Partyin’ Down, Zulu Style

I went to my first Zulu party last weekend!  And, while I’ve been to my fair share of interesting get-togethers — a circus party in Williamsburg, a caveman party in Long Island City, a Famous Couples in History party in Manhattan, to name a few — I can honestly say that the Zulu party is the most intriguing one I’ve been to yet (no offense to the hosts of those other parties, of course)!

Twin, one of Thanda’s staff members, threw the party for several reasons:

#1: I was told the overarching reason was so Twin and his twin brother (hence the nickname…) could honor their father.  They feel that they have become successful and have earned enough income to show their father how much they appreciate him.

#2: I heard about an hour into the event that their father died in a car accident shortly after the twins were born.  So, because he wasn’t exactly in attendance, Twin and his brother honored their mom, who apparently would have been married to their father for 40 years now.

#3: The party was a birthday celebration for the twins, whose birthday was the day before.

#4: And Twin had recently won the lottery, so he had something like two months’ extra salary to play with!

So, considering the multi-faceted nature of the event, it was quite the blowout!

When we arrived around noon, the party was already bumpin’.  We pulled up a dirt road alongside four huts and a rented tent.  The first thing I noticed were two inside-out animal hides, still shiny with blood, stretched out on top of the two circular huts.  We’d been informed that Twin had purchased three live cows and three live goats for the occasion.  We’d also been informed that the animals had met their demise two days beforehand.  And, frankly, while I’m all about these cultural exchanges, I’m reeeaaallly glad they did the animal-killing before the big day.  The last time I saw a cow get slaughtered, I went vegan for three weeks.  (OK, the last time I saw a cow get slaughtered was in a PETA video, so that might explain part of it.  But still…)

We met Twin and his twin right away, and they took us to make the rounds.  It’s a good thing I’d studied up on my Zulu greetings the night before because there were people sawubona- and sanibonani-ing us everywhere!  (Both mean hello.)  We went to the kitchen hut first to meet and greet the ladies preparing the feast.  I have to say, I was a bit taken aback just before entering the hut when I noticed a cute little old granny opening a 40-ounce beer for herself.  Ohhhh, so this would be that kind of party…

Next, we were instructed to take off our shoes and go into one of the circular huts where twenty or so women were sitting on mats laid out around the edges.  When we entered, the women — who were all wearing ankle-length skirts, white shirts, and beaded hats and anklets — were just chatting in Zulu.  Then, a handful of them stood up and got in the middle of the circle, where they began singing and dancing to the beat of a drum and the deep, hollow sounds of vuvuzelas (long, metal, horn-like instruments I’d never seen before).  Everyone else started clapping, so we followed suit.

Several more lively performances ensued before four distinguished-looking men came in.  I don’t really know why they crashed the dance party, but apparently that was the cue for appetizers to be served because we all got corn muffins and Sprite shortly after their arrival.

After the snack break, a ninth-grade boy sitting next to me started singing another Zulu tune.  I don’t know if one of the women instructed him to perform next, but I was quite impressed with his cultural initiative.  I don’t think I’ve ever met a ninth-grade boy who would willingly sing a solo in front of a group of women and some American strangers.  He even got up and danced three dances in the center of the circle with another, younger boy.

We probably sat mesmerized inside the hut for the better part of an hour before Twin came in to inform us that things were getting started outside.  So, we thanked the women and shuttled off to the next event, which was Twin’s mom’s honoring.  We couldn’t understand anything that was being said in Zulu, so we just kind of milled around.  Apparently, that was the cue for a few of the older drunk men to try and score themselves some American wives because the five female volunteers were soon having to fend off some indecipherable advances being made by toothless men in Zulu/made-up-sign-language.

The food was next.  They piled plates high with curried meat, rice, coleslaw, boiled potatoes, beets, and tomato salad.  Everything was delicious (except the beets…not my thing…but I ate them anyway)!

I wandered around a bit after that.  I peeked into a couple of huts, and after scaring myself out of the meat hut (it was FULL of raw cow and goat innards!), I ended up at the top of the hill where a group of women and one other volunteer were washing dishes.  I decided to pitch in, so I got down and dirty with the buckets of purplish, soapy water and washed a good deal of dishes with them.

The next event was the men’s party ritual.  They were sitting around a fire pit passing around a gourd filled with Zulu beer, which is a milky-colored beverage with a thick-ish consistency that’s supposedly quite strong.  After one or two pass-arounds, they each picked up a long, smooth stick and started chanting and raising the sticks in the air.  This conjured up their ancestors and deceased loved ones — and I imagine Twin’s father was among them.  Then, they all marched up the hill and crammed into the meat hut, where I guess they left the spirits to hang out for the rest of the party.  That whole scene probably took about five minutes, and then the men went straight back to their seats around the fire pit to pass around the gourd of Zulu beer again.

I guess things get pretty rowdy after that, so, not wanting to end up like the increasing number of men who had clearly consumed too much Zulu beer, we took that as our cue to head out.

But what a way to spend a few hours on a Sunday afternoon, huh?

Twin's home and the site of the party.

Zulu women dancing inside a hut.

Zulu women playing vuvuzelas (those long metal horn things).

Some of the men cooking their portions of the massive amounts of meat.

The dishwasher, where I got down and dirty with some of the women and scrubbed some dishes!

The men conjuring their ancestors and deceased loved ones.

Leading the spirits to the meat hut!

Just before the gourd full of Zulu beer made its appearance...and disappearance.

The view from the party. Not bad, huh?

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