Set a watch before my mouth

In the search for a conversation

I was considering the other day how my ease in making conversation through small talk, witticisms, and self-deprecation presents an unguarded moment of saying the wrong things about myself.

In the main, I think I am generally optimistic and tend towards the affirmative than the negative. Yet, you find yourself saying things absentmindedly about what you cannot do, how you cannot see, where you cannot go, or how you suffer.

You find yourself reaffirming what you do not intend and reinforcing the unfortunate for the sake of making conversation. Then again, I cannot suggest I am good about boasting, I would likely be bashful before I break out of the shell of a reserved Englishman and display the exuberance of those across the pond.

Putting a bridle on my tongue

I guess the quest to be seasoned in speech is a discipline as much as it is a longing without losing the ability to strike up a conversation on more wholesome things than the declining of self to express oneself and make a connection. Maybe, I do need some help and where do I get that? Take control of what I say, O LORD, and guard my lips. Psalms 141:3 (NLT)

I know that I have in a determined way rid myself of inflections in speech, mannerisms, and certain usages that I decided could be better expressed, on the harder bits, I might just be less quick to speak so that when I speak, I am speaking well about myself and things.

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 than 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, a Josephine in her coat of many colours.

A gold set, the list said, a sadomasochistic box of rings, chains and golden handcuffs, er, bangles to take her prisoner apart from the jewellery she was bedecked with, a luxury brand wristwatch 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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Opening the mouth of the father - Part 4

With Christmas cheer, I publish Part 4 early.

The third part of this series Opening the mouth of the Father – Part 3

The opening gambit

Like a surrealist drama the wedding list was coming alive with a reality that was about to hit us in the face like a flipping wet tilapia, we were about to be slapped from side to side as if we were in some repetitive motion of turning the other cheek in perpetuity, our pockets had better be deep and be deep enough.

So, we opened the ceremonial table with 20,000 smackers but for the seriousness of the situation at hand; I am getting married, I might well have picked a fight with the chap who took occasion to literally make jokes of the events – I would have liked to be where I could laugh rather than be on the verge of tears.

For all it was worth, I was going to enjoy it as well as I was going to remember it for what it stood for, for all the participants in this bizarre ceremony called a traditional welding ceremony – welded, I meant that, indeed.

Hail to the chief

These settings need a chief to bless the occasion, some moneybag who had earned respectability in the community not so much for duty and stature but for the accumulation of filthy lucre from whatever source that was of no concern to the people who pay tribute and give their untrammeled obeisance.

So, to get this nondescript high chief to the high table a Chief’s Table fee was required, I needed the tough negotiations of the IMF with the persuasion of a Ponzi scheme purveyor on my team like I needed the next breath of air, my people drew skill and inspiration from places beyond our realms of everyday life.

At 25,000 tilapia slaps, the chief deigned to dance to the table with the dignity and grace of the big man who has come to town, the ceremony was beginning to get into gear.

A mute father and mother

Speeches need to be made at these meetings and apart from the MC whose verbal diarrhea was about to be as infectiously painful and debilitating to the extreme, the parents would have a few words about their daughter, not too much would come from mine in those proceedings, as I soon figured.

They called it, Opening the Father’s mouth, and soon after was the Opening of the Mother’s mouth, the smart quip thought about using birth forceps or calipers with the help of jacks and spanners to open the mouth of big daddy and better still, a parental kiss might just be killing two birds with one stone – they would not have it – each negotiation had to be thoroughly exhausted, the intermissions taken up by different kinds of bought entertainment.

Father remained mute until we had received 20,000 tilapia slaps and mother came not too far behind on 18,000 wets, since we fish by the dragnet and harvest by the earthquake shaking of the trees to split their fruit, someone must have assumed we had come by money so easily that we spend better than the gushing of oil from the troubled Delta region.

Some elders for hire

However, the chief and parents were not happy to sit at the table by themselves, the Family elders had to take their places at the table because the precious daughter was about to leave for the home of her most auspicious lover – auspicious should read love struck beyond reason.

A number came forward, about 6 or so and only on the persuasion of 19,600, they probably had other weddings to attend, we needed to make it worth their while being there for the purpose of, well, filling their pockets – our quip who was on the verge of having a knuckle driven at him without regret swore those “hell-ders” were rented – the danger of marrying out of your community means you do not know who is for real. This was no day for Miss Marple and her sharp intellect.

My people were introduced without too much of ceremony, thankfully, we did not have to pay to approach the table, they sat comfortably, maybe a bit uneasily too.

A compound rent it was

Maybe there was some sense in the Family and Compound Women fee, they helped in every way to arrange things, food, decorations and much more, a gratitude fee in the ceremony – no hard feelings; the compound element must have come from the fact that my prospective in-laws were tenants in a multi-tenancy compound, it did not hurt that much when it topped out at 19,000.

The incredulity of the Family and Compound youths however left one utterly exasperated, our quip suggested we were also paying the riff-raff to keep them from misbehaving – it was a stretch to our understanding of traditions but opportunities had been opened for everything including the kitchen sink.

