Celebration Time!

When Elizabeth smiles she looks down cocking her head to one side. There is a shyness about her, although she appears regal. But there is also a side to her that says, “I’m in charge. Don’t mess with me!” Until her recent retirement, she was principal of the Infant School (K-2). She is respected in the community.

Elizabeth ensures I have rides to events, that I understand cultural holidays and that I’m included in village activities; things my point person (the person who requested me) should be doing, but doesn’t. He is another story that will be saved for another time. So it didn’t surprise me when she told me she had arranged for my transportation to the reception.

This is the fiercest storm I have seen since arriving on this island. The three o’clock wedding which began at 4:30 is over. We waited an hour before the rain slowed to a mere pouring rain. I smiled to myself as I thought of how California would respond to this “lightened” storm version. Mudslides, flooding and infrastructure disasters would cause the National Guard to be summoned; President Obama would surely declare California a national disaster; shelters would be set up, untold dollar loss would be the topic on the news for days to come.

But here in the village, as the storm lightened to merely pouring rain, people were leaving for the Garden Reception. We retreated into Edward’s van; the air conditioner on and the windshield wipers furiously moving back and forth. We entered a traffic jam of vans, cars and trucks all on their way to the party at a sister village. Upon arrival, we stepped from the van and anyone wearing glasses immediately removed them. The humid air fogged our glasses and our ability to navigate the darkened path down the eroding uneven asphalt driveway.

As we sit in folding chairs under a shelter and watch the weather turn from bad to worse, Elizabeth says, “How was this wedding different from those in the United States?” Other than weather, there were only subtle differences. Music was a focused part of the ceremony and the audience was participative…more than I have seen in the United States. We are more formal; they are more celebratory. Perhaps there were a few more little girls and boys in the ceremony. This was one of my favorite pictures.

Today is Neema and Gerado’s day. Neema is Bea and Neil’s daughter. They are the family who hosted me into their home during training. Neema and Gerardo "picked" well. They are hard-working, serious, committed, and spiritually-centered. They are lucky to have the connection that many only dream of finding.

I’ve been to the Seventh Day Adventist Church many times with my host family during training. I found it interesting, at times moving and I always felt welcome. Some of the wedding differences I saw were SDA and not geographical differences.

Wedding programs and corsages made of ribbon and a little netting material with the bride's and groom's names were given to everyone who entered. Handmade fans with a picture of the bride and groom were available. These were useful as no air conditioning exists in the buildings. Finally, a small vial with clear liquid and a wand was handed out.

There was standing room only in a large church. I saw Neeni standing near the entrance of the church. She owns the Supermarket where I shop. I looked at Elizabeth and said, “There’s Neeni. We can make room for her.” Elizabeth shot back, “Neeni was suppose to walk with us, but she is never ready on time. Now she must stand”. Then she smiled and sat there in quiet. Elizabeth is clearly annoyed with all the waiting, but after a few seconds she softened and motioned for Neeni to come sit with us. She later confessed her meanness to Neeni and they both laughed.

Finally, an hour and a half late, the ceremony begins. Here Comes the Bride was not played. Instead a musician played an oboe as the procession moved down the isle. He was playing Wind Beneath My Wings. The bride walked alone to the mid-point of the isle where she met her parents. In a symbolic walk, Gerado came from the front of the church to greet them. He took Neema’s arm and Neil and Bea released their daughter, turned and walked back a few steps while Gerado escorted Neema to the alter. As Neil would later say in his toast at the reception, “My Neema is now your Neema”. It was a symbolic gesture of giving the bride away. Elizabeth, a Catholic, said this is an SDA custom.

The ceremony was participative and also celebratory. There were horns to be blown and cheers to be shouted. A groomsman expressed his feelings by singing a song. Neema's sister Niesha, also sang a song; Michael Jackson’s, I’ll be There. As the wedding party moved towards the exit, they swayed to the music while the crowd cheered and used the vials of clear liquid to blow bubbles as they passed.

After the service and as we waited for the rain to subside, baskets of newspapers announcing the new couple were distributed and the children finished blowing the last of the bubbles.

These things were not so different from any we would experience in the United States. What I thought was different was the sermonette. As someone who grew up in the 60s, some advice caught me off guard. “Neema, don’t let yourself go, there are women here in this very room who will take your man. Let Gerado always see you as the beautiful woman you are today.” The other side was, “Gerado, be strong – a superman to Neema. Neema treat him as your superman”. I was struck by the stereotypes; men will stay as long as a woman is pretty and he feels like superman. Then there was a lot of talk about ensuring Gerado was happy in bed. This was strangely interesting advice to someone who holds feminist values, but it is the culture of the island and I respect that.

The big difference? A little rain doesn't stop Saint Lucians from having a good time. However different and same this wedding was, it was a celebration of two wonderful people.

After the sermon was said, the vows exchanged, and the songs were sung the procession marched toward the door, the bride and groom escaped, but the rest of us . . . stopped . . . and we waited an hour for the rain gods to take pity on the celebrators as well as those who were setting up the beautiful garden party that was waiting for us.

And so I leave you with a posting of possibly the worst picture of a bride and groom ever taken; actually the best of the worst. I took a better picture of the cakes than the bride and groom...very sad. I obviously need photography lessons.