An East African Union of love
Jul 18, 2003
Time is powerful. It is said to heal everything; and now it has proved itself capable of revising culture. We saw this recently, at the introduction by Ayeta Wangusa of her soul-mate, Maende Makokha.
By Bob Kisiki
Time is powerful. It is said to heal everything; and now it has proved itself capable of revising culture. We saw this recently, at the introduction by Ayeta Wangusa of her soul-mate, Maende Makokha.
Many of us have a rigid picture of introduction ceremonies, chiefly fashioned around the Buganda model: The (over) dramatisation; the dress code; the seemingly endless ceremony involved and the sheer obscenity of the costs incurred on both sides of the alliance.
You should have been at Plot 48, Wanale Road in Mbale (Prof Timothy Wangusa’s country residence), where the kwanjula was held.
Whenever you hear about a kwanjula, chances are nine to one it will be held on a Sunday. Nobody can precisely tell why. We have just grown up seeing introduction ceremonies on Sundays, and weddings on Saturdays. Time has come in to change this… or at least to say, “You don’t have to do it that way.â€
Ayeta’s kwanjula was held last Saturday, July 5. Some thought it queer, but those of us who attended it left Mbale without being struck by lightning for doing it on the wrong day.
It was a normal day by every standard, save for the downpour that broke the exact time the bako (in-laws) were meant to arrive. We wondered if Aye was marrying the sun god himself, or something.
Anyhow, the function eventually took off. The first fascination was that Prof Wangusa (fondly called Uncle Tim) said people were free to be themselves, with respect to dress.
You didn’t have to squeeze yourself in a busuti or kanzu, if you didn’t want to, just because convention said you had to. There were people in busutis and kanzus alright, but there were also those in western suits, as well as the now-popular African wear.
And talking about African wear, the entire groom’s entourage (save for the main man, Maende himself) wore bitenge. Maende was clad in an elegant navy-blue African suit, with his dreads arrested and
imprisoned in (oh, the word!) a bob.
The hosting side made some attempt at conventional costuming, but you could see that its marking guide was rather relaxed.
Little wonder then that, contrary to popular tradition, some of the men tucked parts of their kanzus under their belts, to avoid tripping in them.
We were told, after all, that traditionally, Bamasaba did not have formal introduction ceremonies before the marriage took place, which could explain the fact that unlike the bako who chase a man away for bringing little sugar, Uncle Tim was glad with the envelopes and garments dished out, together with his well-deserved three-legged stool and fly-whisk. No loadfuls of tomatoes, cucumber, cabbage, pepper or thighs of dead cows.
The highlight of the day, however, was the ‘negotiations’ between the two families. First, the ‘opposition’ was a truly regional concoction. Maende is a bond of Kenya (dad) and Tanzania (mom), and his entourage reflected this mix. And to head it was Vision’s Juliet Nabwire as guide and adviser.
Typical treachery this, (arranged though it was), because Julie is Ayeta’s bosom friend. So, for her to come with the opposition seemed to some like betrayal, though in fact it was a sign of friendship: She brought in the people whom Ayeta was dying to have at her father’s home.
So, even as the Wangusa spokesman was grilling the other party for ambushing them, his counterpart (great orator, that guy) rightly put it that theirs was a friendly and well-intentioned ambush, by which they would abduct one young girl and leave 17 people in return. Who can beat such relationship building?
At the end of the exchange, a truly East African Union would be complete, if I may echo the words of the opposition, who said Maende was going to form a union by which he would sow seeds of love.
Pure biological prophesy, if you consider. The Wangusa spokesman wanted clarification, so he asked whether they didn’t mean fusion instead of union. I think either way it works… the end, they say, justifies the means.
The common thing for kwanjulas is for both parties to adopt the language of the hosting family. Where the visitors don’t know it, they hire someone who can speak it with ease. Not in this case.
English was used, and used ably and convincingly. The exchange was humourous, articulate and terse. So, when the negotiations ended, we would have been sorry, except that they only ended so kadodi could take over.
And who can resist the contagious power of kadodi? This is when even the bako did that which was previously unheard of: They got up and danced. Such excitement you can’t find anywhere, as we witnessed. It was so heavy that Uncle Tim laid aside his professorial, fatherly and kilokole cloaks and took to the floor… but not to kadodi, no.
By then it was Western music playing, and Vision’s Matthias Mugisha clicked away with his accustomed camera. Ugandans are not the lot to trust Kenyans with shared facilities, what with the history of the East African Airways and all. So before Maende was let off, he had to promise that he would wait for Ayeta, and only Ayeta. And with an engagement ring, she was betrothed to him, and they cut and served a cake to cement this arrangement.
