Friday, January 25, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
A dowry?
My friend John wrote to me almost a year ago inviting me to his wedding. He had met a woman in London who he had fallen in love with, and he had proposed to her a few weeks earlier. I was sort of surprised by his email, because I hadn't heard yet about this woman, but also not so surprised. John had wanted to get married for a good long while. I knew it was just a matter of time before he found someone to take that journey with him.
His email to me was short. They always are. He said something to the effect of: I'm getting married. You're invited to the wedding. It's in October here in London. Oh -and Monica is from Ghana. Her family follows the dowry system!!!
Sure enough, John and Monica got married. I wasn't able to make it, because I had just taken a trip to Europe for another friend's wedding in Italy and I'll be paying off my VISA bill forever for that.
John came back to Portland for Christmas this year , however, to visit his family and to show Monica his hometown. They had a reception here for all the people who weren't able to make the wedding so they wouldn't feel like they had totally missed out.
Monica is beautiful, smart, well spoken, and warm hearted. And Christian. She and John are perfect together. There was food at the reception, family, friends, presents...all that good stuff.
I really wanted to know just one thing, however. Could John please tell me about the dowry? How did that all look and go down - for real? I'm really can't ever shake the anthropologist in me. It's always there - albeit sometimes hidden. Not right now, though. This was fascinating to me.
Don't worry, he said. He would be showing a videotape shortly of his 3 weddings. The first was the Ghanian ring ceremony and the giving of the dowry. This - in the eyes of Monica and her family - was the wedding. The second was a state wedding, which was necessary since John is a foreigner in London. The third was a church wedding. At the church were Monica leads Sunday school (if I heard and remember right). All three were beautiful in different ways.
Of course, the first Ghanian ceremony was the most interesting to me. I've never seen anything like it. Apparently Monica couldn't accept the engagement ring until at this ceremony. The ceremony is a chance for two families to ask questions, to grill each other, to compete, and to ultimately (if all goes well) to bless a couple's marriage.
Traditionally, Monica explained, the purpose of this family banter, competition and unification was a tactic in bringing together warring tribes. A marriage could potentially bring about peace between two groups.
Each potential bride and groom bring their own spokesperson. This person leads the show. They barter back and forth about the size of the dowry, they suggest how their family might be better than the other, and they ultimately decide if the marriage is a "go" or not.
As part of his dowry, John had to bring around $4000 for Monica's brother, and about 40-50 gifts for Monica. Everything she might need in her new house: kitchen gear, bedsheets, jewelry and a *whole* bunch more.
Becuase this ceremony is more about family support, fun, and maintaining tradition at this point, John and Monica knew from the beginning that their marriage would be blessed.
Nevertheless, there was a four-hour long process of gift giving, negotiating, singing, challenging and rivaling, theatre, and finally, a tearful gifting of the wedding ring: from John's mother to Monica - her new daughter.
You might think like I did that the dowry system is very much about men and power (i.e. women as property). And you might also be surprised that the men didn't really have anything to do with this whole ceremony. Well, that's not true at all. Their job was to sit in the house, to socialize, and to tell the women whether they gave their consent or not. But they weren't a part of the goings on otherwise.
It was the women who were yelling, singing and bantering. They were wanting to know, really: did John *really* love Moncia? Was he *really* going to take good care of her? What he *really* worth marrying?
I wish I could show you the look on John's face as he watched these loud, rowdy, beautiful women decide his future. It was clear that there was nothing he could do or say now that he was here. His dowry and the spokeswoman for "his" side of the family now dictacted whether this marriage would happen. It was clear that - while he had *some* idea of what was going on, that there were layers and layers of tradition and family connection that were playing out in front of him that he had never expected, nor experienced before. As he said about himself, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. Pretty much throughout the whole thing. I don't think I'll ever forget that expression on his face.
Monica shared what the ceremony was really about for her. First, it was the "real" wedding. The state and church weddings seemed to be a part of the formality. The dowry ceremony was about her family's support - for her, for John, and for both of them. There's no way two people can be successful in a marriage without support, she said. "I need my family to be behind me and to back me." And it was also a test for John, I personally believe. To see: would he really respect her? Which included, clearly, her family, traditions from and connection to Ghana? Would he surrender to the unknown and trust her and the other women around her? Would he allow them to express themselves in all their full glory?
