How about another story?
Cool Friday. Everything is suave and wonderful (yes, I wake up some days and I feel wonderful). I happen to
have plans to crash a wedding. Yes, that is how crazy I can see things. Meanwhile first things first. I report at work and make up a few arrangements for AshuWear. Which included a shirt for one of the guys at the wedding (actually, he had planned to attend the wedding like a normal office day; please don’t dress that way on someone’s wedding. It’s a happy occasion not some everyday office time.) My plans are in place and off I am to the wedding.
As you would expect, I got there at thirty minutes into ten. The wedding hadn’t started so I get time to say hi and catch up with a few hominids (they are just a bunch of good guys who keep my some of my weekends on the high note). As we would put it the event was colorful but what I would highlight was the music. I hadn’t pictured the Worship Team had such sweet heavenly sounds in them. I won’t forget the instrumentalists, the drum guy particularly. He played with some extra appetite. I would see the stick rolling in the air creating a helicopter-ish feel as he hit the hi-hat (the other day I tried that and almost dropped a beat. But trust me I will get it, soon). The pianist was something close to Mr. Keys, (if he actually exists). He hit some soft notes that if you were the lead you would end up in heaven and lead the entire flock with you. To say the least, the wife-to-be of the day had everything to love about this wedding.
The most valuable part was closed. Someone was pronounced husband and wife and as the tale goes, the mafisi Sacco had lost a potential member and a meal too (it sounded better in my head). Oh by the way, the presiding pastor (or bishop, honestly I confuse the two.) was some cool guy who never asked if there was anyone against the wedding. Actually I agreed with his when he dismissed such ideas. I mean, where were you earlier? And for what reason would you want to spoil an elegant wedding (I read a senior guy’s post that well planned weddings are a show of extravagance, I wonder why would he have such a ‘mean ‘view of things.)
A few photo shoots at the venue then guys leave for the reception. This is where socialism meets morality. You may not control who will dance how but you may have to control yourself. But then it comes into your mind that it’s a wedding and it’s a happy thingy, so just get into the mood and party all the way to heaven. That is how I ended up in safari park along Thika road. The ambiance and serenity of that place was one hell of a ride. If you heard of guys who paid hundreds of thousands for that venue trust me, they deserve the treat, especially in the borough jungle where tranquility is a story told in blogs.
For hors d’oeuvre we served some green soup (I haven’t cracked the name yet). They said it was a sneak preview of what was coming (well, it was beyond a preview and the coming was *insert the Whatsapp emojis with one eye closed and tongue out*). Nothing was further from the truth. This is where I saw this girl. Habitually stories go around of guys meeting girls at wedding and a resemblance is that both know the bride of the groom in some way. Today it’s a different twist. I know the newlyweds from church but this girl is a caterer employed by safari park (well, that is my assumption). She had dressed in some black and white uniform which made me realize that girls in uniform have some mystery in them only they can understand. She is the one who served me with the soup. So with my witty (or is it stupid) ideas I decide to ask her, “Does this soup contain some pieces of meat?” well I didn’t get an answer from her.
I think this lady was assigned to table fifteen. So she was wholly close to my vicinity. She is one dark lady with that African aspect in her. From my angle she didn’t have any make up( I happen to be a natural junkie.), her eyes were glittering from her sockets with a plate full of humility and kindness as the main course and love for dessert. The more I looked into her eyes the more I wanted to talk to her. I am among those guys who aren’t good with first times. So I curved myself back into the shell and acted as if nothing is going on in my mind.
As one of my weaknesses, any good music makes me forget myself so I end up dancing. At any wedding there is this line guys make as they dance along to traditional tunes. Mostly it’s for mamas, girls and young men. So being in the category of young men I had the best of me going in. The music was some live vocals and a background of traditional instrumentals. The feel was that of Kayamba Africa. The voices were well trained. (Well, you know that if a guy who can sing an Akamba song, the key is always high.)
Enough with the dancing. The speeches were on point. By that I mean the advice you would read in Google can never be delivered as perfect as from mature and well experienced groans in the field of marriage (That word scares me). Yes, that’s the point of a speech, to attach a particular emotion (not like whew hats app emojis), a particular voice variation and on a lighter note, a dance move that even David himself might have a hard time practicing. Yes, that which you can only do with your two left feet and hands akimbo (sounds Scottish but at least they got a right and left.)
You see, the table fifteen girl is still here. And I have this peculiar thing in my head. I want to hear her talk again so as she is collecting the plates I pop the quiz,
”So what’s your good name?” I think my facial expression was overdone at this point. Weird me.
“Tracy.” her voice was one of those mishmashes of some classical solo and an African beat.(by the way is there any classical with afro fusion in it?)
“Nice name…and thanks for the good work.” The truth is, I am trying to hold a conversation with someone who is working. My bad.
“Anytime Sir.” Oh God!! That was how the story ended. Please, never make a conversation with someone who is busy working. Chances are you will end up hanging or ruin their work.
The wedding came to a close and as usual, the guys and girls (including me and some Mluya called Mash) joined into some purportedly salsa dance. Not that we were noble, but the ladies loved it. Oh and by the way, by this time no one did care who salsa-ing with whom is. That is always a story for another day.
As we were leaving the atmosphere of safari park, I decided to put out my confession to our youth patron, Mr. Kim (yeah he has a cool name).
“You see that girl,” as I am pointing at her direction, “is one of the most amazing ladies I have seen.”
Mr. Kim laughed it out and said nothing. (For the record sir, I am still waiting for your comment on that.)
As for me, her face is still in my head. I won’t go to safari park to look for her, but I will walk in these boulevards hoping one day I will see the same eyes again and hear the same voice again. And if I don’t, I will join the bandwagon of those who never united with their three hour crash on some other human. That is the beauty of life. Nobody can reckon all the steps and do exactly as the arithmetic in your head.
For the new couple…let it be another real happy ever after. Not the design of a Disney channel or a Telemundo (or is it Telenovela?) in the making.
p.s. There is a likelihood that you will ask why I am not talking about my wedding, don’t worry, I was told to take it slow (don’t ask who) so the best I can do is discern and tell stories.