Celebrating Love

The last time I was in a wedding was on December 9th 2000. It was my uncles wedding. Barely a decade old, I knew very little of what was happening but I remember the events altogether. It was a chilly morning. In fact, it was raining. Not torrential but drizzling enough to ensure everyone had to be dressed for winter. I was looking sharp in my grey fitting suit and so did my 4-year-old sister in her freckles white dress. I was made to be sharp. I felt sharp and opinionated. I was second to the groom.

The rain eventually came down and I remember several people losing their balance in the madness and hugging the soggy, red ground so reluctantly. Several were armed with a change of clothes but those that were not had to bear the evidence the whole day.

Back then, there were village choirs who specialized in singing to grooms and ushering brides to the (not so) rosy atmosphere of marriage. So they did their thing and everyone was up dancing to the tunes as the rain did what it does best.

A stone throw away was Mt. Kenya. Then it was snowy and beautiful. The today’s characteristic of barren rock was covered in flowing snow that every once in a while gave way to ice cold water that passed just by my grandmother’s land. During sunny days my cousins and I would go down there and taste freshness from the source.

It was a rainy but beautiful wedding. I remember my aunt shedding tears of joy which couldn’t just be seen because of the torrents but my uncle could feel them. I remember this because I was sitting between them. She was happy and content. Here was her prince charming, her family, close friends and God had capped it all with flows of blessings.

In my young mind I knew something important was happening and I was happy for them.

Sixteen years later I am invited to a colleague’s wedding.


I don’t know why it took this number of years but it happened. I think it’s mostly because for all those years I was struggling with hormones and so were my peers that’s why none of them got to get married, this resulting in my lack of invitation.  Haha

So I showed up. I knew wedding tings, as they are called by millennials have become fashion galas so I had no idea what to wear to look appropriate. It was a cold morning but I chose no sweater. Everyone else was dressed warmly except my nigga “Patrick” and I.

It was a beautiful affair.

The bride said her vows and so did the man of the hour. To me, this was the epitome declaration of a love that had blossomed for 6 years. I felt a tinge of emotion as they shyly tried to kiss after the Minister’s declaration to no avail thus settling for a hug.

In the spirit of romance and celebrating love, I organized to meet someone later.

She was in a beautiful, purple, dress and a scarf. In addition, she was wearing one of her brightest smiles. She isn’t yellow but beautifully light. I had previously seen her but today she looked exquisitely gorgeous.

She laughed wholesomely and I wanted to hear more of that. I always had. As she walked towards me I felt a shade of pride as I remembered the taste of her lips. They were soft and desirous. She tasted of fresh fruit and smelled of sprouting flowers in early spring. I longed to taste their sweetness in the cold weather that had characterized the morning. I was seated in one corner of the tent and she sat in the far end. How I wish she had sat nearer. But I liked it that way. It was more adventurous.

Our longing. Our wild desires.

As I asked her to dance I felt the softness of her hands reminiscing of feelings I hadn’t had in a while. Her womanly touch reminded me of something I had lost for years. Problem was that she had two left feet. Lol. All the same, she could swing after a song or two.

Fast Forward… We organized to this place in town. Calm and quiet. We sat facing each other with the Saturday traffic just below on my right and her left respectively. The bulbs glowed yellow laying emphasis on the glowing, woman caged inside her soft features. I stared at her lips that I knew the taste too well. I could feel the unspoken passion; the intangible cravings.

It was just starting to drizzle as the darkness settled in.

She was talking about her love for grilled meat. Her love for gospel. She doesn’t do lots of books but she is determined to finish her accounting sections to K. I admired that. Unlike me, she was so drawn in her career. It meant (still does) so much to her. I hate accounting.

As the cold breeze swept across us, its streams taking some of her hair strands with it, I for once realized how stunning she truly was. I was attracted to this woman with the kind of heady trance that brings a butterfly to nectar.

Here was a girl that I had wanted endlessly, countless times. A coffee cup in her hand, listening to me talking about mapping and my boring existence. It might sound cliché but I was content.

She was like the Sun. She had people orbiting around her; some were so close it burned them, some were so far they were the coldest they could be because they wanted to be closer. The lucky ones were in the perfect distance to feel her warmness and live with her peacefully. In one way or another all the people that met her wanted a piece of her awesomeness.

And me? Well, in her little system, I was a distant star; a strange, little cold star that no one wanted around the Sun, but who oddly was spinning around her in circles, in the opposite direction as everyone else.

Though at the back of my mind I knew I couldn’t have it all, I was ready to accept what was on the table.


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