Yes, yes he would. And here he is with what he has been yearning for: marriage, committment, a beautiful partner (inside and out), and a promise of travel in his life. Travel in more ways than just one.
I wish them both happiness and love and peace. And loud, rowdy parties.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Just the black notes
Click on this link to watch a moving video. Some music history, and a beautiful rendition of Amazing Grace.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Cameron
Cameron. My 19 year-old brother, and one of my favorite people in the world. He's so cool that he went along with wearing reindeer antlers that my dad's girlfriend brought over for Christmas Eve. What a guy...that was really asking a lot of us.
Pictures
I have this thing with getting my picture taken. I kind of hate it. Well, I guess I should clarify. Anytime I have to get a posed picture taken, I hate it. I'm not sure why, really.
I remember hearing in an anthropology class that there are some people who don't like their picture taken, because they believe that the camera and the picture is stealing a piece of their soul. This sort of makes sense to me. But I'm not sure that's the reason I don't like getting my picture taken.
Mostly, it just seems so *fake* to me. To sit in front of the camera with a manufactured smile on my face. Just hoping that I don't look like a total loon with this weird, ackward unnatural smile on my face. Feels so unnatural and uncomfortable to me.
I try to fend off any sort of disappointment that might take place by intentionally making really wacky faces whenever my photo is taken. That way, I know ahead of time they'll be odd.
I try to play along with others here and there, however, because I realize that while I have no need to see posed pictures of myself, someone else might appreciate me not being missing in all the photos. And they might appreciate, like, ONE photo with a normal-ish smile. I don't want others to think that I wasn't *there* or something, if I'm not in the pictures. Goodness, no. I want it to be recorded that I was present, too, with all the others.
Please just don't tell me you're taking the photo, so that I can look natural. Even if I look odd, okay?
Thursday, January 3, 2008
At 2:13 AM in the morning
It’s been a while since I’ve written anything for a few reasons.
First, the holidays happened. I’m at the computer all day at work, and I get in this sort of computer mode. Computers as an entity, and sitting at the computer, start to seem like a normal things. During the holidays, however, I have this welcome relief from the not-so-natural light of the computer screen and the impulse to check (and write) emails all day to people. I actually pick up the phone and call people, I spend time making meals, taking walks, and doing other things that normal non-computer-addicted people do.
Second, I heard this thing on NPR or saw something on the internet that said that of the bazillion blogs there are out there in the cyber universe, the huge majority are read only by the blogger and their mother. Like 70 or 80% - some crazy high number. That was really depressing to me. Especially since I was in Seattle when I heard this visiting my mother and she had just made some vague reference to something I had written on this blog. And I started thinking that, indeed, she might be the only person (well, in all fairness, along with Brian) who might read this on a regular basis over time.
Third, I started having this push and pull with feeling obligated to write something on my blog. Like someone would be out there grading me if I didn’t. This sense of obligation didn’t exist until my father planted this idea in my mind that he didn’t really think I was going to follow through with writing in my blog for very long. And then, writing something now and again almost became part of proving him wrong. He’s my father, after all, and while I’m pretty good at not having power struggles with him any more, I’m not a saint.
He backtracked after suggesting he didn’t think I could keep it up, explaining that he thought he’d get bored after a while, if *he* had started a blog and would have trouble maintaining it. But he knows me pretty well, and probably understands what it’s really like for me. I get really intensely excited by things, and for a while this passion and excitement totally consumes my world. This could be a project, or an idea, a place, a thing, or a person. Really, if I started to list the things that have presented themselves to me as the thing at the time (and that I truly believed were the thing), the list would be long. They are all consuming and alluring – like a passionate affair – for just a brief moment in time. And then are suddenly gone.
