Tiba: mmmmm... goat liver

The evening was quickly approaching. The storm had once again come and gone; the cabbage was cut and cooked. I mill around chatting with people. At some point, I was told to go into the rondeval. I assumed there was some sort of ritual that was going to happen, because that is usually the only reason that one enters the traditional structure. The rondeval is large and round, probably several hundred square feet. There are no windows. The only opening is the doorway, which is only a mere cut-out in the wall. There is no door. It is one large room with nothing in it except a few tattered chairs, scattered around the perimeter, two large metal bowls in the center and… you guessed it, next to it a full bottle of brandy.

I see that all the women are sitting to my left, the men to my right. There are probably twenty-five or thirty people in the room. I walk across the rondeval to the end and sit with the women. Some brought reed mats to sit on. Everybody is sitting on the floor. When everybody is inside, the older gentlemen share the stage. The men speak eloquently, seemingly building on each other’s statements. The wedding attendees at this point provide a report about the events of the ceremony. They explain that we were well received by the groom’s family and that the ceremony went well. Some thank the immediate family for allowing their attendance and involving the community in the event.

Earlier, a goat was slaughtered. Apparently the goat, and that brandy, was a gift from the groom’s family. This is a customary, although not obligatory, gift indicating a positive relationship between the bride and groom’s families. It also signifies that the wedding event went well and that those form the bride’s family represented the family well. This part of the wedding process is important because the bride’s parents are not allowed at any part of the ceremony.

After a half hour or so shots of brandy are offered to everybody. Then the bowls are passed around. One is for the men. One is for the women. The bowls are filled with the liver of the goat that was just slaughtered. When I receive the bowl, I look up at the elderly woman questioningly. I ask which one is a good piece. I’m not sure exactly why, but I do. She fingers the hot organ bits and pulls out two pieces and hands them to me with a smile. I take a bite. Delicious! …But maybe it was just the brandy talking.