'With this ring I thee wed'

| Monday March 21, 2011 00:00

 

I stood in the gardens of Fitchlea Primary School before my bride and charismatic Pastor Victor Mashoko, who declared us married on September 5, 2010.  I turned slightly and looked at my mother who was full of joy and remembered what my grandfather had said to me years ago before he passed on: 'Give your mother many tears, tears of joy, and you will live the longest days,' he said.

I married a woman I love, adore and respect. But a strong sense of sorrow crossed my mind not because what I had done was regrettable, but because I was stepping on unfamiliar territory. My close friends from university and church who were part of the bridal train were still single and I had listened to their conversations the night before and realised how we were moving in different directions in life.

Thando Nkomo (not related to me), who is a lecturer at the National University of Science and Technology (Nust), was my Best Man. He hopes to get married next year. Munyaradzi Thulani Nkomo (not related to me either), the creative designer, was telling us about how his girlfriend was playing hard to get. On the other side, Mandlenkosi Ndlovu would not say anything meaningful about relationships.

Just 48 hours earlier, these guys were my guys through and through. But as I stood before my wife, Rati Matavire Nkomo, I realised that I had just lost my friends. I would not to go to the Spurwing Island in Kariba because I had a phone call from Harare from one of the boys.

A responsible man spends time with his family. He does not plan for himself but the whole family. As the boys danced and laughed, thoroughly enjoying my wedding, I was silently bidding them farewell. 'We will have fun some other time,' I thought to myself.

With marriage, things are never the same. I had noticed it the previous day when my Best Man's girlfriend (the one he intends to marry) came to Kwekwe for the wedding. Thando and I had gone to collect her from the bus rank. We were introduced and I could tell she was not interested in my friendship with Thando but her relationship with her man. In a few years, it is possible we will grow apart not because she married a wrong woman but because marriages have a way for closing chapters and starting fresh ones.

Two days ago, I had set with my parents in Bulawayo, my hometown, back in the narrow streets of my township where I grew up. All the years of my childhood came rushing back through my mind, and for a moment I felt like a little boy kicking plastic soccer balls again. I held back the tears, knowing that all this was coming to an end. I was about to become a husband, not a little boy any more.

When I looked at my father's face, I remembered everything about my life up to the moment. He told me to work hard for my family and to make sacrifices. He had back problems because he travelled long distances securing our future as his children. Everything as I had known it had changed. My mother called me Sa-Ulathi, in reference to my son; Ra-Ulathi, in Setswana, both in the Bantu tradition of calling fathers by their children's names, usually the eldest child.

'I was Ndaba just a few days ago. How could my life transform so drastically in a matter of hours?' I asked myself. All these thoughts came to me as I watched my beautiful bride. Overcome with emotion, I kissed her, jolting all present because the Pastor had not enunciated the magic bidding: 'You may kiss the bride.' I am sure he understood.

I held Rati's hand as we walked down the aisle and knew just how much I loved her and how much it was my duty to protect her from the vicissitudes of life. I felt a strong urge to make sure her world was perfect and ideal. I am human and have limitations, but I also remembered that I had concluded my vows with a declaration of faith: 'So help me God'. More assured, I held my wife's hand and waved to the ecstatic crowd that had come to bear witness to my matrimony to the woman of my dreams in the most beautiful garden wedding ever.

We signed our certificates and had our lunch. I was to enjoy this day because it was my day. Rati and I danced to house music and did the usual routines when we go out together. To the pleasure of the crowd, we moved so gracefully. 'You are my wife and my best friend. I promise to love you faithfully,' I whispered to her as we danced. She squeezed my hand in acknowledgement. As the sun went down that Sunday, I was a married man. I had just started a fresh chapter in life and I was ready for it!

Later that evening, my relatives - who driven all the way from Bulawayo - were heading back home. So was the new couple; to our new home in Bulawayo. Rati rested her head on my breast, and I smiled contentedly to myself. I looked at my ring and ignored how uncomfortable it felt.