Wedding Party

Younger girls surrounding the bride and groom

Yesterday I reflected on the virtue of generosity and that night I was struck by it on many levels at a wedding reception that Layla, Anisa and I attended. We were invited by a new friend of mine who helped organize parts of the wedding and who is related to the wedding party -- two prominent families in Gambian society. The girls were excited to attend the bash and get dressed up. I did not even know the names of the attractive bride and groom but we were still very much welcomed to their elaborate party.

After dinner, drumming and dancing, we noticed that women were singing loudly over the couple and guests were lined up to throw money onto cloths encircling the bride and groom. But alongside this commotion was another, more surprising occurrence. Women of more humble appearance were asking us for money. Layla and I both had brought small purses with us, and were quite uncomfortable with this begging within the private party. I asked my friend, “Why are these people asking for money at the wedding?” She replied, “These are the beggars that come to all our celebrations.”

So, we learned that among Senegalese and Gambians of all classes of society, during the big events like weddings there is an expectation that all kinds of people will attend, be fed, and among those who need it most (or who ask most persistently), money will be given out – no one is denied. My friend had packed her stylish gold clutch purse with stacks of crisp, small bills to hand out to these people. We also learned that for the most part, those who are welcomed to these events are not “average” street beggars. They are the griots described in Alex Haley’s book Roots.

When the first griot approached us to sing a story while waving her hand at me clutching 25 dalassi notes (28 dalassis per one US dollar), I was confused. This particular woman was someone I had met earlier in the week, modern, and not one seeming to need to ask for any money. But Layla was excited. She had just finished reading Roots and was the most familiar with this ancient custom where the older generation memorizes the stories of families and the village’s heritage and passes this knowledge along to specifically appointed children to continue the tradition. (Stories also can be made up. In my case, she learned my name and started singing about it.)

Layla didn’t think there were any griots left. But we learned that there are all kinds of people calling themselves griots – from the seemingly high-class, clad in lots of gold, to those of much more humble means. As we were leaving the hotel’s circular driveway, two women we recognized as among the best dancers at the party, desperately waved us down for a ride. We let them in and as we drove and chatted, they described that they, too, are griots. These independent women in their 30’s looked more like disco divas, not the bearers of an ancient tradition, showing the girls and me that the ancient and modern co-exist wherever we look.