Akha weddings are complicated and drawn out for days, sometimes weeks. Not ours. Everything happens over three nights, because we’re anxious to pick up our baby.
I’m dressed in a white wedding skirt, a gaily decorated kerchief, and my usual tunic and leggings, when two elders from San-pa’s village arrive in Spring Well to set the rituals in motion. They present A-ba with coins. These are not a bride-price in the traditional sense. Rather, they are, as the older man says, “To pay for the mother’s milk your daughter drank.” Then come the yips and yelps of a group of young men, who shepherd San-pa into the village. A-ba announces that our family is going to host a Fill the Carry Basket ceremony so I might gather a proper dowry, which tells me he has accepted the circumstances. Ci-teh sits with me when the ruma recites a special poem about me, listing my attributes from the time of my birth to today. “She only got in trouble one time. She is a good worker.” And so on.
The ruma then asks San-pa, “Do you need to test the machete before you buy it?”
This sends Ci-teh into a spiral of laughter, because he’s asking if San-pa and I have yet stolen love. If not, we’d be required to go to the forest right then. Still, I’m a bride, so I turn crimson when San-pa answers, “The machete has been tested, and the rice already cooked.”
A-ba presents me with a carrying basket to take to my new home. A-ma gives me a rain cape and a new set of clothes, plus her silver bracelet with the two dragons facing each other nose to nose. It’s beyond what I could have hoped for, considering her feelings about San-pa. My brothers contribute packets of rice seed that San-pa and I will be able to plant when we reach our new home. First Sister-in-law and Second Sister-in-law each cut a bangle from their headdresses as tokens for me to remember them by; Third Sister-in-law presents a blanket decorated with her fine embroidery and appliqué. I pack these things in my carrying basket, tucking the money Mr. Huang paid me at the bottom. (I haven’t yet told San-pa about my savings. I want to surprise him if a time comes when we need it.) And while most brides must relinquish their rights to the property they were allotted in the Thirty Years No Change policy to their a-bas or brothers, A-ma promises to care for my grove.
She also gives me some last-minute advice, and it’s as traditional as can be. Next come the messages that A-ma actually wants to give me, passed through intermediaries. She pushes First Sister-in-law forward: “Remember that if you want to terminate your marriage, you can always run away, but you can’t come home.” From Second Sister-in-law: “Remember that if you have children, you will need to leave them behind when you run away.” Third Sister-in-law’s message must not be a good one, because she looks embarrassed. She whispers in my ear: “If a gopher does not have his escape route dug and ready ahead of time, then it will be difficult to run away when he needs it.”
These are the last things A-ma wants to tell me as I leave home? Does she really think that after all San-pa and I have been through I would ever follow the Akha rituals that would give me a divorce? Never. Neither will I give him cause to divorce me by being lazy, arguing with his parents, stealing love with another man, or not giving him more children in addition to our Yan-yeh, who is days away from my arms.
Then it’s time for goodbyes. A-ba and my brothers blink back emotions, the sisters-in-law openly weep, and A-ma dabs at her cheeks with the hem of her tunic. I see the headman, the nima, the ruma, Ci-teh and her family, and so many others. Even Teacher Zhang has come to wish me farewell.
The voices of the women in my natal family rise up in song:
“When living under your father-in-law’s roof, you must obey his rules.
When living next to your mother-in-law, you must follow her instructions.
When living near a brother-in-law, avoid him as a pestilence.
When living with your son, know his life comes first.”
San-pa and I reach the spirit gate. I should be crying loudly to show the pain of leaving my family and my village. But I don’t cry. I don’t even look back.
When we arrive in Shelter Shadow Village, San-pa’s mother greets me with a boiled egg, signaling her acceptance of me. Mothers-in-law are difficult the world over, and I’ve seen how severe A-ma can be with my sisters-in-law, but so far my future mother-in-law seems determined to put aside her past disapproval.
A few hours later, Ci-teh comes to perform the next part of the ritual. She’s brought with her the heavily decorated headdress that first announced my maidenhood and will now mark me as a married woman. “Remember that a wife must never overstep her husband’s knowledge,” she recites. I’m glad she’s here, and I try to absorb her words—which she herself will receive upon her marriage to Law-ba—so that I’ll become a perfect wife. As soon as I have that thought, a realization comes to me. “I’m sorry, Ci-teh, that I won’t be able to deliver your headdress when the time comes.”
“That is a pain beyond imagining,” she admits.
“Please know that into every life my soul is born, I’ll always be indebted to your soul—whatever form it takes—for all the ups and downs we’ve shared.”
She nods tearfully before resuming her marriage duties. “Remember never to overtake your husband on the path,” she says. “Remember never to crow like a rooster. Remember always that you are only a hen.”
San-pa’s a-ma takes the headdress from Ci-teh and places it in the newlywed hut. Ci-teh gives an almost imperceptible nod: Good luck. I hope you’ll be happy. We’ll be friends forever. I smile at her and try to memorize every detail of her face, not knowing how long it will be before I see her again. As she turns to begin her journey home, San-pa and I enter the newlywed hut. The village ruma waits for us. He gives us our Meal of Joining—a single cooked egg, a single glass of rice wine, and a single cup of tea—to share. Once I put on my headdress, our wedding ceremony is complete. I am now Wife-of-San-pa and Daughter-in-law to his parents. I’m happy, but a part of me—that hard stone I carry within me at all times—reminds me of our daughter. Why couldn’t things have happened differently? Why couldn’t San-pa have come sooner? But then another thought: Only two more days and I’ll have her next to my heart again.
San-pa and I go back outside. A group of men herd a pig to our door. San-pa stabs his knife into its throat. The men restrain the animal so its blood can spurt into a bowl. Once the pig dies, San-pa slits it open and removes the liver. This is taken away for the ruma, nima, and village elders to examine for good and bad omens.
Each minute that passes is another minute of joy. Our marriage feast begins with a soup, followed by fried potato wedges, bitter melon with scrambled egg, sautéed eggplant and garlic, pickled mustard greens, and special meatballs made from minced meat from the slaughtered pig mixed with its blood. The people of Shelter Shadow complete their welcome of me by singing a wedding song filled with good wishes: