Nigerian Weddings vs British Weddings

I was captivated by the elegance and efficiency of the Royal wedding between Prince William and Kate Middleton. There was a real sense of regal simplicity and everything ran smoothly.

'The Kiss' by the Royal Couple

But what would the wedding have looked like Nigerian-style? Below is a look at the differences in culture between a Nigerian and a British wedding.

INVITATIONS
Brits: Invitations are sent out weeks ahead to guests with final numbers strictly adhered to for catering and seating purposes. The invite is usually from the bride and groom and the design and style can be elegant or humorous.

Nigerians: The concept of invitation-only weddings seems selfish to Nigerians so everyone is welcome, even the bride's friend's sister's neighbour or the groom's tennis coach's girlfriend's aunt. But invitations do go out and are usually formal and from the couple's parents requesting your attendance to their children's wedding.

VENUE
Brits: The church is no longer the only acceptable place for Brits to swap vows and weddings now take place in McDonald's, on roller coasters, under water and in pubs.

Nigerians: Religion is of huge importance to Nigerians and the majority of weddings take place in a church or mosque. The thought of conducting a service in an informal setting is laughable and would bring shame and ridicule to the traditionally minded parents of the couple.

A Yoruba Bride and Groom in Traditional Wedding Dress (flamboyant cakes are popular)

PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT
Brits: The couple's mothers tend to want to dictate a large portion of the occasion and are very hands on with arrangements. They can, however, be forced to be flexible so that everyone is happy.

Nigerians: The couple's mothers tend to want to dictate a large portion of the occasion and are very hands on with arrangements. The younger generation often succumbs to the desires of the elders.

TIME-KEEPING
Brits: Time-keeping is important and efforts are made to keep to schedule and not over-run. The Order of Service are followed closely and even speeches are timed to the minute.

Nigerians: Time-keeping? Ha! Does anyone even arrive wearing a watch? A 12pm start is really a 3:43pm start, the bridal party is expected to be very fashionably late, the sermon can last an hour, the reception starts when everybody gets there and the Order of Service is used as a hand-held fan.

WEDDING PARTY
Brits: The wedding party consists of three or four pairs of bridesmaids and grooms men, a best man and maid-of-honour, a page-boy and one or two flower-girls.

Nigerians: The wedding party consists of nine or ten pairs of bridesmaids and grooms men, a best man and maid-of-honour, two or three page-boys and three or four flower-girls.

A Nigerian wedding party

DRESS CODE
Brits: Smart, formal dresses, suits and hats in conservative colours. Female guests avoid wearing white so as not to upstage the bride.

Nigerians: Colours galore! From the monumental geles on the women's heads to the elaborately patterned aso-ebis and ankara dresses on show, fashion is a serious factor in Nigerian weddings. Sunglasses are common and large jewellery, matching accessories and green crocodile-skin shoes for men are welcome. Friends and family of the bride wear the same coloured fabric tailored to suit their individual styles and the groom's guests wear another.

The couple have two opportunities to showcase their couture, first at the traditional wedding (with a separate cake, traditional vows, bride price and lots of postrating before elders) where everyone wears native attire, then at the white wedding although guests can wear native dress to both.

Example of the vivid wedding 'uniform' (aso-ebi), sunglasses and thick jewellery at a Nigerian wedding

SERMON
Brits: The sermon by the Vicar is scripted and traditional and lasts no more than 20 minutes.
Nigerians: The sermon by the Pastor is unscripted and includes much advice, humorous marriage anecdotes and audience participation and can last an hour.

RECEPTION DECORATION
Brits: Colour-themed, draped chairs and tables, centre-pieces and favours.
Nigerians: Colour-themed, draped chairs and tables, centre-pieces, favours and snacks like chin-chin and puff- puff, canned drinks and large juice cartons waiting on the tables.

A Benin/Igbo Bride and Groom in Traditional Wedding Dress

NUMBER OF GUESTS 
Brits: Guests can number from 10 to 300 for a large wedding.
Nigerians: Guests can number from 200 to 3,000 for a large wedding

SEATING
Brits: There are place-names and everyone knows where they ought to sit. There is also a top table for the bridal party.
Nigerians: There are no place-names and everyone sits where they want. There is a top table on a stage for the bridal party.

A Hausa Bride and Groom in Traditional Wedding Dress

FOOD
Brits: A set menu of three courses including dessert, tabled or from a buffet with alcohol a-plenty from a bar
Nigerians: A varied buffet serving up to twelve dishes including jollof rice, fried rice, yam, meat and fish dishes, salad, sauces and pounded yam. There is no dessert (except the wedding cake) but lots of soft drinks and non-alcoholic malt beer like Supermalt. There is usually no alcohol.