A sibling triviality

They were pacified with the unkindly whack of 17,000, everyone was going to benefit from the marriage of this amazing daughter of the compound it seemed because we parted with another 15,000 smackers for the First son who happened to be 15 and this was apart from lining the pockets of the toddler Brother and Sister with 14,500.

By this time, there was no point having a calculator, our reserves just had to be inexhaustible, we seemed to be up to the challenge at each call but none of it was looking funny at all.

When before, it had been suggested that this relationship had legs, it did have legs but the legs were really for us to run, but we were so deep in it now, we had to see it to the end – nothing else could faze us as the ceremony progressed.

Pension arrangements in the playground

We had to cater for the Father’s Age grade and the Mother’s Age grade as if these people had sworn to each other as kids that when their children were to get married their pensions will be supplemented by the proceeds from the daughters’ marriages and the matter of the dowry was yet to come to the table – it was going to be interesting after all this.

They respectively won that jackpot with a pot of 26,000 and 15,500, it would seem the women get sold in marriages and still get the little end of the compensations that come at the ceremonies.

Why did we not find the literary tome on the marriage practices of the Andoni and just give this a completely wide berth – but as we were resolute, love conquers all, it would conquer this and leave us somewhere – a place difficult to imagine as one weathers this maelstrom of the certainly certifiable.

The Mother’s Labs left us flummoxed, nobody bothered to ask where the test tubes and cultures were, we flush away our doubts with a cool 15,500 and all our cards were now on the table and everyone ready to show hands.

Knock down the door, gently

The ceremony was in full swing in asking the hand of our beauty, our beloved, our prospective wife and partner who through this ceremony was fast becoming converted into a purchase, a possession with a ranking that could legally make her a slave but love, only love conquers all – we would live through this and tell the stories with great laughter and jollity at subsequent family reunions – this ceremony would return to the family in about 20 years – the parents were made for a great fortune through the giving away of their daughters, barring changes to this custom or tradition.

When the time to came to bring the bride out of the confines of the family home to be joined to her bridegroom we had come to the epoch of the ceremony, it would reach an unprecedented crescendo that would make the faint-hearted faint – someone had better have the smelling salts handy.

It was called Knocking on the family door – this would present a number of decoys before we have the real deal, our lady of the day, the joy of our bosom and the one to whom the whispers would mean the whole world.

You cannot imagine the number that opened that family door.

To be continued …

Opening the mouth of the father - Part 2

The first part of this series of Opening the mouth of the father – Part 1

Bells, phones and rings

Did I say maybe the pealing of bells? The colloquial for calling by phone is bell me as opposed to ring me, the bell rarely tolls, it rings and does it cost a bomb?

But what love can separate you from the sound of your beauty that you have seen in glorious pictures of native attire, each time I look at the pictures; my heart skips a beat or two; Oh! my beloved as I smooch kiss after kiss into the photographic paper.

Every waking moment, I am on the phone making arrangements far ahead of the realities that try to pull me back, my head is too logical for my heart that is drawn to the dawning of the bliss of the fairy tale that ends in happily ever after – does anyone really believe that stuff anymore?

Seeing is the clincher

Meanwhile, I had been introduced to mama, brother, sister and any other sibling or relation in sight, no doubt the presents on my first visit should account for these acquaintances who might become prospective in-laws.

Father is playing too big to be involved in flirtations even though now he has realised there is an affair on the line with daughter continually engaged in sometimes giggly or overly serious conversation – I find that I am setting the tempo of everything, nothing of initiative comes from her, my doubts trouble me deeply, but my friend says different.

In the West, sound is as good as sight in conversation and communication, but back home speaking is sight and sound, this makes for a good meeting and the assurance of trust.

Having come so far in conversation, one must see, feel, touch this jewel of the South before one invests or divests, this is a journey I must make into the unknown for the dream of life untold.

My beloved is mine indeed

All sorts of preparations were made as moneys were sent to meet all sorts of eventualities, exasperation at the lack initiative almost ruined all, but my friend asked that I keep the faith until we met.

My trip to Nigeria was to consolidate the prospect of a life companion, the end of a search for something good, unspoilt and naively verdant.

We first met in a big city, her family is from Harcourt’s Harbours, and did I think, could this be love or was it overtaken by urges beyond the control of the parties?

Plans were apace to meet the family as she returned home having once missed her flight because we succumbed to the lackadaisical attention to time-keeping that our countrymen love to revel in without an iota of concerned responsibility or sense of necessity. It was as inconvenient as it was annoying.

Off to Harcourt’s Haven

I feel ill or maybe love-sick but my body was weakened that the meetings were postponed for my body to gain strength, when it appeared I was well enough, new arrangements were made to meet the family, hope and trepidation, mixed-feelings and expectations – am I on the cusp of a dream?

