A WEDDING in WEST SUMATRA
By Marie Turner

 My first two hours in Bukittinggi, a cool mountain town in West Sumatra, and I’m invited to a local wedding.
Such Luck!

 Landing on the largest equatorial island in Indonesia, with a backpack hauling only the barest essentials for a photographer - two cameras, 80 rolls of film, underwear, toothbrush and an English-Indonesian pocket phrase book. I’ve come to Southeast Asia, solo, to scope out religious dance and local customs.

 After reading about the Minangkabau people of Bukittinggi, West Sumatra, I learned their name literally means "the buffalo wins", and they live in houses with roofs shaped like buffalo horns. Then there’s this intriguing cultural facet: despite having a strong Muslim faith, they are a matriarchal society; the eldest female has all the household power, itÕs the women who hold and convey property.

  It’s the hour before dusk, and the falling sun casts a warm glow over the mint-green and pink stucco buildings...perfect for photographs. After checking into a guesthouse, I hurry into the streets with my camera. Within a few 100 feet thereÕs a large community hall. In front, young boys busily cut bright colored paper into strips to decorate the entrance. As I approach, they call out a friendly "Hello, lady."

  Fumbling with my Indonesian-English dictionary, I come up with only a single word.
  "Apa?"(What?)
  "Wedding tomorrow," a boy volunteers.

  When I compliment him on his English skills, he breaks into laughter. "No, I can’t speak English" he says.

 Two young women appear from inside the building. One introduces herself in flawless English. Her name is Ossie, and she explains that the other woman, Mary, is getting married tomorrow. They have come to check on the preparations.

 "Would you like to come to the wedding party?" Ossie asks. "It starts at 11 o’clock in the morning and goes until four in the afternoon."

 "Yes. And may I take photographs?"
 She gives her permission, and I’m thrilled at the invitation.

 The next morning, arriving an hour early with a pocket dictionary, two cameras and the traditional wedding present ( an envelope with money), I sign a guest register and step into the Community hall.

 The room is rather plain, with rows of chairs facing a five-foot high stage. The elevated floor is completely decorated in pink, green and red materials embroidered with gold thread and mirrors. The stage glitters. Two throne-like chairs sit in its center.

 At the back of the room food tables stand covered with steamed rice, green spicy vegetables,, red peppers and golden-brown curried meats. The buffet looks like the stage: multi-colored and festive. Spicy, sweet and sour smells mingle. Alongside the food are stacks of water jugs; there’s no trace of any alcoholic beverages. Ah, yes, I’m reminded of the strict Muslim taboo on alcohol. I survey the room, catching the eyes of other guests. Everyone looks startled to see me, an orang asing (foreign person).