The point is, my father unknowingly planted this seed of doubt in me. What if my blog is another one of those things? And what if I make all sorts of promises to myself and others that I then don’t follow through with? The truth of the matter is, this is a complete possibility. And I have to just be up front with anyone who is reading this about that. My blog could potentially be a passing phase.
You see, I had good reasons to not write anything for awhile.
But tonight, at 2:31 AM in the morning, I couldn’t be more grateful than to have somewhere to focus my thoughts and energy. I woke up from this dream about walking on the beach to find my foot itching like crazy from all the food I’ve been eating that I shouldn’t have been eating (food allergies make my skin itch), and to find myself wondering what purpose my life really has. This is not a good thing to be thinking in the middle of the night. It’s a big question. And frankly, every time I start this line of reasoning in the middle of the night, it means I’ll be awake for a long time. Basically until I have walked myself in circles long enough that I finally get out pen and paper, write some things down, just praying this gives me some sense of satisfaction of something completed enough so that I can then sleep again. I always resort to pen and paper. I am as expert a list maker as they come. But I thought I’d try something new this time and write my thoughts out on my computer.
The thing is, I DO wonder this. This question of: what is the meaning of my life, that is. Not that I wonder IF my life has meaning. But what should I really be doing with my time? Do I have the right job for me? What will my next job be? Do I take good enough care of my friends and family? Am I taking risks? Am I putting myself out there to meet the right people that will help sustain my intellectual and emotional and spiritual and playful sides over time? Am I pursuing things in my free time that I really love and that really make sense to me? Or am I doing things just, because I’ve done them in the past, and because they’re easy? You can see why I can’t go back to sleep easily.
The thing about writing is, once something is on paper, I can really see the thoughts that torture me. I can look at them. Stare at them. And usually, just that does the trick for me. All of the sudden, they’re just that: thoughts that torture me. If I separate them out, I can start to decide which ones to pay attention to. And I also find that so many of these thoughts and questions that roll around in my head sometimes for weeks, months, or even years, I have simple and straightforward answers to if I’m just willing to bring them to the forefront.
I could tell you for instance, that yes, I will always need breaks from the computer in my life. I will never be someone who writes a daily or weekly blog consistently. Thinking of writing as homework or thinking of being on a schedule just won’t ever work for me.
And does it matter if my mother and Brian are the only ones who read this on a regular basis? No, it doesn’t. I’m happy to share my thoughts and writing with them, and whoever else happens along here and there to read something. I don’t write for an audience. I would be fine writing just for myself, frankly. The thought that even one other person can get something out of witnessing my thought process – even if it’s just to know me better, because they love me – is something that I’m grateful for. I don’t take their interest for granted.
Through writing I can also identify the real questions I have. Like – is having a blog a phase for me? Good question. I guess I’ll wait and see.
And the whole meaning of life merry-go-round? Of course I know there’s no quick, simple, easy answer to that question. Asking these questions is enough. I hope I am someone who always wakes up in the middle of the night periodically to check in on my life. Even if it means I’m tired and cranky at work the next day. I want to make sure that what I’m doing makes sense to me. I want to ask myself real questions. It’s nice to have the time and space to think big like this as I form and re-form my life with each day, each decision I make, and each dream I dream.
First, the holidays happened. I’m at the computer all day at work, and I get in this sort of computer mode. Computers as an entity, and sitting at the computer, start to seem like a normal things. During the holidays, however, I have this welcome relief from the not-so-natural light of the computer screen and the impulse to check (and write) emails all day to people. I actually pick up the phone and call people, I spend time making meals, taking walks, and doing other things that normal non-computer-addicted people do.
Second, I heard this thing on NPR or saw something on the internet that said that of the bazillion blogs there are out there in the cyber universe, the huge majority are read only by the blogger and their mother. Like 70 or 80% - some crazy high number. That was really depressing to me. Especially since I was in Seattle when I heard this visiting my mother and she had just made some vague reference to something I had written on this blog. And I started thinking that, indeed, she might be the only person (well, in all fairness, along with Brian) who might read this on a regular basis over time.