MUSIC
Brits: A live band playing guitar-led music or a wedding singer
Nigerians: An energetic live band playing drum-led music with religious lyrics, or if the couple is rich, a famous musician like TuFace or Ice Prince.

Example of Nigerian Wedding Cake (Probably for a Traditional Wedding)

DANCING

Brits: Bride and Groom have the first dance, then guests dance demurely until drunk when their moves become more comical and exuberant.

 

Nigerians: Bride and Groom have the first dance and are expected to energetically showcase their dance skills whilst guests paste dollar bills on their foreheads which drop to the ground and are gathered up by a member of the bridal party employed for such a task. The guests then dance with exuberance without the need for alcohol.

GIFTS

Brits: Wedding presents are expected and given, often from a gift list but giving money is frowned upon.

Nigerians: Wedding presents are expected but many guests arrive empty-handed. Giving money in white envelopes is common and appreciated. Towards the end of the evening, guests receive personalised gifts bearing a picture of the couple and a message from the gifts' sponsor, e.g. calendars or mugs with a smiling picture of 'Bunmi and Ade; 22/05/10 May God Bless Your Union; Love from the Adenuga Family.' Wealthier couples give out luxury gifts, from televisions to designer handbags to select guests.

 

Union between the Western and the Traditional

The Little Fulani Cowgirl and other Abuja stories

So I'm still living and working in Abuja, and below I've documented four unique experiences with what some might call 'the lowly' amongst us. In so doing I hope not to make the same mistake US singer Brandy did, of only documenting street kids on dirt-roads from her visit last year to Lagos, and calling it 'Beautiful Africa.' 

Although I joined others in condemning her pictures - what about the fancy hotels, boutiques and plush cars she experienced? Why only show the (overused, clichéd) poverty of Africa? - I now understand her. Coming from her world, the naked poverty in Nigeria grabbed her attention and touched her more than the wealth in the country. She's familiar with luxury hotels and tarred roads, so the unfamiliar is what stood out for her.

So in these stories, which all occurred last year, I describe my encounters with people I'm not used to, often watch from afar and who I'm not able to know very well due to our different stations in life.

The Little Fulani Cowgirl

You could just make out the top of her shaggy head amidst the wide, white flanks of the cows gathered around her. Then she comes into view: a little Fulani girl barely seven years old, with dirt-brown curly hair plaited haphazardly, and the tiny stray strands that escaped forming a fuzzy halo around her little head.

Wearing a blue, oversized T-shirt that reached down past her knees, her thin legs ended in a pair of adult slippers encasing tiny feet caked in the brown dust of the earth that she had no doubt been traversing for hours already that afternoon.

She grasped in her little hand a thin but sturdy stick that was twice her height, which she used as an aid to edge her way past the slow-footed cows and around the side of the road. Now and then she also used the stick to whack a fidgety cow to stop it from heading towards the cars that were waiting for the herd to cross, a scene which occurs periodically on this residential road.

Unafraid, accomplished and proud, the little cowgirl wore a look of experienced calm and maintained an assurance that refused to be intimidated by the animals that were bigger than her or the motorists growing impatient around her.

She wasn’t perturbed by the heat of the sun, the dusty road or the long hilly hike ahead of her, and as I looked she shouted out to the herd with a shrill, tiny voice, and the animals immediately heeded their little mistress and trooped faster past the waiting cars.
 

She manoeuvred the animals with grace under fire; they trusted her and she understood them. And as she walked behind the last cow crossing, our eyes met and she looked at me for a fraction of a second with cool, haughty eyes betraying little of the innocence no doubt still within.

Here was a little girl in charge of her family’s wealth and pride, single-handedly dealing with the hostilities of the city and the terrain, armed with only a stick and her fierce resolve. She knows the roads, the routes, the hills and the valleys, she probably also knew each cow by name.

Soon she will give up herding and settle into the sedentary life of a wife and mother, but for now it was just her and her herd against the world, roaming wild and free and fearless.

As the proud little cowgirl walked off into the distance with her troop of 15 or so cows trudging obediently behind her, I marvelled at her control and confidence.

She was born to do this.

The Barefooted Prisoner

A barefooted, small-boned man with scraggly hair, a T-shirt full of holes and a hound-dog expression walked up to us one warm weekday evening as we stood in front of a Tapas Bar near the Gudu bypass.

