Did I Ever Tell You About My Gambian Family?
At the Bakery I have a friend from Gambia that I like to joke around with at times. He has been an employee at the Bakery for some time, but he pretends that he has never been to the original location on Bleecker Street. When I give him a large baking to-do list, he complains that I am mean to immigrants. (That is probably our biggest running joke. Yes, it is a joke. I am not mean to immigrants.) Before I left for my Seattle vacation to attend a wedding, he told me he was getting married. Since I had never before heard him mention a girlfriend, I didn't believe him. No one else he told believed him either. When I returned from my vacation, he was on hisvacation because he had indeed gotten married. To prove it, he invited me to his wedding party in the Bronx. Yes, the Bronx. I asked him if it was all right for a white girl to go to the Bronx, he reassured me by saying that Italians lived in his building. I was only mildly relieved.
My next question about his party was what he wanted for a wedding gift. The term "registry" was mildly foreign. He used a registry to find a gift for our boss when she got married, but I don't believe he thought that type of technology applied to him. My coworkers and I asked what he wanted, and this is the list he came up with: a new hat, a watch, and light bulbs. I bought him some nice energy saving lightbulbs, but managed to break them.
I wasn't sure what to expect at the party. My friend said that there would be food and music...and that is all the info I got. It wasn't enough, really, as this party was very traditional and totally interesting. When I safely arrived at his apartment (in a neighborhood that was much cleaner than my own), there was only a handful of people: my friend, his friends, our boss and her husband (the only other white person besides myself). Loud African music was playing in the background, and BBC news was on the television. I am not sure why the television was on, I only imagine that they kept it on so that they could find out if Ramadan was going to officially start the next day. After about twenty minutes my boss, her spouse, myself, and a couple of other people were handed plates of food: chicken and spicy rice. The wierd thing about being served the meal: the party hadn't officially begun. Sure, we were told that the festivities commenced at 6:00, but apparently no one was going to show up until 8:30 or 9:00. So we all kind of stared at each other for a while. My boss had to leave around 8:00, and with her she took her spouse, leaving me as the sole white person/native English-speaker/non-Muslim. But that was fine with me.
During my French studies, I took a class in African Literature, and along with reading novels written by leading Senagalese authors we also learned a lot about African culture. Certainly some cultural aspects vary between tribes, but some of the customs are found in many tribes/countries. Thanks to that class, I wasn't totally clueless about the evenings events.

Around 9:00, all the women showed up wearing their traditional colorful dresses and ornate jewelry. I felt completely underdressed. The women had an important role at the party. Traditionally when the bride comes to her grooms house with the griots (tribal elders/poets), his friend's wives barricade the passage demanding money from her before she can pass. This process is very loud as the women demand more money and the griots sing about the goings on.

Here are the backs of the women blocking the way. They were also blocking my vision a little.

Finally she and her family makes it through. For some reason that I couldn't totally figure out money changed hands rather frequently. First the bride gave money, then it looked like people were giving it back to her. (I was concerned that I should have brought some money. I had money, but I was going to use it as emergency taxi money in case the Bronx got dangerous.) here the bride's mother is giving her money. More dowery?

The griots took turns singing; it was incredibly cool even though I had no clue what they were saying. After singing, the griots talked about the gifts, and then I think they asked for money because more women took money out of their handbags. The gifts were more traditional than the ones that my friend asked for. People brought several comforters, dish sets, cannisters--and multiples of each item. (Something they could have avoided if only they registered.)

Here I am with the bride and groom. I think I am the only one aware that a picture was being taken. Boy am I white.

I got to hold a cute little baby that night. She was a sweetheart.

As I left my friend showed his gratitude for my presence at his party, by saying that we are now family. Don't we bear a strong resemblance? If it works, I have attached two videos so you can get a glimpse of what I experienced that night. Enjoy!