WEDDING BELLS

There were rows upon rows of empty seats. It was like someone had spread a rumour that Area Boys from Mushin were being expected. If that was the case, a few adventurous humans dotted the auditorium, like reporters hell bent on reporting events in Homs, Syria, despite the foolhardiness of the idea. However, they were suspiciously gorgeously dressed, somewhat ruling out the foolhardy reporter option. I stepped back – momentarily dazed by the emptiness of the hall – and even further back till artificial air was replaced by its more natural, dusty counterpart. Er, wait, I only simply stepped out of the auditorium.  Was it the wrong place? It was an alien area of sorts; something could have gone wrong. Perhaps it was simply the affliction called “African Time”. Perhaps.



Some thirty minutes later, a few familiar faces began to stroll in. Hell, I even greeted a few of them. Gradually, the hall began to fill up but it stopped short of being half-filled. That wasn’t going to stop anyone anyways; the purpose of the gathering and the major actors were just short of taking the stage. A hymn was sung, a man climbed the stage and began to talk, and later it was time for lights, camera, action. Vows were said, a rather long question – repeated twice – was answered twice - curtly - with differing pitches, and then it was time for some action. Funnily, the one with all the white stuff couldn’t quite get it over with. I mean, wasn’t it just a kiss? Given that this was the 21st century, that mouth must have seen some intimate action, not that I saw any picture anywhere. Squirm she did through the thing until the guy standing on the actual stage got tired.

What’s a church gathering without the requisite money-gathering? Like you may have heard if you ever attended an Anthropology class, man was a hunter-gatherer at a point in his evolution, not that I think I have any monkey DNA in me. The church; hunter-gatherer. Fits like “protection” over “you-know-what”. Finally, we could be on our ways – our ways to the reception that is – but not before a recessional hymn had to be sung. Now, recessional hymn strikes me as a particularly interesting turn of phrase. Were recessional hymns first sung in 1929, during the Great Depression? Why would anyone have to rub it in? I mean, we are in the middle of a recession, but why take the mickey by singing a recessional hymn?

Clicks and clacks went. Cast and crew changed. But there was a recurring factor in the middle of it all, like Mathematics’ Highest Common Factor – the lady clad in white, and the dude attired in lilac and the some. These are one of the few times people knowingly subject to paparazzi, and I took a few bows, er, pictures, me humble self.

The comedian-cum-MC started out by saying he was feeling out the assemblage. He probably said that for my benefit, but I always thought that was the standard operating procedure amongst court jesters. A little strange; him telling me that. An eternity and a half passed before the star attractions of the day were ready. The MC kept glancing over, like he was gonna run out of jokes anytime soon. His joking skin was saved though, when upon an unseen signal, the DJ started an upbeat tune, and like bullets out of an Uzi submachine gun, the groomsmen and bridal train (brideswomen) shot out of a door behind this new hall, where the reception was taking place. And making up the rear of that dancing procession was the bride, who looked like she could bust a move, and the groom, who skidded out like a tower on wheels – yeah, it totters. He was tall, and I bet he thought he was dancing.

The Thursday drew on, hunger pangs overcame the courtesy of some females, and it definitely overcame the need for the casual-observer-taking-event-in to concentrate on the event itself. Yeah, you guessed it, that’s an excuse for saying I aint writing no more.