He came to us hesitantly, as if he was a pigeon and we were holding out bread in our palms. We tried to ignore him at first, but the weight of sorrow in his eyes and his obvious vulnerability made us forego our concern that he was a scam-artist begging for money. Like the well-dressed, middle-aged man who alighted from a Jeep and asked us for N10, 000 to pay for his daughter’s medical bills. It was only after we gave him what we could and he drove off that it dawned on us that we’d been swindled.

But this small man was different. He kept scratching himself slowly all over as he told us, in a barely-audible voice, his story. Big tears dropped from his eyes, which he wiped with his shoulder in a move that was so pitiful it was innocent.

Back in Taraba State, he said, he and a group of friends were walking through a market when there was a commotion: someone had been stabbed in a fight. He helped eight others to carry the victim to the hospital, and whilst there the victim died and despite their protests, the police arrested them for murder. They were thrown into jail and later ferried to Kuje Prison in Abuja to complete their sentence. That was nine years ago. He was just released today and wanted to return to his wife and children in Taraba but didn’t know where to go or where to start.

We stared at him in silence. Was this for real? Was this poor man’s life just taken away from him for an instinctual act of kindness?

He stared at the floor whilst we consulted amongst ourselves, now and then shooting more questions at him to ascertain the veracity of his tale. He didn’t even ask for money, he just told his story and kept quiet, waiting for us to pronounce our judgment on him from on high, just like the judge and the police declared their life-changing judgement on him all those years ago.  

He mentioned that one of the friends had died in prison; they were regularly beaten up and hardly given any food. If ever there was an example of someone whose spirit had been broken, it was him.

We pitied him and gave him some of what we had, and pointed to the direction of cars going towards the park where he can get transportation to Taraba. He took the money with both hands, offered a lengthy thanks with more tears, and walked away slowly; a dejected, confused victim of poverty.

If the rage from the injustice he’s suffered caused him to kill tomorrow, I wouldn’t blame him. The depraved amongst us are made so by others, which is why we are told not to judge, for only God knows the full story. It is a wonder more men don’t turn to violence, when such violence is visited upon them daily.

How Much is an Egg Roll?

There’s an instant pleasure one derives from biting into a warm egg roll, especially when the dark brown pastry surrounding it is both savoury and sweet and crumbles in the mouth. With this yearning in mind, I walked out of the office at lunchtime in search of the eggroll sellers, who carry their cheap but sumptuous wares on their heads to many a labourers’ delight.

It was my lucky day: A teenage girl was passing by with a lidded, translucent plastic bucket on her head. I could just about make out the eggrolls inside. As she walked on, skilfully balancing her load on a head, she didn’t even need to use a hand to hold the bucket in place, such was her hawking experience.

One arm hung playfully by her side as the other held a small plastic carrier bag hooked to her wrist, no doubt containing her takings for the day’s sales so far. She walked with an air of confident abandon: “I don’t need to go to school,” she seemed to be saying. “The sun and the breeze and the open road are my education. I know these streets like the back of my hand.” 

I made short hissing sounds to get her attention, and when she heard, she turned around and walked towards me. As she reached me, she brought down her bucket and opened it. “Good afternoon madam” she said in a sing-song voice. I greeted her and looked inside her pail. There were eggrolls alright, bigger than average and the rough unevenness of the dark-brown dough glistening with grease testified to the fact that the dough will be sufficiently crunchy. But apart from the rounded eggrolls, there were elongated dough of the same colour, moulded into fat, short tubes. 

“What are those?” I asked, pointing at one.

“Fish roll” she replied, her inanimate eyes wondering away and resting on the woman walking by.

They look interesting, I thought. “Give me one eggroll and one fish roll” I said, looking forward to biting into one of the moist flour-casing and tasting bits of fish instead of a hard-boiled egg.

The girl took out one small black carrier bag from the bag hooked unto her wrist, spread it out on her cupped hand and used it to scoop up the delicacies, wrapping the bag up around them.

“How much?” I asked.

“N200”

I looked back at the snacks in the bag. “Remove the fish one” I said. Knowing that the price of eggrolls ranged from N50 to N80 depending on where you bought them, N200 for two – one of which was a flavour unknown to me – was too much. Plus I couldn’t guarantee that these eggrolls will taste good. Looks can be deceiving. And the freshness of the products, now that it was already 2:30pm and there were only a few left in the bucket was uncertain. Wouldn’t all the oil seep down to the last remaining rolls, making them soggy from the extra grease and the accumulated heat-turned-sweat from the sun?

The doubts raised by the extra N120 was immense. Did my clothes or the fatness of my purse fool this girl into thinking it was full or money? Or did the wholesale price of flour and eggs suddenly increase in Abuja so that it translated into an extra N20 charge for an eggroll? 

