Chocolate chili steak. Apricot and cumin confit. Prawn, coconut and
mango relish pizza. The fusion revolution is all the rage at the moment
with culinary creatives creeping out of the foodworks from every
direction, each one eagerly competing and contemplating the next best combination. A
sport to the discerning palette but for the rest of us, a cooked up
marketing campaign of gastronomic proportions, and while most of us are
easily sold on the concept of something new and different, there are
certain tongues in our midst that refuse to budge or even indulge in anything other
than traditional flavours.
No matter how Simunye our rainbow nation has become over the past twenty
years, we cannot ignore the purist minority that lurks deep within the confines of the Boere, Coloured and African mentality. Umlungu, that horrible "K" word,
Chlora's and Porra's. Don't kid yourself, racism is still very much
alive in Mzansi only this time it's cleverly disguised as classism, like Brussel
sprouts smothered in cheese sauce. Social integration and human decency has left us no choice but to interact with one another, even if it
is against one's will and while this interaction is most likely limited
to the work environment only, every now and again a romantic hybrid is
formed that is guaranteed to shake things up.
Asking your future father-in-law for his daughter's hand in marriage is
one thing, but when he's the pastor of a small town NG Kerk and you
happen to be two shades lighter than the night, well it can be a helluva thing.
While chocolate and vanilla usually make a pleasant mix, planning a
wedding that incorporates two totally different cultures can be a
complete and utter mess, especially when the majority of the family crest are still battling to come to terms with their children's life choices.
"Both Vuyo and I knew there was going to be a lot of challenges getting our families on board. We knew that coming from two totally different backgrounds we were not going to please everyone but we sure as hell tried our best." Emerentia aka Ems, whose Afrikaans accent was as thick as tar, had explained the difficulties surrounding her upcoming nuptials. Her father, who was never overtly racist, denied his blessing and refused to talk to his daughter for weeks before finally giving into his daughter and mother's pleas. Vuyo's mother, who was also a traditionalist in her own sense, was surprisingly and equally shaken, and somehow believed that Vuyo's choice would anger the ancestors bringing bad luck upon the entire Khumalo household.
Vuyo and Ems, who were clearly so deeply in love, were battling to understand why their parents, who had brought them up in a post-isolated South Africa that celebrated racial equality, could have such a bad reaction towards their celebration of love. Were they secretly racially narrow-minded or was it the fact that their respective customs and dreams for the way they had pictured their children's weddings was about to be compromised? Was the happiest day of their lives about to turn into a culture clash du jour, or could both families find common ground?
"I think the first thing that annoyed my father was the fact that Vuyo and I decided to pay for the wedding ourselves. My pa was not impressed and he did tell me, "dis nie hoe dit werk nie my kind! Jy is my enigste dogter en jou keuse is nie reg nie!" I figured this would be the only way for us to have the wedding of our dreams and not theirs. It had to be the perfect mix. His mother was not happy about the colour scheme as it was not traditionally purple and gold like the rest of his siblings' weddings although we did incorporate "jumping the broom" at the NG Kerk as well as traditional Xhosa songs sung by one of the township choirs into the ceremony."
While Ems's father frowned upon her choice of wedding dress which included sea shell sequins and hints of shweshwe fabric, both families agreed on one thing; the menu. It was like heritage day on steroids with a buffet full of traditional dishes such as pap, umngqusho, boerewors, lamb, sosaties, braaied chicken, bobotie, sout and pampoen tert. Who knew that butternut could be so more-ish. Even the music was a crowd-pleaser, a combination of sokkie treffers, kwaito and modern pop-rock classics. Apart from the speeches which were probably the most awkward part of the evening (I am almost certain Mrs. Khumalo's tears were tears of sadness and not joy) it had been the most beautiful, interesting wedding that Aiden and I had ever been to. The highlight; catching the bouquet of traditional pin-cushions and dancing to Mandoza's "Nkalakatha".
Not everyone can stomach such an awesome cultural mash up but at the end of the day, when it comes to relationships, love is colour blind. It also happens to be culture blind. Roots are reminders of who we are and where we come from, and while it's necessary to keep family ties together, it shouldn't dominate the one day that's essentially yours. While it's important to honour your own heritage, it's also important to honour the family you are about to marry into. You just have to be creative and think outside the box with a bit of contemporary flavour. As for the rest of the hater's who can't seem to let go, oh well, you can always just sit them at the kids table or give them the Miley Cyrus foam finger.
When it comes to cross-cultural relationships, are modern day infusions necessarily to everyone's taste?
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