An hour from East London, across the Kei River, is a land taken for granted but rich in heritage, culture and tradition. Photojournalist Bazil Raubach experiences a traditional African wedding just outside Centani, South Africa. 23/01/2010.
BRIGHT and early on a hot, muggy Saturday, I started out my trip to a traditional African wedding with friend Mziwoxolo Mtola.
Setting off from East London to Kei Mouth along the N2 is a nice drive along the highway, but that is where the niceness ends.
Once in Kei Mouth, we catch the pontoon across the river. A daunting experience getting your car on to it, and praying it won’t sink on the five-minute trip.
And this is where the real fun begins. The road from the drop off to Centane is nothing but potholes and mud. But the scenery sure makes up for it. Lush and green with passing Nguni cows, goats and lots of carefree, happy children with ready smiles and a wave.
The village where the wedding will take place is a cluster of traditional and modern structures.
Our young guide, picked up along the side of the road, never introduces himself but directs us to the wedding, which had began earlier that morning. In fact, the residents had slaughtered an animal the day before and were eating the remains.
After a solemn and serious discussion with the village elders, we are given permission to be part of the day’s events. Locals and guests greet us and shout welcomes with huge smiles.
Before I have even placed my camera bag down, a bovine jawbone is thrust into my hand and a pocketknife offered to cut off a choice piece of flesh.
The jawbone had come from the previous day’s sacrifice to the ancestors to celebrate and acknowledge the celebration. The jawbone had been thrust into the coals and “braised”. I hack off a piece of cheek and proceed to chew, and chew, and chew.
The bride and bridesmaid appear from a local home covered in white traditional blankets with black veils covering their faces. This causes the village to break out in celebration. They slowly circle the homes and kraal of the bride’s parents.
On the way to the bride’s family homestead, one of the ladies in the group throws sweets to the children, who dive around, elbowing each other in their haste to find the sweets in the long grass.
After a family conference, another trip around the homestead is taken, only this time it’s the groom’s family. The bride’s family follow.
I’m told that the magnificent beast standing in an adjacent part of the homestead is going to be sacrificed. The black bull is singled out and “hog-tied” to the ground in the main kraal.
This only happens once the elders have tapped the wooden post of the kraal and chatted with the ancestors, asking for their blessing on the union.
One of the elders threads an assegaai through the legs of the bull and wallops the ribs, proceeding to poke the bull with a point, slowly drawing beads of blood from its chest.
After a period of time, another elder attempts to do the same thing, but the beast refuses to bellow. If the bull bellows, it is a sign of good luck and a necessity for the ceremony. After the bull bellows it will have its throat slit.
Another conference ensues followed by the elders apologising to the ancestors, and it is suggested that I, mlungu, not enter the kraal or take more photographs. But the bull refuses to bellow and is released for the second time.
Once we left I understand the bull bellowed and was slaughtered in the traditional way. Finally the couple were married, and celebrations continued well into the night, as it often does at these events.
Walking away from the colourful ceremony as the light fades, I am yet again reminded of how little I know of the culture and traditions of these people whothat share my world. They welcomed me, fed me and let me freely photograph a private family wedding, asking nothing other than that I honour and respect their lifestyle and traditions. I was even offered a wife, which I declined, of course.
