My wonderful parents and sweet new husband jumped into action. Steve rubbed my shoulders while my dad literally fed me pineapple from a fork, and my mom routed around to find electronics to style my hair since — surprise, surprise — the hairdresser had cancelled.
Mind you, my single biggest wedding investment (other than the flight over there) was the $600 I had spent on gorgeous, luscious extensions. (Seriously, my parents bought me my dress for almost a third of that). Pricey, yes, but ultimately worth it, I had rationalized, for the beautiful updo (my own hair is too thin) for stunning photos. Only now that I would have neither professional photos nor an updo, I had in effect paid almost a month's rent for the privilege of an extra heavy humidity heat mop on my head.
Despite the fact that neither my mom nor I are particularly skilled in what I will somewhat sexistly call the "lady arts", she was game to give my hairdo the ole college try. 'Course, there's a reason you're counseled not to use certain electronics overseas, even with adapters and the like.
Everything was fine for a couple minutes as my mom worked to straighten my hair, then were was a loud popping sound, sparks and smoke. We quickly unplugged my fancy (now destroyed) adapter, unable to do anything but laugh nervously. On the one hand, what else should we expect? The whole day had been a series of small disasters and stress strung together by little moments of the most intense joy.
On the other hand, none of us were electrocuted and we didn't burn the apartment down. Winning!
Either way, this led to one of my other favourite tender moments of the day. My amazing husband pulled me back from the metaphorical ledge, talking to me softly and stroking my head as he lovingly combed my hair and then gently pulled it all back into a ponytail. He and my mom then secured the veil overtop of it, laced up the top of my dress and we called it good.
We got the hotel where the reception was taking place a hair before 10 p.m., whereupon I was informed that we would be called to enter the room once all our guests had arrived and taken their seats. After about 20 minutes of sitting in the car out front with the sweat gathering on my forehead and other unmentionable areas, I asked if we could go wait in our room upstairs. Steve, my parents and I there resumed w-w-w-waiting once again.
Steve had to nudge me awake repeatedly as I sunk lower and lower on the bed, dress and veil and all. I had told him that if I really fell asleep, there would be no rousing me for the reception. At one point, we decided to take a walk up and down the dark hallway to help keep my eyes open.
Finally, I kid you not, at 11:58 p.m., we got word that they were ready for us downstairs. I decided to enter with my parents since the cancelled church ceremony meant they hadn't been able to walk me down the aisle. Steve entered with his parents, too. The entrance song was... not the one we had asked for, but whatevs.
Some 150 guests filled the brightly lit ballroom. The tables were laid with burgundy and royal blue napkins, and matching bows adorned the chairs (at least, those with chair covers). The elevated head table was offset by a magnificent floral and fond arrangement fixed to the wall behind it. The DJ table and a keyboard were set up to the right of the head table, while L shaped tables set up on the other side at both the front and back of the room held a spread of food enough for 400 or more. (All lovingly prepared by my mother-in-law and a small army of relief society volunteers from throughout Douala). A stream of youth wearing dresses and ties made of our wedding fabric waited on us and our guests, bringing round after round of carbonated beverages and other goodies.
After our hearty meal, the program included serenades from both my new father-in-law and husband (who adorably forgot the words less than one verse into John Legend's "All of Me" and proceeded to improvise lyrics for the remainder of his performance, while our francophone guests were none the wiser), a heartfelt song performed by our witnesses and bridesmaids, a red-spattered two-tier cake with monster sparklers and lots and lots of dancing. In fact, the music and dancing persisted until after Steve and I finally left a little after 5 a.m.
My heart swelled with gratitude for my in-laws and the many others who had helped them to prepare for this day (it still does; I appreciate it so much and always will!). They had clearly put in a lot of time and effort to try to make our day fantastic and memorable.
Objectively, the reception was a raving success. A truly fabulous party!
Subjectively, a lot about that night made me sad.
For one thing, no matter what anyone did, it was bound to hurt to celebrate without all the people who are most dear to me. It made me so happy to watch Steve smiling and dancing with his loved ones and I was so grateful we got to share that experience with everyone who was there... I just couldn't quite slough the empty feeling of celebrating without my brothers and closest friends. I mean, our guests included at least two of Steve's ex-girlfriends. One of them had about three times more family members present at our reception than I did. It's kind of funny in like, a totally sardonic way.
