Wanja Kavengi: The story of how Aleki, my neighbour, unexpectedly got himself a wife

A neighbour, Aleki, recently got married in a ceremony never witnessed before.

The bride arrived at the venue of the wedding - Aleki’s bedsitter - her maid of honour in tow.

Emachichi, blaring from a neighbour’s house, and Wizkid, booming from another’s, created a nice, noisy atmosphere for the ceremony. The bride was donning a lovely blue and green tie-and-dye gown, commonly known as a dera, with one side tucked into the elastic of her underwear.

The talons

Half of her head was shaved, perched on the other half was a really short, blonde, bob cut weave with a long side fringe, which she would dramatically brush off her face using her long, red, acrylic talons. Aside from the thin arcs that were clearly hurriedly sketched with a black eye pencil in place of her eyebrows, the bride chose to go all natural, and wore no make up. Her beaded sandals were nice, and her toenails were as red as the claws that were her fingernails.

Her maid of honour seemed to be relaxed. She was leaning on the wall next to Aleki’s door, leisurely smoking a cigarette while typing something on her smartphone.

She did not conform to my wedding expectations by wearing the usual hideous dress made from that material that looks like contraband silk, the one that shines viciously and burns the eyes, with ribbons and chiffon details in bright colours at the chest.

No. She decided to put on an old, loose vest that was, obviously, originally white, but, somehow, due to being exposed to harsh conditions, became a light shade of brown. She paired the vest with black tights and red Bata slippers, because comfort is key.

It looked as though the wedding had caught her off guard, because she had Abuja lines on her head that were halfway undone, and she never got the chance to finish ‘kubomoa nywele’ before gracing the wedding. But she didn’t look bothered about it.

The bride was angry. She went straight to the groom’s door and started banging on it, calling out his name: “Aleki! Open up before I break down thi... Aleki!”

Come out!

Then she would peer into his window and knock on it, launching unprintable insults at him and screaming scandalous expletives.

Then she would turn to her maid of honour and swear to her that she would finish Aleki, that he had played with The Wrong One.

“I can see your shoes out here! Come out and face me if you are a man!”

The door slowly swung open, and the groom staggered with sleep and confusion, almost tripping on the long curtain hanging at the door. His custom-made tuxedo was just a pair of checked boxer shorts. He had a dry line of drool running from the corner of his mouth, halfway through his cheek. He was rubbing off the gound from his eyes while yawning and trying to adjust to the bright, 10am sunshine.

His beautiful bride immediately grabbed the waist of his boxer shorts in a knot and dragged him away from his door. He is of small build, Aleki, short and skinny, so it was easy for her to drag him across the veranda of the plot with just one hand and a little effort.

“You thought you would hide forever, eh?” she asked, adjusting her grip on his boxers.

The grip was so strong that the garment had tightened around Aleki’s bottom, and he was squirming from the discomfort it caused him at the front.

“Wh...me? What’s going on?” Aleki feigned ignorance.

“Oh, so now you don’t know? You have forgotten, eh? Look, eh, I will slam this your head against that wall until you are healed of this fake amnesia.”

She yanked on the waist of his boxer shorts, drawing him close to her, then pushed him away, still clutching onto the underwear. He tumbled.

For over four months, Aleki had been successfully avoiding the woman because of a debt he owed her. He had approached her for a loan, which, he had said he wanted to invest in a promising business. The woman gave him Sh5,000 upon agreement of terms and conditions. Aleki then invested the money in a lucrative Sportpesa multibet and lost. The woman also happened to be his ex girlfriend, but now the bonds of true love had brought them together again, albeit in unpleasant circumstances.

“Come on, we cannot solve everything with violence,” pleaded Aleki in a soft voice. “Just calm down like your friend here.”

He paused to point at the maid of honour. She was not there. She had probably sneaked out of the ceremony to attend to something at the reception.

“I am not leaving until you give me my money!” declared the bride. “In fact...”

She paused and let go of Aleki’s boxers, pushed him aside, stormed into his bedsitter and sat down on the only armchair in that house.

Not leaving

“I am not getting out of this house until you pay me what you owe me!”

It has been about two weeks now since the bride sat on that armchair, and the newlyweds look happy together.

She changed the carpet and removed the lesos that Aleki had hung at the windows with pegs, and got real curtains. Aleki now fondly refers to her as his wife, his missing rib that is not missing anymore, his Michelle Obama, and has plans to move to a two-bedroom house as soon as he gets enough money from the pyramid scheme he is cooking.

On the wedding day, the maid of honour had come back a few hours later to deliver the bride’s two suitcases of clothes and shoes. Later that evening the couple had been seen going to Karomaindo Bar for the reception and after party.

[wankavengi@gmail.com]