Rockin' Royal Wedding

I’ve been to small weddings and large weddings, but never before have I been to a wedding that resembled a rock concert. This weekend, however, while camping at Nakambale, Nicola and I had the chance to attend a traditional Ndonga wedding party.

While we were resting at the campsite after a short walk in the bush, a rotund Ovambo man came up and introduced himself to us. He explained that he was one of the best men for his friend’s wedding, which had begun yesterday about 30km away. Today, the wedding celebration was to continue at traditional homestead of the groom’s family, just 2k from the campground. The preparations at the homestead were not quite ready, so he was planned to bring the wedding party to the campsite for a short period of time. When we asked who was getting married, we found out that the groom was the nephew of the traditional king of the Ndonga people, one of about six Ovambo tribes in Namibia. This was, in fact, a royal wedding!

An hour later, a small caravan of expensive SUVs and double-cab 4x4 pickups rolled into Nakambale. Forty or more well-dressed people spewed forth from the vehicles and commandeered the four picnic tables. Nicola, the three Finnish museum students who were staying at Nakambale, and I watched from 30 meters away, unsure what protocol was when a royal wedding party crashes your campsite. Do you invite them for tea?

At first glance, it seemed like a very typical western wedding party, in western clothing, drinking coca-colas and bottled beer. We gazed from the sidelines, unsure what to do. Then four of the bridesmaids, in shimmering purple dresses, went into the campsite’s kitchen. My water bottle was in the refridgerator there, so now that I had an excuse to introduce myself. I strode into the kitchen and said hello, and they turned out be very friendly. When they realized that I had a digital camera with me, all but one wanted to show off their outfits for the camera. I was more than happy to oblige.





The women you see in the pictures were bridesmaids for the groom, not the bride. In Ndonga weddings, they explained, both the groom and the bride have their own set of bridesmaids and groomsmen. I asked if the women on both sides had to buy the same dress, or if they were different. All the bridesmaids purchased the same dress, but the color of their shoes differed depending on whether the woman represented the bride or the groom.

The people in the wedding party were clearly not in dire poverty. The bridesmaids all wore expensive dresses and shoes, and most everyone was immaculately dressed. Many of these people were educated and had decent jobs, which may be a result of the way Namibia was colonized. Rather than trying to destroy traditional leaders like the French did, the Germans, British and Afrikaners recognized traditional leaders and paid them a salary to gain their cooperation. As a result, the royalty here also achieved monetary wealth and status in a western hierarchy. The people in the wedding party represent not only traditional royalty and but also modern wealth and status. The groom for example, not only stands to inherit the throne of the Ndonga kingdom, but he also makes a good living as a professional pilot.

After talking to the bridesmaids for awhile, the groom’s mother beckoned me to her. I came over and greeted her in the very best Oshiwambo I could muster. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I think I said about three sentences beyond the standard greeting and that impressed her. I squatted to talk with her, and to my surprise found out her English was excellent. She and her husband, who was a clergyman, spent time in Iowa while he was training for the church. They lived in Dubuque, and I wonder if they went to the same seminary that my friend Matt’s parents atteded. Talk about a small world, huh? At the end of our conversation, she invited Nicola, the Finns, and me to join them at the wedding reception. How could we say no to a royal wedding?





We began to prepare for the reception. Nicola and I looked like, well, crap. We had been camping and our “nice clothes” consisted of jeans and the least stinky t-shirts we could find. The three Finns were better off. Two of them had bought traditional Ovambo dresses just a few days before. When put on these colorful though somewhat shapeless outfits, the bridesmaids oohed and aahed. We snapped a couple more pictures, and then the wedding party jumped into their pickups and SUVs and sped off down the dirt road to the groom’s mother’s farm.

Our group followed on foot with Maggie, the proprietor of the campsite. The walk in the mid-afternoon wasn’t far, just one or two kilometers. As we approached the farm, we crested a small hill and the sight looked for all the world like a summer concert at an outdoor music venue. Several large tents were set up. Cars were parked haphazardly on the grass surrounding the tents. People were streaming in from several directions. For just a moment, I felt like I was walking down the road to see a the Grateful Dead at Alpine Valley in Wisconsin.



When we got closer to the site, Maggie directed us to a field perhaps 500m from the tents. Here, the bride and groom were slowly promenading toward the tents, surrounded by wedding party. The entire party stopped frequently as a variety of groups performed traditional entertainment in front of the couple. Two different groups of dancers performed several times each. A group of four young men riding bareback on horses rode by occasionally. Older women ululated, and a few women fanned – and occasionally hit – the couple with switches made from horse tails. Walking the 500m took perhaps 90 minutes. Surrounding the couple and lining their route were hundreds of people from the community. Many were dressed traditionally but some, especially a few younger men, just showed up wearing ratty trousers and t-shirts. So that’s what party-crashing looks like Ovamboland.





After the procession, it got kind of boring for awhile. There were a lot of speeches in Oshiwambo, and a long period of time where wrapped gifts and cash were given to the couple. Nothing was opened at the time, though I could make out some power tools whose shape was visible beneath the wrapping. By now I was getting hungry and wondering how the hosts could possibly feed all these people. Just then, the groom’s mother called for me to follow her so that my group could get into the food tents.

When we finally went inside the compound we came to the tents, under which tables and chairs had been set up to seat roughly 300 people. Not everyone made it inside; the family had gatekeepers to keep some out, but I believe even those were fed something outside the compound. There were large bowls of different salads, and then chicken and beef to eat. Instead of waiters and waitresses, the bridesmaids and groomsmen rushed around serving drinks, and I filled up on Tassie, a cheap red wine, mixed with Coca-Cola. We weren’t in the best section, so we got some food but not quite enough to fill our stomachs. A band played in the background, and the conversation with my unfamiliar table companions was just as awkward as at a wedding back home.

Then, just as darkness fell around 6:30 pm, it was all over. Even though the band was still playing, only a few children remained, listening to the music. Workers began to stack the tables. Everyone seemed to know that it was time to leave, and scores of people streamed away from the farm. This time, we caught a ride back in a pickup truck. By 7:30 we were back at the tents, amazed, surprised, and exhilarated to have seen a Ndonga Royal Wedding.