My special role in Juma’s blissful wedding

Weddings in my village are very rare, but we had one last Wednesday; and I was very much involved.
It started when Mr. Juma, our Deputy, went to church last Sunday, after a long absence. After the service, the pastor challenged him to solemnise his marriage. Juma agreed and they settled on Wednesday – three days later - as the big day.
Juma came to seek my help that Sunday evening. “They want to appoint my wife as the chairperson of Mothers’ Union but she is not wedded,” he told me. “Since this position will bring home an extra shilling; I readily welcomed the wedding.”
I quickly agreed to help him in planning. We did not need to consult Juma’s in-laws about the date, dowry, among others. All that Juma’s wife did was to send them an SMS informing them the date of her wedding.
We drew up the budget. Two chickens, a kilo of meat, sugar and milk was required for the high table – which would consist of the pastor and teachers. The rest of the villagers would do with ‘strong tea’ and Githeri. No cards were sent out but by Sunday evening, the entire locality was aware of the big wedding.
For the wedding gown, we looked around for any woman who had one. We only found one in the neighbouring church but it was too big for the bride’s slender architecture. She therefore decided to use the purple church choir uniform. Using an old mosquito net, our local tailor managed to fashion it and this beautifully completed the gown.
The pastor cancelled all activities he had for that Wednesday. You see, besides the Sunday service, he only presides over funerals. He therefore could not to miss a wedding of a Deputy Headmaster.
On Tuesday, Juma sent me to the market to buy a few things for the wedding. Among them were two rings. After a long time of searching, I stumbled upon two that looked almost similar and I bought them at Sh35 each after long bargaining. I also bought two films as the photoman promised to charge us less if we had our own film.
Wednesday morning. I went to Mr. Juma’s home early to oversee arrangements. With his wife having slept at a friend’s home, Juma’s sister was in charge. I paid the bodaboda guy to go and bring the bride in style.
As Juma’s best man, I went back and put on my still new green Kaunda suit, white sports shoes and red socks. Juma had his only grey Kaunda suit although it was creased and had patch below the left pocket.
“The material of the suit is so heavy,” he explained to me. “A piece of red charcoal burnt it as I was ironing it, and I had to repair it this morning.”
We walked to the church, a few kilometers away, and found the church choir practicing a few bambios. They sang and danced as they escorted us to our seats. The church was full with women and children.
The women went wild with song, dance and ululation as soon as the hooting of the bodaboda motorcycle was heard. The bride was looking stunning in the purple dress and net. Her best women, all members of the choir were all struggling to hold a piece of the flowing net.
The service followed the usual format but the pastor used the sermon to castigate all around who had not wedded. “You are all fornicating sinners,” he shouted. I then remembered that we had not bought a cake. I briefly saw my younger brother outside and sent him to get either bread or scones quickly – we couldn’t find cake anywhere.
Then vows were exchanged. “Have you been with Juma during end month and when he is broke, and will you continue doing so?” The pastor asked Juma’s wife.
“Yes!” she answered amid ululation.
My brother came back and told me that there was neither bread nor scones. He however had bought some mandazis. “This will do,” I said.
After exchanging rings, it was time to cut the cake. The mandazis had been cut into small pieces. One mandazi had been left and Juma’s wife took this, cut it into two and they shared with her new husband. The other pieces were distributed around but some boys ran away with most of it leaving the women angry.
The journey from church to Juma’s home in the hot sun was slow but interesting. Juma and I walked slowly as the women marched and sang. We arrived to find the high table already occupied by a few villagers who had not attended the church service; and they refused to budge.
As we ate the MC called for gifts. As a staffroom, we had contributed money and bought Juma four glasses, which Madam Mary presented. Juma’s mother gave them bananas while the bride’s mother gave a big cockerel. That was all.
By the time we were finishing eating; the bride had already removed the net and was busy helping around with clearing the table. Juma too changed. He then took a slasher and started trimming his fence while we reviewed the day. We agreed that the day had been a great success. Our spirits were only dampened by the photoman who arrived to announce to us that the film had accidentally ‘burnt’ and all negatives spoilt before they could be ‘washed’.
Without photos, how will Juma and his wife convince anyone that they had such a wonderful wedding?