My host parents got married yesterday. The whole ordeal began a few days ago when I walked out into the dark patio to brush my teeth. The stars were brilliant, and there I was looking up at them while walking towards the sink with toothbrush in mouth. There was movement in the darkness so I looked down and not four feet from me, a sheep stood staring at me with its crazy sheep eyes. I got startled, then chuckled. There's a sheep staring me down in the patio. The next morning I realized there had been two sheep, but I couldn't see the black one in the dark.
Monday I spent the day at the Municipality witnessing the civil marriage of my host parents, Santa & Julio. When we returned to our house, the wedding feast preparations were under way. The sheep had been slaughtered and their body parts were hanging all over the yard. I saw a few more animals get slaughtered (namely chickens) and moved to the more mundane task of peeling potatoes. There must have been 200 kilos of potatoes. Sitting in a circle of 7 women and 1 man (grand dad), I peeled potatoes with my pocketknife while the group chattered away in Quechua. We filled three huge pots, each the size of a witch's cauldron.
It was getting dark, so I headed into the kitchen of my extended host family to find out what that thumping noise was. I walked in and saw the huge kitchen table covered in mutton. Next to the table, one of my "aunts" was sitting on an over-turned bucket wielding a 3-foot machete. She is hacking away at the meat, using a tree stump as her table and cutting surface. Chips of bone are flying everywhere as she is chopping the rib cage, legs, and other parts into manageable pieces. I plant myself on a chair and watch while drinking tea. Some parts of the sheep had already been fried up and were being passed around. The word "grizzle" comes to mind. Whatever it's called, I took a pinch and declined further ingestion of these fried sheep parts. I figured I'd get enough to eat at the main course the next day.
The next day arrived. I got up early and got dressed because we were heading to church before breakfast. My host mom told me we are eating up there, where the church is located. This must be true, because I heard the bread man go by, and Santa didn't run out there to buy bread. I'm ready to go by 7am. At 8am, Santa told me to go next door to eat breakfast. Hmmmmm? I walked over to where the meat-chopping took place the night before. All the family was there again, still rushing around and cooking as if they'd never left the kitchen. I sat down to await breakfast. The woman who was chopping meat last night is now dicing intestine. Breakfast arrives in a bowl in front of me in the form of a dish called "caldo de cabeza." Literally, "head soup." Not only had the sheep's heads been simmering in broth all night, but it was augmented by the freshly-cut entrails. I look into my broth and can make out the ripples and ridges of the intestines and wonder how I'm going to chew and swallow all that texture so early in the morning. For the first time in this country, if not EVER, I do not think I can eat what's in front of me. Will it be chewy? Will it taste foul? Will I choke or vomit?
I see everyone else devouring their soup parts, and the kids were fighting over long strands of intestine tubes. Bite. Chew Chew Chew. Gulp. I concentrate on other things, and little by little I eat the soup. I finally make it to the end, to the meaty bone that I'd been saving for last. I pry at it with my spoon, about to pick it up and sink my teeth in. That's when I see it is a sheep's hoof.
After my lovely breakfast, I head back to my own house to wait for everyone to get ready. When I walked in, I heard my host dad crying. Sobbing really. Santa calls the pastor in, who was eating soup next to me moments before, and he performs some sort of ceremony of words. It must have been very moving, because Julio continued to sob louder as if someone has died. He must have been really happy to be getting married.
After an unbelievably long amount of time, Julio stopped crying and everyone was running around getting ready, getting the kids dressed, combing hair, etc. We are finally on our way to the church. It is 10am.
At 11am we arrived hot and sweaty at the church. I sit with all the women who are on the left, while the men are together all on the right. I follow everyone's lead by standing when they stand, sit when they sit, raise their arms to the heavens when they do, and clap when they clap. Since I don't know the words to the songs, I refrain from singing. I refrain from a few other things that people around are doing such as breast-feeding, falling asleep, or crying hysterically and yelling "Glory to God!" After two hours of this, everyone is moaning and wailing. The crying is so fierce that people are heaving and hyperventilating all around me.
The remainder of the service is devoted to a sermon about holy matrimony. Finally! Let's get to the wedding! The pastor spoke of men and women, husband and wife. He went into a lengthy biological discussion contrasting the two. He talks of sperm production, testicles, touching, and foreplay, how women are not sexual objects and need to be treated with respect. This goes on and on in surprisingly graphic scientific detail. It is obvious that this pastor is not from around here. In fact, he is from Lima, hired for the day. This ends and the couples are called up front to be married. When I get up to take pictures of my host parents at the altar, I see my sitemate, Callie, in the back. I walk over and ask how long she'd been here. When she says about an hour, I ask if she saw the wailing church-goers. She said, "Oh, yes." The looks we exchange explain to each other, without words, just how weird our lives are.
By then, the group of visiting missionaries have arrived. They are invited to my house for the wedding feast. We watch the newlyweds get baptized in the freezing glacial water of the irrigation ditch, then settle in for mystery food. Lunch begins with...chicken soup. Phew. The main course is potatoes, white rice, and mutton.
Guess they only serve heads and intestines for breakfast.
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