This past week I experienced a custom wedding, a birthday celebration, and a funeral all within two days of each other.
One morning I woke up and made my coffee, and my Mami ame up to my door and said “There’s a wedding today, we’re going”. Okay, I thought. So I filled up my water bottle, grabbed a calico as a wedding gift, and climbed up a mountain to see this custom wedding. And guess who was there?! Mac! It’s funny because our villages in Peace Corps Office eyes are two different communities because they are two hours apart, but in reality they are one.
Anyway, so this custom ceremony was a really cool thing to be privy to. We sat around for a few hours, not really sure what was going on. Everyone was just sitting around storying – it kind of reminded me of a big family picnic. The girl who was to be married was just sitting in the doorway of her hut in a green island dress, like nothing big was happening at all. I think the groom had gone to Nangire that morning to pay for the bride - $800 with a cow and mats. So he wasn’t around. And then around 4:00pm things started happening. This HUGE parcel of lap lap, which required the labor of two full grown men to carry, made its way down the small valley, followed by a parade of people carrying bundles of mats. They placed all the gifts in the bottom of the little valley of houses, and then the bride made her way down and sat in the middle. Then her entire family walked around the pile of gifts, touching everything to show that they accepted the gifts. And then the groom walked around touching everything, showing he accepted the gifts. And then he touched the head of the bridge to show that he accepted her as his bride and then everyone clapped. It was funny though because he just touched her like “Tag, you’re it” and walked away. And that was like their “and now you may kiss the bride”.
And because this is Vanuatu, they tacked on a kid’s birthday to the end of it. Everyone lined up to shake hands with this little baby sitting on his dad’s lap, and people poured baby powder all over the baby. The kid was BAWLING but the powder kept flowing. It was really really really funny but at the same time.. that poor kid. Billy told me the reason they pour baby powder is because it says “Oop! Gotcha!”.
The next day a man died in Waluwumbue. That morning someone had told me that a man was sick and he was put in a boat going to Lolowai. So I walked over to Waluwumbue because I was supposed to meet with the chief, and as I approach the village I hear WAILING.
Some of the villagers were sitting around a dead body covered in mats. I went to see my friend and she was serving cake to her Year 3’s, and she calmly tells me that her grandpa just died, as she licked the food off her fingers. No tears, no nothing. I didn’t know how to react because she didn’t seem upset. And then later that evening she was sitting under the tent with the body, wailing. Death is so weird here. People wail one moment and then are completely fine the next. On and off.
The tradition is the wrap the body in mats, and then family members sleep with the body through the night. The village gathers around and sings hymns until sunrise to keep the devils away. Then the next day they bury him. But the mourning goes for 10 days. Its odd though, because the whole community gets together to make a feast and it’s like a family reunion, but it’s really a funeral. There was something eerily comforting about sitting around baking bread with the Mamas for the funeral. I think maybe they all get together and make a party out of it to dull the pain.
And then one of my small Dadi’s got DRUNK. People in Vanuatu don’t drink too much – kava is the choice substance – and SDA villages prohibit alcohol, but this Dadi doesn’t follow the rules. I’ve heard stories of how scary it is when ni-vans get really drunk, but I didn’t believe it until a roaring, swearing ni-Van was barreling toward me, being constrained by three of his full grown brothers. I’ve never seen ni-vans fight either. But they were literally beating up each other because the drunk Dadi was picking a fight with everyone. This went on for a few more hours and then I went home to nap. I passed by my mom’s kitchen, chatted for a few minutes, and then went to my house for a short nap. I got up and went back to my mom’s kitchen for dinner. We were all sitting around on the ground and my mom says, “Nancy, did you hear one story about this kitchen?”. “No”, I said. She laughed and looked at my sister. In that time span, 40min or 30min idk, the drunk Dadi had walked to my village, went to my mom’s kitchen looking for my dad because he wanted to beat my dad up, and when he couldn’t find my dad he started swearing and throwing my mom’s pots all around. She said to me very calmly, “Yes, I was hoping you would hear and come, but nope. And then one uncle heard and came up here and saved my life.” She was telling me this tale like she was just telling me she went to the garden. It was a really weird week. A really weird day.
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