But I didn’t say anything. I paid with N500, and saw that I collected all her change: eight N50 notes. I wondered where the rest of her money was. But the abundance of N50s proved to me that indeed the rolls did retail at half the price. The young swindler was smart. “Thank you ma” she said, as she heaved the bucket back unto her head.

Those three words turned my displeasure into a shrug. Back at the office, I bit into the roll. It was still fresh and uncluttered by too much grease. My N100 was well spent.

My Maiguard is Getting Married

Our maiguard has one of those faces that is neither old nor young; he could be 18, he could be 38. Small in stature and speaking a dialect of Hausa that baffled us, Aminu is a good, if absent-minded guard.

I remember when he first arrived from Zaria straight to our house; he was hunched and hesitant, with overgrown hair and a furtive, haunted look in his eyes. He used to grunt to alert you to his presence, and he had a permanent scowl on his face. But after a few months with us, he became more self-assured, got regular hair-cuts, wore the clothes we gave him with pride and stood taller. He even replaced his grunts with words; it was like seeing the blossoming of a flower. Soon he started cooking for himself and made friends with the other guards in the estate, and he smiled and laughed more. Even his brand of Hausa became more familiar to us.

Yet he remained our lowly, trust-worthy Maiguard, until he told us his intentions to return to his native Zaria to get married. I was surprised. So Aminu, this young (or old, we still couldn’t ascertain his actual age-range) man who opens and closes our gate, weeds the yard, washes the cars and does other necessary work around the house for which we paid him an agreeable amount, wanted to get married?

He said that the girl had already been chosen for him by his family; she was the sister of a girl he had been dating previously, but that girl had been given out in marriage to another man when Aminu came to Abuja, so his family had accepted her sister for him.

I remember entering his messy Maiguard house to drop something for him, and on the floor was a picture of a light-skinned young woman wrapped in a red veil from head to toe. She was lying down on her side and stared blankly at the camera. So when Aminu said he’d never met his bride-to-be but had been sent her picture, my mind recalled the girl in red.

She was rather pretty, I thought. Will she be pleased with Aminu, a diminutive man/boy with a semi-permanent scowl? He told us her bride-price was N70, 000 and he’d been saving up for months for her. I wondered if N70, 000 was considered the price for a top-drawer maiden in rural Zaria.

Last week, Aminu left to get married, I could sense his excitement as he said farewell to us. But he’ll come back soon, as his family have advised him to return to Abuja after marriage because there are no jobs in their community. But he won’t be bringing his wife with him. So after a few days in Zaria, during which time he would not only meet his bride for the first time, but would have married her, he would bid farewell to his life-partner for a few months until he returned to Zaria again. Aminu will then return to us a married man.

I wondered if, nine months later, Mrs Aminu would have a baby. Would Aminu still stay on in Abuja? Will he take on more wives? Can he look after a family on his modest Maiguard wages?

All these questions cast my Maiguard in a whole new light.

My Travels Across Nigeria

So, I've ventured outside Abuja to three other states. Below is my impression of each:

JOS
My favourite place so far. The four-hour journey there was full of potholes on the road, vistas of greenery, small rickety houses and tables selling oranges etc on the much of the road sides. We'll reach certain intersections and be greeted by a cackle of snack sellers, mostly kids selling water, plantain chips, sesame-seed cakes and roasted corn. There were also lots of beautiful stretches of trees, farms,valleys and mountains. Jos gets its famous cold weather because of its highlands location and yep, it really was as cold as I was told. Coming from London, everyone expected me to acclimatise easily to the drop in temperature, but funnily enough I was the only one needing to wear a hooded sweatshirt and was sneezing and blowing my nose throughout!

I went to Jos for Easter and hung out with friends, friends of friends and family and ate lots of chicken! A friend owned a cake shop which I loved, and even felt a bit of nostalgia from reading a cake magazine from the UK that the shop subscribed to. I also visited a couple of bakeries and was happy to note that things are so much cheaper in Jos, in fact,any where outside the FCT (Abuja) prices are lower.

On the whole Jos is calmer and more small-towney than Abuja, the people are friendlier and the cool air cools tempers giving a more genial atmosphere. It is also more rocky, and at one point we drove up a narrow, rocky road that felt like mountain-climbing on four wheels.

