A Thousand Proposals

The weekend of a thousand proposals
There has been buzz around our village for the past few weeks of the upcoming wedding. The week before you could find many people hopping on busses and coming back with gifts. Scattered around the village some lucky people received invitations (they looked like a beautiful brochure) inviting them to the occasion.
I was not one of them. However I have learned from many that it is perfectly alright to be a wedding crasher. Especially if you are a visitor in the village (and being Palagi helps!) The previous week I was torn on if I should be a wedding crasher and learn the cultural aspects of village life…or leave the village for the first time in a month (besides my fun trips to the hospital) and enjoy my adventurous side of SCUBA diving. The cultural aspect won. (With the help of a hurt arm, and a horrible sore throat.)
On Friday night we heard something happening at the Methodist church. Me and my sister decided to have a look. It was the rehearsal. Dozens of people came by to have a firsthand look on how it will look the next morning.
After the rehearsal, many people decided to tafao outside, and with my sister’s persuasion I joined them. It then started.
I had several men coming up to me asking me in Samoan if I wanted to go to another wedding…with them being my husband. I don’t know what kind of answer they were expecting from me. But I politely laughed at them and turned them down one by one.
It was getting late and I was getting sick and tired of all the men coming up to me, and it was then when I realized the somewhat burden of having a little sister. She still wanted to tafao, and disappeared. Both of us knew that we were to return home with each other, and so I was stuck waiting for her. (I am sorry Jenny and Billy for the times I put you through this…it really is little child syndrome.)
While I was waiting the pastor’s wife came over to me and asked if I could help her the following day. She asked when I would awake in the morning….and I was told that 7 is too late, and I should get up earlier. (I thought sleeping in was what weekends are for!) I volunteered to be at her house by 7 the following morning to help make the tea for the honored guests.
The next morning, I became a little frazzled. What do people wear to wedding here? Is it the church white pulatasi? Or another one? Or maybe you can just wear another nice outfit. I went with wearing another nice outfit so I would not get my pulatasi’s dirty. Apparently I made the wrong decision I learned when I arrived at the pastor’s house.
“Aua le pepoli, you can change when you are done here.” I was told.
We started with pouring bowls of cereal, and wrapping them up. They slicing the bread, and toasting some of it in the oven. Other pieces were used to make pisupo (corned beef) sandwiches. I often felt I was doing the wrong thing as all times. I would do what was asked, and then they would fix it. Then I would do the little change, and was laughed at for doing the wrong thing again. We then made egg and cheese sandwiches , and poured the coffee into cups.
It was finally time for all of the guests to arrive. They were all dressed in their church white clothes. The table was set for them and whenever anything was asked for, it was my job to bring it to them. So I went inside several times to give additional spoons, refill coffee cups, and other little tasks.
While they were eating a noise began to fill through the air. Could a marching band really be in Samoa? What was the point of the marching band at a wedding. Sure enough a few minutes later out the window a band was passing by….followed by the wedding party. They marched their way to the church.
The guests were also making their way to the church and had finished eating, so after a quick clean up, I munched down a few sandwiches, and rushed home to change into my church white clothes.
The church was overstuffed when I got there. On the benches people were squished together, and they added a few extra chairs to wherever they could. There were still plenty of people watching from outside. I was one of them.
Being outside was interesting to say the least. It was where other “wedding crashers” , a few invited guests and the marching band were. I had to stand on my tip toes to have a little glance at what was going on as many people were standing in front of me.
Since it was in a foreign language (no I am not fluent yet) and I was far away I could not tell exactly what was going on. I do know that towards the end of the ceremony both the bride and the groom had to sign their names several times. The bride also wore a gown that reminded me of an 80’s wedding dress.
After the ceremony, the wedding party marched out and they got into several cars. Some were in vans others were in regular cars. The bride and groom got into a little Hyundai and they all went cruising around the nearby villages. I heard several times screeching coming from the cars as they passed out village time and time again.
The reception was held at someone’s fale and the wedding party had their own special place to sit. The bride changed into a more “modern” gown for the reception. The marching band played music to dance to, and everyone ate a lot. Not a lot of what I thought of as wedding food, but a lot of messy food served in Styrofoam clamshells. (I arrived late as I did not want to impose too much with eating. However as soon as I showed up, they made sure to give me a clamshell overflowing with food.) There was also a slaughtered cow that was given as a gift.
At the end of the wedding, people were all bringing home all of the leftover food (the family cooked a lot!) The pastor gave be a gigantic can of pisupo (corned beef) to bring to my family. Many people were still partying on the streets as I headed home that afternoon. (It was not a drunken partying, as there was nothing alcoholic served.)
Throughout the service I had an overflowing amount of men coming up to me asking when our wedding would take place. It was a bit overwhelming and annoying.
The next day I went to the Methodist church (I take turns every week between the many churches in my village). It was still beautiful as the balloons were still in place from the previous day. Afterwards I was approached by the pastor to come to his house for to’ogani. I agreed and went home to change into “normal to’ogani clothes” (I usually go straight from church and I am over dressed in my pulatasi, while everyone else is wearing a tee shirt and an i’e. I often am given clothes to wear when I do not know to change first.) However I did not know this was not a normal to’ogani.
Many people were heading to the pastor’s house with gifts and tons of food. They were all dressed to the nines looking their best, and then there was me in my plain brown shirt, and my orange i’e. I felt so embarrassed and out of place.
I was offered to go sit with the matais, church leaders, and the happy couple, but told everyone I wanted to help instead. First we displayed the gifts on trays. There was tons of laundry soap, bathing soap, gigantic fine mats (I do not know how people make them so big!) cases of pisupo, and cases of eleni (sardines). After they were ready, we began preparing the plates of food. When that was ready, so were we.
We headed into the church hall to display the gifts. Then came the time to serve the food. I was put in charge of giving the apa (bowl for washing hands) and solo (cloth) when people finished. So I sat there cross legged there patiently and quietly awaiting for my job. I should have expected what was going to happen based upon how the previous days had gone. I was first pointed out by the pastor all the single men in the room. He then told me that someone would find me a suitable husband at the pastor’s college. I just laughed it off, happy I could understand what they were saying about me.
I was a little nervous about my job as I did not want to mess up, and when I was caught not paying attention, someone would whisper to me to go as someone had finished. They were of course lying, and everyone burst into tears of laughter. Finally I went at the correct time and the bowls of water kept flowing to the several people in the room.
When everyone was done eating, it was our turn to eat whatever goodies were left. We all sat around sharing food gossiping about which man they wanted me to marry, as some men offered their opinions. It was real good company, and I have learned that no matter what, this topic will continue to come up daily so the best thing to do is to have a sense of humor about it.
The weekend was a lot of fun, even though there seriously were at least 100 wedding proposals.