I went to the bridal reception of Aminta Tall tonight, one of the Eco Guards I work with at the park. She is 22, beautiful, and in school most of the year in Thies where her fiance works. Senegalese bridal receptions are a common oddity worth seeing. The bride is done up in white satin with more make up than a drag-queen, hair mesh or wig attached perfectly. The whole village it seemed was decked out in fancy clothes and seated or standing in the back of the local elementary school. A banquet table lined with white plastic chairs for the bridal party was adorned with cans of soda, vases of plastic flower bouquets, and apples stuck with lollypops and toothpicked olives and bread. Music was blasting at its normal Space Shuttle take-off decibel level, and I joined the other Eco Guards near the front of the room as we waited for Aminta and her entourage to arrive. There were about 150 people in the room, me as usual the only Westerner, the only whitey.

In situations like these I often get that all eyes on you sensation I would experience conducting a press conference or giving a speech in the US. It’s not nerve racking or odd, but certainly noticeable. Aminta shows up with five girlfriends in black dresses and two photographers. I am next to the reception table and as the group lines up for an initial set of photos, the lead photographer motions for me to join the group, not on the side but right next to Aminta in the center. I whisper hello and congratulations to her as I maneuver my way next to her. She is serious and for the most part unsmiling, something I’ve noticed all brides are like during these events. I wonder if this has some root in tradition or if being herded around for hundreds of photos throughout the evening is simply unpleasant.

Photos done, I make my way to the side and notice the photographer eyeing me again as he speaks to the DJ. He approaches and asks if I can help open the event. I say “What?” and he just nods and says, “Hang On.” He grabs Aminta and then motions me over to join her. I’m wondering this whole time “Where the hell is her fiance?” but it would seem it’s all about the bride. Aminta puts her arms around me and suddenly the theme song to “Titanic” starts playing and apparently it’s time for me to become Lenonardo DiCaprio and slow dance with her in front of the crowd. I can’t help but blush and smile, Aminta’s ridid expression be damned. But she catches the bug and starts giggling. The crowd applauds and cheers, and evidently the evening is officially now under way. I am led off stage by another Eco Guard and watch as all the the audience begins to line up for photos with Aminta, each person handing her an evelope with money in it. I slipped her some cash when we had our photo taken but didn’t think to wrap it up. I’ll know better next time. A cup of pineapple soda and a piece of cake round out my appearance at the reception and I head home for dinner.