After the catholic service the South Africans had found the their feet and were now lobbing wedding songs into the air at unexpected times. We had spent the morning in a catholic service in Harare - uncertain about when sit, stand or kneel, about how to move to the joyful singing of the choir, about the prayers and responses, about the tiny bell that one of the priest's assistant's kept ringing. Who was he calling?
Even the "Our Father" was slightly different, but not so much that we didn't know what was going on. Like having sadza when you're used to pap. Now we were in a banquet room - a neutral space which through music, was turned into a familiar place. So SePedi songs sprung up out of nowhere, preceded the speeches of the father of the groom, and the aunt. The host, not to have his people outdone, would pointedly say: "Here in Zimbabwe we have songs too". The Zimbabweans in the room would take only a few seconds to deploy harmonies to remind us where we are.
