WED, I SAID, NOT MARRY







It all started when my dad, who plants yams out of season in July and expects them to grow in two months' time, called. He had wanted to know when the wedding bells would ring. Wedding bells - his own words. It had sounded strange. Everything - from his intonation to his raspy voice - had sounded like a recorded tape.

Aunty Philippa, she was the one feeding dad these things. Aunty Philippa with her bags of money and foreign education was the one telling Papa that a young unmarried accountant - who by the way just got employed recently - could not (should not) remain unmarried any day more.

They were saying 'before the year's ending', 'engagements', 'introduction', 'traditional wedding'. Aunty Philippa was particular about sponsoring it, wanting to meet the non-existent bride, church wedding. Dad was concerned with the bride being Yoruba and no tribe else, plus sound education to support me, perhaps a doctor - he'd always wanted to have one in the family.

And my dear mum, in her small minded thinking and in the spirit of the moment, wanted the asoebi to be pink and purple. It turned heads in her friend's son's wedding, she claimed.

No one asked if I had a bride or even wanted to be married. I had to have a bride and definitely, I had to want to be married. My five years of independence should have put these longings in my heart - naturally. What hindered me should be finance. And not to worry, Aunty Philippa would help with that now.

She'd help another young unmarried family, her two 'happily' married sons were not enough for her.

No one could put pressure on an unmarried man as much as his family, from menacing fathers to crying mothers and pleading aunties, that 'errant' son would have to succumb eventually. So was my case, the continual drumming into my ears of the marriage thingy eventually paid up as I began to see the vision of my married self.

My serious girlfriend, the one who cooked and cleaned for me, who asked for half my salary every other day for making her hair, doing her nails, and yes, for that handbag she told me about, the Buscemi bag now, with the golden padlock all the reigning girls had, was now magicking her ugly traits and replacing them with more wifey ones. I too had begun talking the marriage talk and she must have reasoned the question may never be popped if she didn't do some tidying.

My girlfriend, Amaka was Igbo - it was not a problem, I didn't care much for my father's tribal sentiments. We'd met at a wedding three years ago while I was still an unemployed undergraduate with an unkempt beard.

We'd soon grown on and favoured each other as spouse. I'd always fancied her as my wife - we had great s3x, she cooked impressively well, had respect - well to some tolerable extent. But she was no economist (and did not make any pretension about the fact), could have one hell of a temper (and bad mouth); wasn't very keen on growing up into responsibility; had trust issues (sometimes) and was consequently clingy.

But didn't a wise person say that you couldn't marry someone who was perfect in every sense? I mean, a wise person must have said that, right?

Days danced into weeks and then months, and the talk of marriage soon became reality. My dad frowned throughout the introduction ceremony, Amaka wasn't Yoruba, she sure wasn't a doctor. Those facts he'd tried to bear, but that her family's requirements were incredibly dear? That, he couldn't swallow. As I looked at my old man's face, I couldn't but imagine how disappointed he was, of all my mess-ups, this had to be by far the grandest for him. I really wished, more for wishing sake though, that I could care.

Amaka's family were nice, smiling people except the old woman they called mama. She was permanently grumpy and a little bird - an ugly one for that matter - told me she had been accused of witchery in her younger days.

The woman, she kept looking at me like she had something to tell me. I'd wanted to go ask her what's up, but I thought against it. They didn't grow old in the spirit world, and that hag could still suck my brain dry with a straw.

A date was set for the traditional wedding and once again my family trouped down for their son's wedding. Wedding ceremonies in my family was not to be toyed with. Everyone - from old cousin you've not seen in years to aunties you thought were dead - came for it. The ones abroad who couldn't come down sent enough money and gifts to cover their absence.

Many of my family arrived a day to the D-day. But Amaka's family house was too small to contain them, so they had to look for hotels around. It was the East, and hotels could be anything, as long as it was a building, you would find someone willing to accommodate you, and if it made you feel better, they could always write a signboard with chalk indicating the name of their establishment.

I was however required to stay in the family compound - Amaka's grandmother's house. The hag must have suggested it herself.

Her house smelled like her - age, and an odour that was a blend of village life, smoke and something else. Her essense, maybe. I was shown to my room by her help, but it didn't take long for her to come around. It was evening by then.

After nodding off my greeting, she proceeded to sit on my bed and declined my offer to help while at it. It was stupid of me to offer help though, for pete's sake, she'd been sitting herself long before I ever met Amaka.

"Do you love my granddaughter? " she asked in that diction, we the new generation, can only describe as educated. It was a testimony that schools of the past were so much better than these days'.

"Why yes! " I answered. It was an awkward question, coming from an advanced woman whose bags of rice may well outlive.

"Are you prepared for marriage? " she asked. She was a witch, I was sure of it now, only a witch could have known to ask the very question I'd been avoiding.

"I'm marrying Amaka, I must surely be prepared Mama, I've had time to think, and I believe it's... I'm prepared." I said, amusedly for effect.

"You've thought about what exactly?" she had buttons for eyes, the way they shone expressionlessly, "marriage is more than becoming a married man, anybody can marry, but not many can stay married, in the true sense."