The journey was so nerve-racking as one had not fully recovered from a bout of malaria, but duties need be performed if one were to be a reliable husband soon, well, no one expects a reliable husband in these parts, they expect a responsible husband, one ready to shoulder responsibilities till bilked – cynicism depart, optimism come forth and I shall be the best gentleman about to be bridegroom – I am excited – somebody cool me down.

The father presides

When we got to the typically unimpressive residence, I was crestfallen, I had seen a man earlier that day who I almost despised, and I restrained myself for once from comment, that man was eventually significant to all proceedings – it was the father.

We entered the residence or rather room in a tenement where a curtain of the proportions of Solomon’s temple separated the living room from the bed chamber, it was not worth thinking how a family could comfortably live in these quarters but live they did – I am here for the bride, let’s talk man-to-man with the father.

Gifts were offered and those were moved into the inner sanctum with such speed as if giving with my right hand could be so quickly rescinded with my left hand – a word of thanks and gratitude could have helped but reality was to dawn soon that this was the facade of a merciless marketplace bargain where the buyer would pay up and still end up cutting his losses without the goods.

The deal is in the list

This was a mission of fledgling love as one tried to explain but the mind of the patriarch was centred on the opportunity for filthy lucre, I was to be lassoed in by the bride and the desire for the bride.

After the meeting, my escort had been surreptitiously been given the list, a six part list of items that fulfilled part of what might end with happily ever after.

The wedding list was to prepare us for the wedding ceremony, I surveyed the list as I touched my bride, I argued with myself, it appeared I was to be sold a woman for a slave rather than being given a lady for a bride – love conquers all, my love for her must not wane but will we hear, “You can now kiss the bride” at the end of the nuptials?

To be continued...

Opening the mouth of the father - Part 1

Maybe just maybe

Maybe just maybe, it was a recommendation from big brother, a nice girl who would make a beautiful wife, I know her family well.

Maybe indeed big brother is unto something that would redeem the unbrotherliness of time past, fingers crossed and all boxes about to be crossed too.

My friend said at first, you cannot have similarities, having spent more than half your life in Europe, the idea that you are of similar cultures is just out of the question, you change and adapt when you live elsewhere, the pretensions to keeping abreast of developments at home in terms of culture is delusional at best.

Are we like them too?

Beyond that, we would probably never get wives like the generation of our mothers whose forbearance in the midst of untenable circumstance can only be considered legendary, they in some cases served their husbands like slaves and were under the stress and constant threat of the other woman, real or imagined.

The generation of our fathers cannot be said to have been the most gentlemanly in terms of the way they sometimes wielded power in their fiefdoms.

Partnerships of today call for cooperation rather than unquestioned submission; there has to be adjustments on all sides. The subjugation of the wife to the point that she cannot be self-reliant because of the egotistical demeanour of the husband would put the marriage in the divorce courts long before the bridegroom has been opportuned to kiss the bride.

Many long distance calls

The groundwork had been set for the beginning of a wonderful partnership as each party tried to determine if the other was the person with whom vows intended and pretended could be made.

With numbers acquired, the affair began on the phone, a girl in university, irrationally scared of her father but seemingly interesting, for months, the expectations blossomed into possibilities with niggling doubts.

Maybe, just maybe the peeling of the bells will be heard soon.

To be continued...

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Cover your mouth

Yawning pits of death

One would have thought I took the wrong turn on safari around the Limpopo River and now I was looking into the presence of death, the yawning buccal cavity of a rampaging hippopotamus.

Well, in fact, in this day of swine flu scares in faraway lands, the surgical masks keeping the germs from exhalation or inhalation – it was an unreconstructed animal, a being of my species, without manners, so uncouth and lacking in graces, yawning in my face on the tram.

Where is the breeding?

I cannot imagine where these people got brought up, we as kids were taught to cover our mouths with our palms when we yawn, over our mouths with a clenched fist in traverse with thumb facing the mouth when we cough and use a handkerchief when we sneeze with the obligatory excuses.

The sneezing is interesting because almost every language offers a variation of the “God bless you” greeting after a sneeze this is said to derive from one of the many myths of which the one pertaining to Pope Gregory I seems to be the most agreeable to me.

He ordered incessant prayers and chanters through the streets as the bubonic plaque approached Rome and sneezing was thought to be the early sign of infection.

A sneeze is a sign

Nobody, goes around with a pepper shaker and apart from an occasional irritation or reaction, a sneeze is almost as good as something going awry.

However, that is beside the point, these times and all times call for a bit of something that separates us from animals and if I once saw a dog raise its paw to its yawn, it is the least that can be expected of us.

The respiratory droplets are the vector and somehow face masks are helpful, just as covering your mouth is useful.

Always have a handkerchief or tissues in your pocket or handbag, cover your mouths when they are opened for other calls of nature apart from conversation and save everyone the fear of death from your germs just as if one were about to be mauled by the friendly hippo taking a leisurely stroll by the banks of the Limpopo River.

Enough mass hysteria is being created by the spread of swine flu do not instigate an unnecessary stampede as a result of your lack of basic manners.

Cover your gob.

Source

[1] Bless you - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia