A Rwandan Clan—How to Find Belonging in a Disconnected World
One of the things
that will pull a tear from my eye faster than lightning is when the traditions
of Rwandan culture are displayed.
Rwandan weddings unfurl like a stage
play with a script and costumes. The long flowing dresses shimmer with prisms of color. The men
shine in their best suits. The beautiful dancers swirl while the drummers thrum
steady and sure. All the while, the emcee keeps the flow smooth throughout the
day. Yes, day. They are extravagant events that stretch from morning
until late into the night.
They start with the
negotiations, the bride price. How many cows would a husband’s family need to
give the bride’s family in order to purchase this woman? (My feminist eyes roll
a little, but it’s all in good present day fun. No cows are actually
exchanging hands.) Then they must verify the cows are healthy milk
producers. A lot of humor and bantering are involved in this process. “Are the
cows good and fat?” “ Isn’t the bride worth more than 100 cows?”
When the elders
accept the price, they request to see the bride. The bride’s father will
announce that the bride is not around, and make some excuse like “She had to go
to the US for university and she won’t be back until summer.” But everyone is a
welcome guest and we should wait. More bantering and deception flies about
where the bride really is and will she return for the ceremony?
And it goes on like
this for hours….literally hours.
The piece always
interesting to me is the lineage. The father of the family gives a family
lineage to verify the identity of the bride, which also connects her to her
family’s clan. The irony at a recent wedding I attended was that the bride and
groom were American. Their biological family wasn’t in attendance, but their
Rwandan family stepped. A “father” at the elder men table, a “mother” at the
elder women table, while “aunties” and “uncles” filled each side of the room.
As the “father”
recited the lineage, it made me think of two things. First, the example of
genealogies in the Bible, and Secondly, who is my clan?
Living in a foreign
country I have people around me who serve in familial roles. Though they will
never replace my biological family, we share a very deep bond. And then it hit
me, “If you want to be my disciple, you must, by comparison, hate everyone
else—your father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even
your own life. Otherwise, you cannot be my disciple. 27 And if you do not carry your own cross and
follow me, you cannot be my disciple.”
I left my family and
friends to move to Rwanda, because I felt God was opening doors for me to serve
Him. My family has changed because I left my biological family to serve Him.
Being a disciple of
Christ means my lineage is made up of people throughout history. I may not know
where my great great great great grandfather lived, but I know where my
Jesus is from and I know His family. I know WHO I belong to and where I’m from.
In the lonely moments
of straddling two worlds, and feeling like a foreigner in my home culture and
my host culture, I’m gently reminded where I belong.
And I long for a
place with all my family together.
~Selah
Comments
Post a Comment