At the church in south-east London, Funke, the bride, kissed her mother on the forehead in accordance with Yoruba tradition. Tears flowed over her cheeks as her mother caressed her face. The guests were emotional at the sight, while Bola, the groom, could not take his eyes off his bride. This farewell embrace between mother and daughter was an emotional experience for all those gathered here today. The ritual was known as “the cry of the new bride,” and was meant to express her sadness at leaving her parents’ household. All of a sudden, a man stood up amidst the guests. Wearing a traditional Yoruba, he approached the bride as a basin filled with water was set in front of him, and he dipped his hands in it. Funke sat down on a chair. The man took off her shoes, and began to rub his hands over her feet, washing away any misfortune she might bring into her husband’s house. Then the man handed her a Calabash gourd, which she took and shattered on the ground. The number of shards it broke into would foretell the number of children she would bear into the world, or so the Yoruba believe.
Funke and Bola left the church, having just said “yes” for life. Their union had been attended by many members of London’s Nigerian community, and the guests were in great cheer, delighted to be celebrating in the traditional way. Funke and Bola had been presented at the church in south east London, saying – in accordance with Yoruba tradition – “know me and let me know you!” It was a joyous event. The happy couple did not know each other very well, and had met in London two years previously. On the big day, they joined hands to the rapturous applause of the congregation as they exited the church, the maids of honour showering them with white rose petals. But Funke and Bola’s was not the only union being formed, for indeed, their two families were now one. Once they had left the church, the celebrations could begin in earnest: the champagne would flow, music would rise up, and they would feast on traditional Nigerian foods. All had been prepared to perfection; a chef had even been brought in from Nigeria to prepare the traditional dishes Funke had picked out. There was jollof rice, of course, as well as the steamed bean pudding (moimoi), grilled meat (suya) and egusi, the famous pistachio soup.
Around the tables draped in white cloths, the dazzling garments of the Yoruba shimmered under the crystal chandeliers. Uncle Femi was wearing a green and mauve agbada, a traditional hand-woven robe, along with the fida, the soft hat made from embroidered velvet. His wife was resplendent in her saffron-yellow gele, a piece of fabric tied around the hair that puffed up life a magnificent soufflé fresh from the oven. Most elegant of all was the bride’s mother in her buba, the loose-fitting blouse with long sleeves, which was a striking azure with a floral pattern, along with a pink iborum, the shawl worn around the shoulders. The groom’s mother was dressed more soberly in a long embroidered dress, her gele sitting rather flat. Uncle Femi raised his glass of champagne to the newlyweds, making a toast: “May happiness live in your home. May the three children foretold by the Calabash be handsome, strong, healthy, and above all, blessed!” Let the party begin! The musicians sounded the first dance for Funke and Bola. The newlyweds stepped on to the dancefloor, watched closely by the guests who cheered them on.
The reception was over, and the guests had danced and celebrated to their fill. Now the time had come to escort the bride to her husband’s home, as was tradition.
Alan Alfredo Geday
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