For another — if you'll forgive me for being a negative Nancy for just a moment — I had a really hard time seeing myself or my traditions reflected in the celebration. For the most part that was totally fine and expected. For example, I had assured my mother-in-law she need not worry about having any "Canadian" dishes at the reception. I was happy to have a full Cameroonian feast! I can appreciate how hard it is — it had required a lot of careful thought to try to incorporate elements of Steve's culture into what I'd been planning in Canada, and if we're being honest, he probably would have still felt pretty underrepresented. But there were a small number of things that were personal to me that I had anticipated that fell through or were carelessly handled, things I think would have helped me to feel like it was really our wedding, my wedding, not just a wedding.
(They do say that expectation is the thief of joy — let that be a lesson to us all).
I didn't get a chance to toss the bouquet (just one of those things that got lost in the shuffle), there was no garter belt scenario (too scandalous for local taste), I couldn't even tell you what song they played for our first dance or for the father-daughter dance. I can tell you it wasn't the songs I had picked (with the cooperation of Steve and my dad, respectively). That I felt anxious that I was disappointing and boring our guests by not having prepared an energetic choreographed first dance in the local custom. That the DJ got bored part way through the father-daughter dance and changed to the next song, which is maybe the only thing about the whole entire day that made me legitimately angry. I also found it pretty frustrating when our guests started talking, rather loudly, part way through my father's speech. I mean, I get it: it was in English and they didn't understand, but I could hardly hear him, even magnified by the microphone, over the din of their chatter.
In fact, the DJ didn't play any of the songs I had asked for (to be fair, this wasn't just the English or "western" music, it also included the local music that was meaningful to Steve and me). My father-in-law had taken care to ask me to write down a few songs that my parents and I might like to dance to, but the DJ did not comply. I know I find it to be more tiring and embarrassing than fun to try to dance to music you are not familiar with, particularly with many people staring and laughing (even good-naturedly), especially when each song apparently has a specific choreography that everyone around you knows. Usually, I love to dance and I embrace the notion that all that matters is whether you're having fun. In Cameroon, though, dancing often makes me feel deflated like somehow I'm just not doing it "right".
Certainly, I projected some of that onto my parents (though later conversations confirmed they felt somewhat the same way). As a result, I spent a large portion of my night worrying that my parents were being left out, and about their experience in general, given that they had spent an enormous sum of money to be there with me. Everything was happening in French and I was their only link to what was going on. People weren't really even approaching me unless I was with Steve, much less my parents.
After my parents left around 3:30 a.m., I felt downright lonely at moments. I was far too exhausted to spend more than a few minutes at a time on the dance floor (especially because I am more insecure when I am tired), and too brain-dead to carry on any kind of meaningful conversation in my second language. It warmed my heart to see Steve's broad smile and the fun he was having (he really is a fantastic dancer), so I didn't want to bother him or cling to him. Consequently, I floated around the room a bit aimlessly, sitting alone in my seat at the head table for small stretches and generally feeling a bit like a wallflower at my own reception.
As the clock approached 5 a.m., Steve and I did a round to thank everyone and take our leave, then stumbled upstairs, brushed our teeth and passed the f out toute suite! Poor Steve was awakened barely an hour later when the front desk called to say there was no one to escort his grandparents back to their hotel. I blearily offered to go with him, then gratefully starfished, face-down on the mattress after he urged me to go back to sleep with a kiss on the forehead.
Look at us, already killing the game on this marriage thing!
Editor's Note
I want to reiterate that I am deeply appreciative of everyone who came to celebrate with us, all those who helped make the day happen, and especially my phenomenal in-laws. They went above and beyond to make our day special and I love them dearly. The vast majority of the things that caused stress, anxiety and disappointment throughout our wedding day were entirely outside the realm of their control. Besides, as you may be able to tell, some of the issues were a simple byproduct of an overtired, overwhelmed and self-conscious bride with anxiety issues.
If I share these stories, it's absolutely not to say my wedding day was terrible. It is to tease out the humour of what was truly a bittersweet, beautiful disaster of a day/night. I have alluded to the happiness and elation I felt at various points throughout the day, but I could never adequately express the strength and poignancy of the love and joy I felt. Ultimately, even though I would be happy to never relive my wedding day, I have a multitude of precious, tender memories I will forever hold dear; many not in spite of the challenges, but because of them.
Plus, it does make for a pretty good story.
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