Boda

I've been to a funeral, birthday party, and graduation. I learned a lot about Salvadoran culture, food and family dynamics by participating in these celebrations. I was thrilled to be invited to a wedding. One more cultural experience to check off the list!

Well... I experienced it. And it's checked off for good. I'll try to give a fair and balanced review of the boda... 

If you follow my blog (ahem, Sara Lubke), you would know that I've been avoiding the Evangelical church. My host family is Evangelical, my neighbors, my ADESCO members. It's kind of a big deal, and it affects every aspect of their lives. I mean, one woman told me that she's only allowed to wear skirts because Jesus said pants were made for men. She doesn't remember which line in the Bible says that, but it's there.

I have a very hard time reconciling the message of the church and my personal beliefs. I won't get on my soap box, but geez. Imagine what we would call "bigoted, racist, and ignorant" in the United States then funnel it into the words and actions of the church. (I feel like this is where that disclaimer at the top of my blog comes in).

But no, that's not the whole picture. Evangelists swarmed on the country after the war, leading women to convert in mass because the preachers were against drinking and violence (two things their husbands loved). There's been a lot of good that came out of that. Families are stronger, young men spend less time in the streets.

I just can't take the "town in Footloose" method seriously. Do people really enjoy being yelled at, the preacher always telling them that hell is just around the corner? Apparently they do. Every Friday morning I wake up to the boombox blasting the Screechin' Preacher whose choice messages revolve around fiery interpretations from the Bible and the saving graces of socialism. It's downright uncomfortable when Mr. Screech denounces my heathen American culture of gays and black people (I can't make this stuff up). I know I'm a guest in this culture and home, but I just want to make my coffee and oatmeal in peace. So I bite my tongue and turn up some religion of my own. Beyoncé, any one?

All that being said, yesterday morning I put on a dress (I didn't want to push my luck with pants) and headed over to my friend Mirna's house before the boda. I like her daughters. Glendis is the oldest at 12, but the way she works around the house you'd think she's older. We had a photo shoot because the kids looked so cute.

The females. Glendis chose to start wearing the velo this past year. 

In their best dresses. 

 We piled in the back of a pick up to get to the church, and besides the stares and overall "Look, a gringa!" commotion I felt fine. I stayed close to Mirna and asked questions as I saw fit. I took this on as a cultural investigation and she acted as my guide.

The bride and two little girls carrying pillows with screen printed pictures of the novios. 

People praying. Women and men generally sit on opposite sides of the church. Ya know, to keep their thoughts pure. 

 At the front of the church there are about 10 men sitting behind the mic. I notice the president of my ADESCO. He seems happy that I'm there. A few moments later they greet Alixsandra, la voluntaria de cuerpo de paz, on the loudest speaker system I've ever been so unfortunate to sit in front of. The wedding starts and the men at the front come up to the mic one by one. They're the church facilitators. I quickly learned that to be a facilitator, you needed to prove that you can scream and yell into the mic just as loud as Mr. Screech. Some of them read from the Bible, some adlib a sermon, some sing.

I get a throbbing migraine from the speakers. I'm literally writhing in pain after the second hour. At the third hour I'm devastated when my kind, mild mannered ADESCO president gets his turn at the mic and denounces "those countries" that allow gay marriage and divorce. Because, ya know, divorce is an invention of the devil and you two love birds are bound FOR LIFE. A couple times everyone gets on their knees and prays out loud. I opt to be a conscientious observer and stay seated.

Finally, it's over and we're eating panes. You might remember this chicken leg and hotdog bun delicacy from graduation. I'm chowing down because all that Bible thumping makes me hungry. Glendis insists that I take a picture with the bride and groom, and that she uses my camera to take the picture. I awkwardly push my way up to take an even more awkward picture, that doesn't even take because Glendis didn't push the button for long enough. It's ok though. I didn't need to stand in line again to take another.

Of course, multiple women approach me to ask me how I feel. How I feel? Annoyed, sweaty, in a ridiculous amount of pain. Instead, I smiled and complimented the church's infrastructure. They took that to mean, "See ya at the next vigilia!" I'm doomed.

I got home and went immediately to sleep. I woke up to eat an apple (I really need to go grocery shopping) and then went back to sleep. I felt absolutely whipped out, but I'm happy I went. I'm not gonna like everything here in El Salvador, but I still want to have the experiences. My checklist is waiting.

Lot's of wedding gifts!