How My Host Mother Talked Me Into Getting Married.

While I was on vacation in America back in June I decided that upon my return to Gambia I was going to tell my Gambian host family, my Gambian co-workers, and Gambian friends that I had gotten married to George while I was home. A big lie, I know, and a lie that made me really uncomfortable considering my history of hesitation with long term commitment, but I had grand plans. To a bumster, or many Gambian men, being here in Gambia and having a boyfriend in America is the same as being single. So of course, in their eyes, what else would a 25 year old single woman be doing with her life but lookin’ for a husband. And they took it upon themselves to make it known every. waking. moment. of my life that they are here to help me out with my problem. Of course, this applies to the random men I come across here but also one of my host brothers, my counterpart, and many of the teachers I work with. I came back, told the lie to EVERYONE (with the exception of the Peace Corps community) with the hopes that I could live a less bothered life, and it worked like a charm. When I told my counterpart he didn’t speak or look at me in the face for almost 2 weeks but been great ever since. It’s like I’m just any other old Gambian woman. My host brother has even stopped giving me the weird wooden bracelets that he seems to think will woo me. Things were going perfectly. I was still getting the inevitable daily marriage proposal on the street, but at least now they weren’t coming from men I know. That was easy; I remember thinking. Almost too easy. Little did I know…

A few weeks after, I was sitting outside one evening with my host mother just chatting. She was asking me about George and she said “When George comes, do you want a ram at your wedding?” I choked on the mango juice I was drinking and said “Sorry, I didn’t understand…wedding?” She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Yes, your wedding, when he comes to visit we’ll have a wedding here.” “No!! No, no…that won’t be necessary” I said. Her face dropped and she said something along the lines of that here in The Gambia they are my family and if one of her daughters left the compound and was married somewhere far away, when she came home they would have another wedding ceremony here as well. And since I am like a daughter to her, she wants to have one for me. "It's tradition, you have to do it" she said. In my mind I’m yelling “I’M NOT REALLY MARRIED, PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS!!’’ But out loud I’m just saying “no, no, no, sorry, no.” She goes on, talking over me, saying “and you’ll have to invite all of your Peace Corps friends, and all of the people on our street…and we’ll have to get a ram” meaning I’ll have to buy a ram. So then I start thinking about how expensive a ram is and how much more frugally I would have to live in January if I were to spend my whole month's stipend on a ram and so I said “What about a crate of chickens instead of a ram?” She smirked, knowing she had tricked me into agreeing, clapped her hands together and said “Ok good, chickens it is! We’ll braid your hair, cover you in our traditional jewelry, you’ll have to wash his clothes as part of tradition but we’ll help you…When is George coming again? And you’ll have to dance this time” and so on… She was so pleased with herself and it was far too late to tell her no. So now I’m getting married in a traditional Gambian wedding. I called George and told him and he started giggling, murmuring something about becoming Mr. Caroline Stamatakis. Every single one of my Peace Corps friends here said they wouldn’t miss it for the world. And by that they mean they want to see me looking completely ridiculous and embarrassed.

Then, last week my camera was stolen somewhere in route to the market. I haven’t had anything stolen yet but that day I was carrying a tote bag. Looking back, a bad, bad idea for the Brikama market. Anyway, I learned my lesson and now I’m camera-less but I was telling my host mother about it the other day. I couldn’t remember the word for “taken” or “stolen” so I told her that my camera was gone. She looked shocked. Her mouth fell open and she said slowly “ila camera faa taa??” Your camera is dead?? I said yes, just trying to get the point across that I don’t have it anymore. She started shaking her head and looking at me with the most worried expression on her face. “So no wedding…” she said. I was a little confused but jumping with joy inside!! If it had been that easy to get her off the wedding thing I would have GIVEN my camera away loooong ago. But as she was talking I realized that she wasn’t saying “camera” she was saying “kema”…which means husband. Because of course, camera with a Gambian accent sounds just like “Kema.” I considered letting her believe George was dead for a while so the whole wedding experience could be passed over, but then I thought no…when he shows up they’ll think he’s a devil. And that would be bad. So here I am, awaiting my wedding day in January. It’s going to be the most awkward, uncomfortable, and embarrassing day of my life….and you’re all invited.