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.
