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.

Blog - Opening the mouth of the father - Part 1

Blog - Opening the mouth of the father - Part 2

Blog - Opening the mouth of the father - Part 3

Blog - Opening the mouth of the father - Part 4

Blog - Opening the mouth of the father - Part 5

Blog - Opening the mouth of the father - Part falls apart

Opening the mouth of the father - Part 5

The fourth part of this series Opening the mouth of the Father – Part 4

This was a hard knock

Yes, we were Knocking on the door, at the gates of Nineveh of Nebuchadnezzar the Great, the doors as imposing as if impossible to open, needing 40 horses to turn the hinges, the entrance to a fortress where if we had the wrong password we would be bone meal to Cerberus the “friendly” 3-headed dog whose snarls made you quake in your boots.

With ears like that of cat burglar safe breaker we heard each tumbler drop as we deciphered to code to enter the safe, to retrieve from safe-keeping our bride. As if we were soaring to the mile high club, at 25,000 feet we got a canary but not ours, time was fast ticking away as we reached 30,000 feet and were presented with a cuckoo, not very funny, not amused, let’s play on.

An eagle flew by with its prey in its claws at 35,000 feet, if we were to go any higher, we might well reach for the stars; our bright and radiant star, the beauty came out of the highest clouds into glory at 39,000 feet at which point the quip was asking the pilot if we had enough fuel to reach our destination – there was still more to do in this ceremony, but I already had my bride beside me, if only I could now elope.

My clothes or rags on parade

Indeed, bale out we must in parachutes made from all the material purchased to make my in-laws look good for their daughter’s marriage, they even had change-ins to boot.

This list was making me listless as the MC was making a mockery of the whole proceedings and people cooed, wowed, singing the praises of the in-laws all bedecked in colours and instructions that almost drove us to distraction just weeks before – Just it was two traditional dresses for the parents designed to their tastes – that had to be right or nothing will be bright.

Do fish drink at all?

Lest I forgot the father’s mouth opened more to the tipple of fine whisky and gin than to the letting go of his prized goose. Whisky and gin can do much to a man and even I was about to be featured in a drunken orgy of negotiating the bride price as head rocked from side to side with the hat I wrought and the cane landing with thuds on the ground, even that I bought – the list, remember, it was in the list too.

Ah! The bride price, no sale price said the quip as he noted I had no cows nor yams as tradition would have dictated, the cows had been slaughtered for meat and stew, the yams pounded to a pulp – drinks would suffice, and drinks it would be.

Before I could drown away my sorrows, that small business of drinks had to be sorted and this ephemeral source of oral pleasure that had me bedwetting as a kid, discomfited the incontinent, heaped disgrace on the inebriated and had you visit the lavatory in hours for disposal was part of the bidding price.

Pour it all out

I will drink to that said the quip at which point pouring a mug of lager over his head would have been the most pleasurable thing to do, I could not get disillusioned, but someone is taking the piss.

Presentations started, the drinks were like I had conducted a smuggler’s day trip to Calais with a lorry, I was afraid we were going to leave behind us alcoholics and worse.

Whiskies and gins we presented by the carton and 3 in all, single malt scotch but not too expensive, then 6 cartons of wine, the preferred lager was Star so we had 4 cartons of those and Guinness of the large bottled variety came in 5 cartons.

The malt drink of choice was Maltina in 10 crates of 24 bottles each and soft drinks which we call minerals were offered in 15 crates, other fruit drinks in 9 cartons.

Now that we had gotten thus far in the programme and that was just part of the bride price.

To be continued...

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 3

The second part of this series Opening the mouth of the Father – Part 2

It will be traditional

Opting for a traditional marriage ceremony was probably the best choice since I am religiously averse though my bride as any typical Nigerian is quite religious.

One might well be persuaded of the need, but it is not that pressing, the traditional ceremony presents the opportunity for some very unconventional activities and the maybe some cultural education.

The landlord’s daughter who got married not too long before had such a splash, it appears, the tenant is on the verge of outdoing the landlord, one should keep an open mind before one begins a flight of fantasy.

Talking about money always

Preparations were in high gear, money for all that was necessary, drinks, food, cake, dresses, the list was interminable, I might as well have a mint in the backyard, but love conquers all.

The Master of Ceremonies was the uncle of the bride, a cantankerous and garrulous rotund man with a voice that boomed with an accent of English so thick, I was convinced I really was back in Nigeria, really back in Nigeria without and confusion of that fact.

As the day of the event drew near, many panicked as I tried to keep my cool European reserve, delegate tasks by project management and keep an rein on everything except the demands for money for the silly, the stupid and the incomprehensible – I grinned out as I gritted my teeth, how long would this go on for?

We are here to ask

My family had arrived, mother with her friends, my siblings all, my friends from youth all here to celebrate this long awaited event, once the questions about marriage are over, I can be sure that not a second would have passed after the wedding day before I am asked about children – people all seem to be in a hurry for you when in fact, it is you and her that would share that same roof.

That is a somewhat a way off, all the arrangements for visas and travel are coming on nicely, it would not be easy at first, but love does definitely conquer all.

I cannot say I am nervous, but you never know these things, the eventuality of a rogue village goat running amok and pulling the tablecloth off the high table with its horns, scattering the well arranged flowers, drinks, glasses and plates all over the place, leaving the bride in tears, I close to tears and someone suspecting some enemy wreaking havoc for jealousy and spite – my imagination is definitely getting the better of me.

Cherish the day

When that day is over, a sigh of relief cannot come too quickly for all concerned, it would be a great and magnificent day, I dared pray that it would all go nicely, everyone would say the nicest things to each other, the families would be friendly to each other and no funny relation would take that opportunity to vent and hopefully, everyone who really needs to be invited has been invited.

The ceremony had been set for the early afternoon, accounting for African time, we might just add another hour or two to the programme, someone had tried to meticulously time each issue on the agenda but I thought it was ambitious at best; these things have a life of their own.

People do not just walk to the table, they dance to the high table with a coterie of dancers and singers, drummers drumming at the decibel limits, the percussion allowing for the most impossible hip gyrations, it would be a lavish spectacle, I just hope the video guy is prepared to capture everything, we also got three photographers to ensure there was a continuous record of events.

Let the ceremony begin

Now that everything had been set, the MC got to the microphone and after a preamble of prayers stories, jokes and a basic idea of why we were meeting, the agenda for the day kicked in.

The first thing was Opening the ceremony table, apparently, the high table of almost 20 seats bedecked with an array of expensive drinks, the best crockery, the finest cloth and all the trimmings was hardly ready for a seating.

We were in an auction cum bargaining banter, cash was the key to opening any event or action in this ceremony, with 5,000, nobody was looking at us, at 10,000, there was a nod but no approval, at 15,000, we were told we could do better than that, especially, since one was from … it took 20,000 to consider calling anyone to the table.

Let the ceremony begin...

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...