Sunday, 10 January 2010

Opening the mouth of the father - Part falls apart

The fifth part of this series Opening the mouth of the Father – Part 5

The bride price completed

It was time to wrap this whole ordeal up, but for the minor detail of the other part of the bride price for which an envelope could not suffice.

Having been rustled by highwaymen so deft that we had no belts for our trousers, buttons for our shirts nor laces for our shoes, this was a test of love teetering on the verge of failing woefully, I could not say that love was about to conquer all at this stage.

By silent arrangement not to be revealed the cash element of the bride price was substantial but presented in an ornate Chinese dragon decorated wooden box with a lock, the key taped to the false bottom and left for the curious to examine when the ceremony was over.

That in itself was a ceremony of words and claps, songs and dance, the presentation itself won them completely, it was an untrue sigh of absolute relief.

A case for the bride

Finally, the bride’s box of tricks came forth in a solid Samsonite case rather that the customary nondescript portmanteau, gifts that had one lost in aisles of embarrassment.

How I would have loved to have the help of the Bra Advisor at Marks and Spencers, when she appears on the honeymoon night would you have been shopping at Victoria’s Secret or Agent Provocateur? Are you be served by Mrs Slocombe in the hosiery and lingerie department or have you slithered into Ann Summers shop to find out that fantasy of size does really matter, always?

My bride became a mannequin in my mind, more real than Madam Tussauds could make her, a bipedal clotheshorse as the case was opened to reveal, 6 pants; all colours bright, 6 bras to make Eva Longoria get hers done, 2 under skirts – do they still wear those things? Apparently, someone forgot that stockings are necessary for Europe and really, one could look really sexy in suspenders – surprise!

A flannel listed as a face towel, a big towel; probably for the beach, two lace blouses and well for all concerned 2 head ties which when worn after being set by an expert could be an edifice of beauty to rival any hat on Ladies Day at Ascot.

The smell that lingered

A bottle of celebrity piss water, sorry, I meant, perfume and a Mary Kay make-up set, the in-thing for them back there, not to forget the comb – with all that relaxed hair, do they still need a comb?

I never knew they had such an array of traditional cloths and there were a good few in the case, krukru bite, damask with a green tinge, accra not in Ghana, velvet but not blue, ikaki not like khaki, fenin must be something else, India not that far, loko, plain George never seen it plain before, akwete, fun and egne bite – the wife was about to become a one person circus in a Josephine in her coat of many colours.

A gold set, the list said, a sado-masochistic box of rings, chains and golden handcuffs, er, bangles to take her prisoner apart from the jewellery she was bedecked with, a luxury brand wrist watch and a wrist band of coral beads meant uncertain lies of tradition had been fulfilled in pretentious modernity.

The list came in 6 parts, how else could we have told this tale?

We can now close the mouth of the father, he had nothing to give all along - The end.

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