Last Sunday, I went to a wedding-related ceremony (which I described in a post here); the bride and groom were participants in this ceremony, but they were not actually married. The marriage itself happened today, Saturday.
Last week’s ceremony was interesting for the integration of tradition and modernity; this week, the service during which the two were married seemed just like any Catholic marriage service: there were some prayers, and a couple of hymns sung by a choir, then vows taken and rings exchanged. It could have been an American service, except it was conducted in Kinyarwanda.
Afterward, we all drove to a very nice garden in Kicukiro. Something in the area was called Magerwa; This is an industrial acronym, I think, like Bralirwa (Brasseries et Limonaderies du Rwanda), but without an Internet connection I do not know what it is short for. In any case, Magerwa—whatever it may be—had been interpreted as such a prominent landmark that the area seemed to have adopted it as a de facto name. I doubt it is official (though I do not know), but it is an interesting example of a kind of semantic shift, and an illustration of the ways places acquire their names.
After taking pictures of the bride and groom in the garden, the whole big motorcade went on to a reception outside of the city, in Rusororo. Except I did not, because of a miscommunication with the person who was supposed to drive me. She thought I had transportation, so she left, but I thought she was still on her way to get me so I hung around while everyone else drove off.
This was only mildly annoying, and any annoyance was made up for by the memorable experience that followed: a really, really long moto ride.
The first skit I acted in at the African Language Program’s semesterly Theater Night was about a comically long trip on a moto whose driver did not know where he was going. There were some key differences between that story and what happened to me here—most notably, we did not end up in Harvard Yard—but I could not help drawing parallels.
The guy saw the name of the place and seemed to indicate that he recognized it. We agreed on a price—8,000 francs ($12), pretty steep but not terrible given the distance—and started going. I got to see some new parts of the city, and I have to say it is kind of fun to feel the wind and look out as the landscapes drift by. Only after Kigali was behind us did the question come: “So, do you know where this place is?”
Of course, I didn’t; the name of it had been texted to me, without much detail. My friend had offered on the phone before to describe it to a moto-driver, but I declined, just figuring it wouldn’t be a problem!
The solution my driver found was to stop by the side of the road and ask some other moto-drivers there for directions. The informality of it was a little hair-raising, but it was actually fairly effective: we were outside of the city by this time, so the drivers knew that area and they could at least point him in the right direction.
So he followed their directions, drove for awhile, then pulled over and asked again. The cycle was repeated two or three more times, and as we homed in on our target the directions became more precise. Ultimately, we found another moto-driver who actually knew the specific location, and he actually drove along with us until we got there. All three of us were laughing by the time we arrived: I made their days interesting, and though my urban moto-driver was left way out in the countryside, I did pay him well for it. The ride took a bit more than an hour in total.
And I was not actually late for the reception festivities: the M.C. had been speaking for about fifteen minutes, but nothing much had happened.
The reception, at least in structure, was also not unlike what one would find at a Western wedding: an M.C. introducing several friends who said things about the bride, or the groom, or both; some symbolic gift-giving, some dancing. All of this took place under a monumental tent with seating at round tables for about 600 guests.
The dancing, actually, was different from what an American wedding would have had, and intensely so. It was a series of performances by several troupes of traditional Rwandan dancers. Some were female and some were male, but there was never any mixing of genders within the same troupe. There was a lot of shoulder- and hip-movement, and the distinctive arm-waving that I mentioned seeing at the Liberation Day celebrations.
The ones that seemed most memorable, perhaps because I recognized them most, were the distinctive Intore. Prior to the establishment of the Republic, Intore were a carefully selected and intensively trained group of male dancers at the royal court of Rwanda. They were exclusively Tutsi until the early 20th century, when a troupe of Twa (about whom I am sure I will talk at some point) was established.
They are distinctive for their attire: a skirt of some material (previously animal-skin, perhaps grass, here cloth) with two cross-chest straps, bells on their ankles, a spear and, most noticeably, a wig of long, straight, off-white hair. I do not know what the material is—grass, animal hair or something else—but it is about thigh-length and very striking.
