My Wedding day

Tomorrow is my wedding day. My Suzie, the joy of my soft heart will be jetting in from Mombasa today in the evening. And, I will surely amaze her at the airport. I am known for being the king of surprises. This being my birthday month, I have to do all to make it memorable.

Like you already know, after I threatened mzee with a sermon letter at the chief’s office, he agreed to sell one of his Merino sheep for the benefit of his son; me, Mteule. All I was begging was fare back to the city. He was reluctant. I applied the rule of the law.

“Chifu amesema unipatie my fair share of inheritance”, I told him handing him the letter.

“Did you have to do this”, he asked since he likes a cool life.

“Independence dosesn't come freely”, I told him as he called the only sheep buyer in the large village.

Of course, it was not a genuine letter, I did fake it and it worked. He is the same person who tells me that this world needs some intelligence.

As we speak, I am already updating my CV. That feeling when I am highlighting the section of Marital Status, deleting 'SINGLE' and replacing with 'JUST MARRIED' is just out of this world. I owe allegiance to this one girl, Susan who has made me a real man indeed.

In the afternoon, I will do some arrangements. I will be out of office. We have to suspend the call of duty in order to respond to the call of nature. All I have been dreaming, both in sleep and awake is to get married to Suzie.

She has all it takes,
A specialist in cakes,
Susan is the girl who is always dancing in my dreams,
She is my Cleopatra,
I am her Anthony.

Immediately she arrives at my hot bedsitter with excellent finishing, I will offer her a rose flower. I will buy one at Hotel Sankara, I mean near the hotel. I have already duplicated my bedsitter keys. As she becomes part and parcel of the noblest tenant of a bedsitter South of Sahara, she must be welcomed in style.

I publicly promise that I will be the family Chef each and every Sunday. She should try me.

As I plan this, the memory of the January of 1996 keeps coming back. I hope it is not my time to pay for my crimes.
That January mama banned the eating of eggs. That she wanted the eggs to hatch. How could she?

I had to devise a way. Whenever she was out, she left me to take care of my young brother, Sam. Sam was a traitor and everything we did illegally or irregularly was reported by him.

“Nitasema ulipika mayai”, he started as I broke the third egg.

“These are not eggs, they are called Angoti”, I told him in a calm tenor voice with a G-clef music sound.

“I am big now, I know they are, I need three and you take one”, he negotiated a deal.

By all justices, that was a corruption of the lowest order. I could not accept such a deal and dared him to report me. In any case, there were not eggs, were they? After he started a one-little-boy mass action in the kitchen, I had to give in.

We shared equally on the ratio of 1:1

The drama started as we having our supper that evening. Mama had made it an eleventh commandment that was written in our hearts: Thou shall not have three consecutive suppers without ugali Sukuma.

The little boy started asking for Angoti when mama offered some Sukuma. I recited the apostle's creed and wished myself luck.