Third, I started having this push and pull with feeling obligated to write something on my blog. Like someone would be out there grading me if I didn’t. This sense of obligation didn’t exist until my father planted this idea in my mind that he didn’t really think I was going to follow through with writing in my blog for very long. And then, writing something now and again almost became part of proving him wrong. He’s my father, after all, and while I’m pretty good at not having power struggles with him any more, I’m not a saint.
He backtracked after suggesting he didn’t think I could keep it up, explaining that he thought he’d get bored after a while, if *he* had started a blog and would have trouble maintaining it. But he knows me pretty well, and probably understands what it’s really like for me. I get really intensely excited by things, and for a while this passion and excitement totally consumes my world. This could be a project, or an idea, a place, a thing, or a person. Really, if I started to list the things that have presented themselves to me as the thing at the time (and that I truly believed were the thing), the list would be long. They are all consuming and alluring – like a passionate affair – for just a brief moment in time. And then are suddenly gone.
The point is, my father unknowingly planted this seed of doubt in me. What if my blog is another one of those things? And what if I make all sorts of promises to myself and others that I then don’t follow through with? The truth of the matter is, this is a complete possibility. And I have to just be up front with anyone who is reading this about that. My blog could potentially be a passing phase.
You see, I had good reasons to not write anything for awhile.
But tonight, at 2:31 AM in the morning, I couldn’t be more grateful than to have somewhere to focus my thoughts and energy. I woke up from this dream about walking on the beach to find my foot itching like crazy from all the food I’ve been eating that I shouldn’t have been eating (food allergies make my skin itch), and to find myself wondering what purpose my life really has. This is not a good thing to be thinking in the middle of the night. It’s a big question. And frankly, every time I start this line of reasoning in the middle of the night, it means I’ll be awake for a long time. Basically until I have walked myself in circles long enough that I finally get out pen and paper, write some things down, just praying this gives me some sense of satisfaction of something completed enough so that I can then sleep again. I always resort to pen and paper. I am as expert a list maker as they come. But I thought I’d try something new this time and write my thoughts out on my computer.
The thing is, I DO wonder this. This question of: what is the meaning of my life, that is. Not that I wonder IF my life has meaning. But what should I really be doing with my time? Do I have the right job for me? What will my next job be? Do I take good enough care of my friends and family? Am I taking risks? Am I putting myself out there to meet the right people that will help sustain my intellectual and emotional and spiritual and playful sides over time? Am I pursuing things in my free time that I really love and that really make sense to me? Or am I doing things just, because I’ve done them in the past, and because they’re easy? You can see why I can’t go back to sleep easily.
The thing about writing is, once something is on paper, I can really see the thoughts that torture me. I can look at them. Stare at them. And usually, just that does the trick for me. All of the sudden, they’re just that: thoughts that torture me. If I separate them out, I can start to decide which ones to pay attention to. And I also find that so many of these thoughts and questions that roll around in my head sometimes for weeks, months, or even years, I have simple and straightforward answers to if I’m just willing to bring them to the forefront.
I could tell you for instance, that yes, I will always need breaks from the computer in my life. I will never be someone who writes a daily or weekly blog consistently. Thinking of writing as homework or thinking of being on a schedule just won’t ever work for me.
And does it matter if my mother and Brian are the only ones who read this on a regular basis? No, it doesn’t. I’m happy to share my thoughts and writing with them, and whoever else happens along here and there to read something. I don’t write for an audience. I would be fine writing just for myself, frankly. The thought that even one other person can get something out of witnessing my thought process – even if it’s just to know me better, because they love me – is something that I’m grateful for. I don’t take their interest for granted.
Through writing I can also identify the real questions I have. Like – is having a blog a phase for me? Good question. I guess I’ll wait and see.
And the whole meaning of life merry-go-round? Of course I know there’s no quick, simple, easy answer to that question. Asking these questions is enough. I hope I am someone who always wakes up in the middle of the night periodically to check in on my life. Even if it means I’m tired and cranky at work the next day. I want to make sure that what I’m doing makes sense to me. I want to ask myself real questions. It’s nice to have the time and space to think big like this as I form and re-form my life with each day, each decision I make, and each dream I dream.
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