Some of the mountains that framed our journey to Jos

Unfortunately Jos is also known for a lot of bomb attacks by the Islamic sect Boko Haram. And although 'Josians' didn't obsess about this and went about their daily business normally, you could tell something was up because of the police check-points dotted about the place, where uniformed, armoured men carrying Kalashnikovs (!) would stand behind an erected barrier in the middle of the road so you're obliged to stop your car. You'll then have to put on your car light if it's night-time, and they'll then walk over and greet you calmly, scrutinise you and the other passengers in the car and ask to check your boot. Sometimes they'll also ask for 'a little something' which sometimes we didn't mind giving out, as they spend the whole day in the sun wearing heavy armour and were usually quite jokey with drivers, unless you 'look suspicious' of course, in which case they'd ask you to pull over to the side of the road.

Another reminder that this beautiful state is not altogether peaceful was the fact that some friends and I watched an Arsenal football match in a large bar with huge screens when I was there, which was great fun. Then later I heard that a similar establishment in Jos was bombed a few days ago as football fans exited after watching a match. That could have been us!

Many churches in Jos have also been bombed, especially at special Christian occasions like Christmas, so I was a little nervous when I went to a church in Jos on Easter Sunday. But the security was high and although inconvenient, we appreciated it: we couldn't drive right up to the church but had to park a fair distance away,  were searched on our way in and women were encouraged to leave large handbags at home. There were also boulders on the road leading up to the church. But the church building was beautiful, as was the service, and there were at least six Caucasian faces dotted around (which is a lot in one place in Nigeria) wearing native Ankara. I guess the cool weather really does attract more Westerners.

I went to Jos a second time for a wedding in a Catholic church, and the reception was held outdoors amongst tall trees at the famous Wild Life Park, which once housed lions, elephants etc (apparently many of these wild animals are native in Nigeria,who knew?) but is now an events centre:

Outdoor wedding reception in Jos

KADUNA
I returned to the state I had heard so much about and seen so many pictures of, and I foolishly thought I would recognise some things and maybe get a sense of deja vu or familiar feeling, but nope. Nothing. Although we were only there for one day and one night for a wedding and I didn't get a chance to explore the state properly.

I noticed the billboards here where mostly in Hausa, or one side had the English version and the reverse the Hausa translation of the ad. Kaduna also had a small-town, less developed look, and being the lover of local foods, made sure I had some Kose and Doya:

Kose (Fried bean cakes) da Doya (and Fried Yam) da Yaji (and Pepper) bought from an outdoor seller frying on a large Wok placed on stones and firewood

I also hung out with friends in a nice outdoor garden and also noticed that compared Abuja, the electricity in Jos and Kaduna was less frequent, and I was told that three nights would go by without any electricity. Gosh!

Nevertheless, I must say KD, as the town is popularly called, was a little disappointing. Maybe because I had such high hopes of the place. It was like any other Nigerian town and fades away in my memory compared with other places I visited in Nigeria. I thought the reverse would be true. I hope when I return I can experience it better.


MINNA
I was in Minna for a few days for a wedding and enjoyed it. It was on my way there that I saw my first ever hut in Africa! Yep, after decades of being African, I finally saw a thatched-roofed, mud walled hut! A few lined the road on our journey, along with plenty of farmland and greenery and one huge mountain, I can't remember it's name.

It was also in Minna that I drank my first ‘Pure Water,’ which are small plastic sachets filled with water that is popular amongst many in Nigeria, as they cost around N5- N10 each, whereas Bottled water cost around N100 each.

Pure Water

Minna also had many checkpoints manned by armed uniformed police/army/guards dotted around, and roads leading up to police stations were totally closed-off due to recent attacks on police stations.  

Another thing I noticed about Minna, as was the case with Jos and Kaduna, is that looks can be deceiving: We'll drive up a bumpy, dilapidated dirt-road right up to a standard iron gate, but then the gates would open and Voila! a well-kept drive-way, beautiful kept lawn and large elegant house would appear, and inside the house would be equally beautiful. So many un-tarmacked roads led up to expensively built homes. 

Minna is probably less developed than any other state I’ve been in, but I enjoyed great hospitality and did a unique hairstyle there called 'Abuja Braids,' which was not only pretty but practical too in that it completely covered my natural hair, otherwise my hair would look fuzzy and rough after three days as my natural curls burst through and start poking through the extensions.

I also wore 'Anko' (Hausa word for aso-ebi) for the first time at a Northern wedding, which is where all the close friends and family of the bride and groom wear matching clothing material. The dress I had made was a beautiful fishtail design, but I didn't wear the gele/scarf provided.

I hope to one day be brave enough to visit Lagos. I was invited by a good British friend of mine who went there for a wedding (weddings seem to be the reasons for much travel. That and funerals. I hope to have many more of the former and none of the latter!) but unfortunately couldn't make it.

Here's to more travels across Nigeria!