Ibo Magnificence

Our hotel in New Brunswick, New Jersey was the site of a large wedding last Saturday night. Most of the guests were members of the Ibo community of Greater New York. The community, which originated in southeastern Nigeria, has been here for some time, perhaps refugees from the Biafran War (1967-1970). We would have known nothing about the wedding were it not for the spectacular costumes that the older guests wore.

As we waited in the lobby for the arrival of friends with whom we were going out to dinner, we saw the guests drift into the hotel, in twos and fours. Those who came early waited in the lobby for the doors of the ballroom to open, some sitting down, others standing, all in conversation. They looked so magnificent that we dropped all pretense of politeness and simply stared at them.

The women wore colorful blouses with puffed sleeves and long skirts, each in a different pattern but whose colors were coordinated and whose trims were often the same. Their colors were also coordinated with their hats, which were the most spectacular component of their costume. These were constructed from what appeared to be a single bolt of richly ornamented brocade. It formed two or three solid-color bands around the temple that served as a foundation for an irregular eruption of colorful fabric above, protruding several inches on either side of the head and as much as a nine inches above it. The lobby seemed to be the landing place for great tropical birds that had flown north instead of south, their navigational system turned off course by 180 degrees.

Most of these ladies were blessed with what Alexander McCall Smith’s Motswana heroine Mma Precious Ramotswe would call a “traditional African build,” and their costumes flattered their amplitude far more than would the contemporary costumes that their daughters, the first generation born in America, wore. The younger generation was indistinguishable in its dress from that of other American young women in attendance at a wedding, with plenty of exposed flesh. They will probably never learn the intricate art of preparing the elaborate headdresses worn by their mothers and grandmothers. It will be a shame when that art disappears from America.

The men’s costumes were also colorful if not so magnificent as that of their female partners. They wore long tunics over trousers, both of different color-coordinated patterns. Many wore little pillbox hats as well. Again, these costumes were the province of the older generation. The young men looked like young men everywhere.

When we returned from dinner, we saw many of the guests sitting in the lobby – perhaps seeking refuge from the pounding music of the ballroom. My intrepid wife approached one pair of ladies and asked them where they were from. That’s when we found out that they were Ibo and that their community had been in America for some time. They explained that they prepared their own hats and implied that it was a vanishing skill. They also said that only the family of the members of the wedding were entitled to wear green, the color of these ladies’ headdresses. My wife asked how to say congratulations in Ibo, and when told, she congratulated them on their appearance. What a pity it will probably disappear along with them.

I have traveled extensively in Asia, Europe, and Africa, but I’ve never seen such magnificent costumes in the prosaic setting of a hotel lobby. How good it is to know that at my stage of development, having already seen so much, I can still find something new to delight me.