And they put on quite a show. Their dances were dramatic and very well choreographed: unlike other Rwandan dances I have seen, which are kind of subtle and seductive, the Intore exercised all parts of their bodies with sharp, decisive movements, with the ankle-bells adding to the already-distinct beat. Most strikingly, they would whip their heads back and forth, sending the long hair of their wigs flying around them. It was pretty riveting.
The dancing went on for a long time. No one seemed to mind. Granted, no one seemed to mind either when it ended and dinner began, but I think that is just an example of good event-planning. The dinner was a buffet and it was very good. Afterward, there was some more, less culturally interesting programming, and then people started heading home. There was an after-party back in the city, but I had to be getting home. This time I traveled in a real car, and only took a moto from town, where I was conveniently dropped.
Watching the dance performance got me thinking about something. I know that both the bride and the groom at this wedding have lived in the United States and probably have some money, but I do not think they are extremely wealthy. And yet, their wedding included a performance by Intore, a group that in the past only performed for the king and his entourage. This is a string of logic that might have a hole in it somewhere, but lots of people get married here, and I’m led to believe that these performances are fairly common, and it would be an exceedingly busy dance troupe to perform at all of them.
The tentative conclusion that I draw is that there are probably at least several troupes of Intore in Rwanda now, and that they perform at a variety of events—weddings, expos, international tours—that would have been off-limits in a traditional setting.
I think it is interesting, then, that Rwanda is so redefining its culture in such a way that certain exclusive traditions are being repossessed by the general populace. I can think of it from a number of different perspectives: (a) the generalization of a tradition that might not have been representative of the nation as a whole; (b) trying to remove the exclusivity from various traditions in the name of reconciliation; or (c) perhaps just accepting that those dancers are really cool.
There has been a lot of thought given, especially in the aftermath of the Genocide, to how Rwanda’s history and culture should be defined and passed along. The historical part is fascinatingly complex and dissertation-worthy (indeed, I have a friend doing a dissertation on it now); perhaps I will discuss that here at some point. The cultural part is also really interesting, in part for the reasons outlined above.
The rise of the nation-state in Europe led to a scramble for unique traditions that distinguished each country from the others around it. Much that was shared between nations was deemphasized, and scholars were dispatched deep into the countryside to find stories, songs and cultural practices that were unique and “pure.” It was in this context that the stories of the Brothers Grimm were recorded, and that old poems like the Song of Roland were reinterpreted as national epics. (Forgive me if I am muddling my history a bit here, but the thrust is right.)
I give that background because Rwanda is also working to define a national culture, in similar ways but for a different reason. Rwanda, unlike most African countries, has been a fairly cohesive nation for several centuries: its borders today resemble those that it had before the first Europeans arrived. Thus, Rwanda has never really had a problem defining itself as a country. The problems arise in that, while ethnicity was always secondary to nationality, there were distinct traditions associated with those of Hutu, Tutsi and Twa heritage. This was inevitable, to an extent: regardless of the merits of those designations as ethnic identifiers, they were recognized as social determinants and created communities that considered themselves to have things in common. Once those communities existed, of course, they developed distinct practices.
After independence, there was an instinct to define Rwandan culture by that of the majority ethnicity, and (I imagine) things associated with the deposed Tutsi monarchy were not so fondly received during that time. After the Genocide, the new government tasked itself with reconciliation, a broad and ambitious goal that included reinforcing the idea that Rwanda was not just one nation but one people.
Thus, I think they are attempting to mix together the different traditions that have defined segments of Rwanda’s population in various ways, and reinterpret them as characterizing the nation as a whole. It is a daunting task, as they probably want to avoid things that might be associated with the Genocide, as well as things too distinctly monarchic: Genocide is obviously taboo, but not everyone has the greatest impression of the line of kings either.
The Intore happen to be a very distinctly monarchic tradition. They also, however, happen to be really cool. I have only been here a month or so, but I imagine that the range of practices now encouraged as universally Rwandan is drawn from a wide variety of sources, in a manner designed to alienate as few people as possible.
New Vocabulary Words for the Day
- ikirori: spectacle, celebration
- amáshyî: applause
- igitotsi: specks of dirt on the face (or something like that)
