Zamwedding

Before me stands Packer Palace, a mud hut splashed in green and yellow paint, property of Jeff, a PCV whose love for Green Bay necessitated the decor and whose love for Theresa (a Zambian) descended a group of volunteers on a small and once quiet village. A musungu marrying a Zambian. This is HUGE. I follow the swarm of Zambians onto the tarmac toward the catholic mission.

The church is an orange octagonal structure coated in bright swaths of blue, red, green, and pink. Outside, the wedding party waits anxiously as the guests pour in. A PCV duet of Pachelbel's Canon begins on guitar and violin, followed by a wave of traditional song led by a large group of youths dressed in matching blue and white uniforms and waistwraps, seated in the center of the congregation. Drums and vocals reverberate in the expanse; lifting, soaring, gliding in harmonized polyphony and entrancing us in their spell.

A statue of African Jesus crucified in a wood medium bears witness from behind the altar, while Western-European Mary and Joseph look on from the wings.

People sing, clap, react in spontaneity to the sound embracing them in the evening light streaming from the windows. Curious onlookers press to the windows, huddle in the narthex. Speechless.

Theresa, in flowing white, trails down the aisle, sequined butterflies fluttering up the train of her gown. Jeff--eager, adoring--awaits the veiled beauty.

Vows. Rings. Kiss. Full Mass. Ciopwa.