Wedding

I have this friend named Phydel who got married this weekend. She called me up on Thursday and asked if I could help. I've never been to an Indonesian wedding, but I've heard the horror stories... I was hesitant, but I have this moral issue about saying no to a bride on her wedding day. I just can't do it. And plus, I just plain love the girl. So I said yes.


The original plan was to have me dress in traditional clothes and serve as the greeter/guest book attendant at the reception. I pointed out that I really don't speak Indonesian, and she assured me that if I knew "selamat datang" (welcome), "terima kasih" (thank you), and "silakan" (please do), that would suffice. I don't know if I was more intimidated by the thought of having to speak a language I don't speak all day or having to wear a traditional outfit...


Luckily, I had to do neither. It was decided that my American... umm... figure... probably wouldn't fit in an Indonesian corset. And I had my own clothes in the appropriate wedding colors. So I just wore those. And when I got to the reception, there was already someone else greeting, so I laid low and hoped no-one would notice that I wasn't doing my job.


However, this does not mean that I was off the hook. The day before the wedding, I was talking to Phydel, and I mentioned to her that if she wanted, I could take some pictures in the morning of people getting ready before the actual photographers got there. That made her happy. So that made me happy.


I got up and dressed at 6 on Saturday morning, and a girl who looked to be about 12 came and picked me up on a motorbike. I thought we were going to die on the way to Phydel's house, but we made it. The girl dropped me off at the front gate and sped away. There were crazy women everywhere running around trying to get everything ready. And none of them spoke a lick of English. So I finally found the groom, Wisnu, and was able to ask him where I should go. He took me to the room where Phydel was getting ready. She was in there with a few other girls and her hairdresser/makeup artist. We laughingly referred to him as "the woman" all day. He was probably more ladylike than me. He also knew how to curse in English. Oh good, my native tongue.

I watched Phydel get ready for a bit, but then she decided I should go take pictures of everything else that was happening. So I left the safety of English speaking people and ventured out into the house. However, there seemed to be nothing happening and nobody was around. So I returned to Fidel and explained the situation. After some thought, she remembered that all the ladies had gone next door to get ready. So she sent me there.

Awkward moment of awkward moments. A little white girl with a big camera walks into a room full of Indonesian women frantically trying to make their skin whiter and their hair bigger. And of course, none of them had any clue who I was and none of them spoke any English. So they decided to feed me. Bread. And bread. And bread. Then one of them thought to ask if I wanted a drink. I said yes please. So they poured me a glass of tea. But after much discussion and staring at the glass of tea, it must have been decided that it wasn't good enough, because they set it down and poured another glass. The same discussion ensued and ended with them opening the tea pot and taking turns peering in. It must have all been faulty, because I never did end up getting a drink. I also never ended up taking many pictures either, because I raised my camera once to take a picture and one lady started yelling. Maybe they didn't want the white stranger taking pictures of them half made-up? I don't know. So I sat there in uncomfortable silence for about 45 minutes until a little girl came in and told me Phydel needed me.

At this point, the professional photographers had arrived, so Phydel asked me to take some more formal portraits with Wisnu and other family and friends. I acquiesced, much to the chagrin of the pros who shot me murderous looks from across the room. After many pictures and some sort of formal ceremony that involved the bride, groom, and female family members marching down the driveway while a man prayed in a very loud voice, we all got in cars and drove to the church.

I was directed toward one of the last cars to leave. We left, and about 5 minutes later, the driver declared that he actually had no idea where he was going. Shortly thereafter, we realized that every single person in the car was from out of town. So they turned to me. The foreigner. Luckily, I had been to the church once before, and I kind of-sort of-relatively knew where it was at. And luckily, I know how to say "left" and "straight" in Indonesian, but not "right". So also luckily, one girl in the car spoke some English. We made it. Eventually.

And the rest is history...