"You children of these days don't think at all, " she said, her eyes holding... anger? "seventy two years, that's how long I stayed married, and happily too, you're not ready for marriage," with that, she walked out. What does that matter, witch, I thought. I would be married to Amaka whether I'm ready or no.

D-day


I woke up with a headache and a running stomach. I had to use the john. All those ofe-this and ofe-that they were asking me to try the day before had my stomach crying. I burst out of the room looking for a toilet. It would not be funny if I sh!t on myself on my wedding day.

Just then I saw the old woman, she was looking at me and I could swear I saw the faintest of smiles on her lips.

"I need to sh!t, " I said.

"The toilet is in use, " she nodded, "follow me. "

"I can't walk for Christ's sake! " I was by this time stooping.

"Just hold it and follow." Outside I realised it had to be 4am, and was still very dark, the insects still chirped, as did the frog still croak.

She led me to a sturdy wooden shed some distance away from her house. All the while, I feared I'll let it all flow out, you know, it was the watery type.

"This is a pit toilet, " she handed me a bucket of water and a lantern," I've kept it clean, once you're done, I'll be outside. "

I was too pressed to care what type of toilet I'd have to do it in, I'd do it on old newspaper wraps if I had to.

As I hurried into the pit toilet, I thought I heard her say, 'don't scream'.

She locked the door behind me, and I relaxed, realising the natural substance. Save for the dim lantern, I had but myself to suffer the sound and smell of my own making. I think the lantern went dimmer at every dropping, but it may well be my sight.

Momentarily - after a long while really - I was done, but felt a weakness in my legs. I knocked on the door. Going back to bed until the ceremony started seemed like the best thing for me.

But the old woman was taking her time to come to the door, so I knocked again and again. But no one seemed to be at the other side. What did they call her again, Nne or mama? What is it with this woman sef, I wondered.

"Mama, I'm done, please open the door, " I said loudly, but there was no reply.

Then I remembered she'd said 'don't scream', the Witch! There was no need to scream, I had a wedding, she'd have to open it very soon or else I'll miss... Oh my God! It dawned on me: the witch wanted me to miss my wedding.

"Mama, open the door! " I said a little louder. The witch! How could she do this. I was pretty sure she'd been involved in my food poisoning. Village old witch.

My legs were beginning to weaken, usually when I sh!t this hard, they would wobble till I sat for a while, and squatting over a pit toilet had not helped either.

So I sat on the ground, intending to draw the lantern nearer for warmth, but instead blew it out. My eyes fluttered, the running stomach had disturbed my sleep. Amaka's image came to my mind, awkwardly she was waving bye bye and she was drawing farther and farther away from me...

I awoke to a disturbing heat, a fly droned over my ear. Slivers of light lined the whole shed. From its brightness and intensity, I gauged the time to be 8 or 9am.

Staggering to the door, I hammered on it.

"Help! " I screamed, and continued screaming till I lost my voice.

What was it with these people, these deaf idiots. I'd come to the village to marry, not to be locked up in some pit toilet that now smelled funny. An enclosed space, I could handle. But an enclosed space that had flies; was beginning to smell and was preventing me from one of the most important events in my life? That, I couldn't handle.

I was drenched in my sweat, weak and dizzy...

I nor wan marry again, I thought, I just wan live... and leave.

The old woman can marry Amaka if she likes.

I thought about the old woman's question: are you prepared for marriage? What did she even mean by that. I had a job, loved Amaka and was looking forward to making a family with her, of course, I'm prepared.

This marriage thing may have initially been my family's idea, but it wasn't them making me marry. I wanted to marry, for all the right reasons. I was in love, ready financially and psychologically - I'd just realised this - and I wanted to get married because I was afraid if I didn't do it now, I'd never ever have the courage to again.

I heard the knob of the door twist and saw the door fling open. In that moment, I wondered why the door of a pit toilet should have a knob. The old woman stood at its threshold, and she managed to look normal, like she'd not locked me in a toilet for almost five hours.

"Get up, you've got a wedding, and besides, your family members are beginning to worry. "

"Mama!" I exploded, I could have called her a hag but something restrained me. Respect? Fear? "what was that about?"

She beckoned for me to leave the toilet. As we walked back to the house, she said "marriage is like going to the toilet, you've gone into marriage to relieve yourself of the family pressure like you went to the toilet to relieve yourself of a running stomach."

But I didn't see the connection, I didn't see the sense in locking me up in a toilet just to prove a point.

"I may have been harsh today, but you'll thank me for it, I hope you got everything in focus, you're ready for a wedding ceremony, your people brought all the requirements but are you ready for marriage? "

"Yes, " I answered.

"Don't tell me, show it, " she paused, as if remembering something, "while you were locked up, did you try the handle of the door? "

"Yeah..." I wondered, "no, no I didn't."

She smiled and said nothing.

The handle. The handle? How could I forget the handle, she'd given me the impression that she'd locked it... Had the door been opened all that while? Did it even have a handle from the inside? Nah... yeah...

As we walked back, I knew I'll never forget this woman... and her lesson - I guess I could call it that.

Nice write ups and good moral lessons to learn from it.........

arcnomec:
Nice write ups and good moral lessons to learn from it.........

Thank you.

this is a nice piece

Nice and sensible