The only thing is, they couldn’t cut it with one knife, because well, they first have to get a licence before the two can become one, both at hand and at other levels. Keep your ear to the ground for details on this.
Time is powerful. It is said to heal everything; and now it has proved itself capable of revising culture. We saw this recently, at the introduction by Ayeta Wangusa of her soul-mate, Maende Makokha.
Many of us have a rigid picture of introduction ceremonies, chiefly fashioned around the Buganda model: The (over) dramatisation; the dress code; the seemingly endless ceremony involved and the sheer obscenity of the costs incurred on both sides of the alliance.
You should have been at Plot 48, Wanale Road in Mbale (Prof Timothy Wangusa’s country residence), where the kwanjula was held.
Whenever you hear about a kwanjula, chances are nine to one it will be held on a Sunday. Nobody can precisely tell why. We have just grown up seeing introduction ceremonies on Sundays, and weddings on Saturdays. Time has come in to change this… or at least to say, “You don’t have to do it that way.â€
Ayeta’s kwanjula was held last Saturday, July 5. Some thought it queer, but those of us who attended it left Mbale without being struck by lightning for doing it on the wrong day.
It was a normal day by every standard, save for the downpour that broke the exact time the bako (in-laws) were meant to arrive. We wondered if Aye was marrying the sun god himself, or something.
Anyhow, the function eventually took off. The first fascination was that Prof Wangusa (fondly called Uncle Tim) said people were free to be themselves, with respect to dress.
You didn’t have to squeeze yourself in a busuti or kanzu, if you didn’t want to, just because convention said you had to. There were people in busutis and kanzus alright, but there were also those in western suits, as well as the now-popular African wear.
And talking about African wear, the entire groom’s entourage (save for the main man, Maende himself) wore bitenge. Maende was clad in an elegant navy-blue African suit, with his dreads arrested and
imprisoned in (oh, the word!) a bob.
The hosting side made some attempt at conventional costuming, but you could see that its marking guide was rather relaxed.
Little wonder then that, contrary to popular tradition, some of the men tucked parts of their kanzus under their belts, to avoid tripping in them.
We were told, after all, that traditionally, Bamasaba did not have formal introduction ceremonies before the marriage took place, which could explain the fact that unlike the bako who chase a man away for bringing little sugar, Uncle Tim was glad with the envelopes and garments dished out, together with his well-deserved three-legged stool and fly-whisk. No loadfuls of tomatoes, cucumber, cabbage, pepper or thighs of dead cows.
The highlight of the day, however, was the ‘negotiations’ between the two families. First, the ‘opposition’ was a truly regional concoction. Maende is a bond of Kenya (dad) and Tanzania (mom), and his entourage reflected this mix. And to head it was Vision’s Juliet Nabwire as guide and adviser.
Typical treachery this, (arranged though it was), because Julie is Ayeta’s bosom friend. So, for her to come with the opposition seemed to some like betrayal, though in fact it was a sign of friendship: She brought in the people whom Ayeta was dying to have at her father’s home.
So, even as the Wangusa spokesman was grilling the other party for ambushing them, his counterpart (great orator, that guy) rightly put it that theirs was a friendly and well-intentioned ambush, by which they would abduct one young girl and leave 17 people in return. Who can beat such relationship building?
At the end of the exchange, a truly East African Union would be complete, if I may echo the words of the opposition, who said Maende was going to form a union by which he would sow seeds of love.
Pure biological prophesy, if you consider. The Wangusa spokesman wanted clarification, so he asked whether they didn’t mean fusion instead of union. I think either way it works… the end, they say, justifies the means.
The common thing for kwanjulas is for both parties to adopt the language of the hosting family. Where the visitors don’t know it, they hire someone who can speak it with ease. Not in this case.
English was used, and used ably and convincingly. The exchange was humourous, articulate and terse. So, when the negotiations ended, we would have been sorry, except that they only ended so kadodi could take over.
And who can resist the contagious power of kadodi? This is when even the bako did that which was previously unheard of: They got up and danced. Such excitement you can’t find anywhere, as we witnessed. It was so heavy that Uncle Tim laid aside his professorial, fatherly and kilokole cloaks and took to the floor… but not to kadodi, no.
By then it was Western music playing, and Vision’s Matthias Mugisha clicked away with his accustomed camera. Ugandans are not the lot to trust Kenyans with shared facilities, what with the history of the East African Airways and all. So before Maende was let off, he had to promise that he would wait for Ayeta, and only Ayeta. And with an engagement ring, she was betrothed to him, and they cut and served a cake to cement this arrangement.
The only thing is, they couldn’t cut it with one knife, because well, they first have to get a licence before the two can become one, both at hand and at other levels. Keep your ear to the ground for details on this.