everyone else had forgotten it. Nevertheless, my one-entry blog (a sermon I made several years ago) spread like wildfire through Poland in 2011, with a total of nearly 500 hits. I imagine that many in Poland have been having frequent sleepless nights, awaiting the next instalment of the mighty blog. Now, my Polish friends, I’m happy to say your ceaseless faithfulness has paid its rewards: the blog continues.

So, finally, I have the internet! I bought a dongle after a few days’ delay, and am happily working again ‘on-the-line’. This is the fifth good thing to happen to me today:

1) I had an excellent night’s sleep, the first since I have since I arrived in Uganda last Monday. This is a mixture of jet lag and heat, but I think I’m finally getting the hang of this ‘sleeping’ thing. I had strange dreams, which included me suffering from vertigo in a skyscraper in London, attempting to get a picture of the sunrise; subsequently, I was floating over the city, eating a box of marshmallows. This has improved upon dreams where I accidentally insulted someone’s face and they took me to court, or another dream where I miss my train because my brother decides to start playing the trumpet to my grandfather instead of dropping me off at the station. Ah, malaria tablets! Who needs illegal drugs when I have you to keep me entertained?

2) I had a normally heated shower. After an initial stop in a hotel in Kampala, I have been using the shower in the Guest House in Soroti, next to where Bishop George Ewau (of Soroti Diocese) lives. The Guest House is beautiful, and caters for all my needs. Unfortunately, I first experienced the shower as an onslaught of ice-cold water. The next day, I discovered I needed to turn the heat on. However, this led to the opposite: scaldingly hot water. Finally, after seven days here (who says I lack common sense?) I worked out how to get the shower to be ‘warm’. Naturally, this is an immensely complicated procedure, and no brilliant mind could have worked it out in less time… It would take hours to explain, and doesn’t in any involve turning the heat off for five minutes before I enter…

3) George cooked some excellent toast. Who’s George? He is my housekeeper. [In a sense, having a housekeeper makes me feel like I’m in Downton Abbey, except there’s no white-tie dress code, and so far I am sadly not engaged to Lady Mary]. George fries the toast with the butter already spread, turning this ancient English cuisine into a delightfully hedonistic encounter. Once the Ugandan honey or plum jam is applied, I’m sure it is categorically redefined as a ‘sin’.

4) The fourth thing is something unmentionable in public. A description would involve the consequences of being in contact with unEnglish germs. What is good about this situation is that it has stopped. For the time being.

5) I have internet. This is surprisingly difficult to get (more on that later). Nevertheless, it is got. I came, I searched, I blogged.

So, what have I been up to? In order to find out, you must check out tomorrow’s blog (I’m told short blog entries are the most successful… was this short?). But for a quick taster, the blog over the next few days involves Afro-Pop versions of ‘Here comes the bride’, ten hour funerals, the world’s biggest potholes, walking a pig, and lots and lots of starch!