Cherish the journey – Nali and Tshii’s Wedding

What-a-gwan mon? Greetings in the name of the most high! Praise be to Jah. Are ya feeling irie mon? Long-time me no write a ting to bombaclad ya sense of humor. Me been busy mon, trying na fight the Babylon system, you know that Babylon na always trying to oppress us. But no worries mon, come close. Come I tell you a story mon, a re-a-l interesting s-t-or-y. 4 monts (months) now past, me go to a w-e-h-dding. So get na popped corn, sit down, come I tell you the story na Tshii’s wedding (The Tsh in Tshii is similar to the 'ch' in church).

The rest of this story is told in normal English, as far as normal goes. The Rasta twang was just a little spice to wet the appetite.

When I first met Tshii (his clan call him Tshipweya), I didn’t have dreadlocks, and actually, he had more hair than I did. Gone are the days, but this is not a lament for lost youth, we’re still bloody young. Tshii went to school with my cousin Alex, I am sure you’re all familiar with him? Yes? No? Maybe? Well read this to familiarise yourself (click here).

Tshii personifies the world calm (cooler than a cucumber, calmest non-irie mon me ever met), he’s very composed and often in deep thought without you even noticing it. His attributes are more remarkable when compared to say Imms. Affectionately known as Ayooba, Imms is effervescent, like a soluble Vitamin C tablet in warm water.

Cucumber and Vitamin C

I mention Imms because 35 % of our university acquaintances assumed that I was his little brother, on account of similar facial structure, the other 65 % still only know me as Alex’s cousin. Thank god I am now known as ‘The guy with long dreads’. I could tell you epic tales mostly involving Imms and Alex with supporting roles by Tshii & Peter (We’ll get to him later), but I’ll refrain from implicating Tshii – He’s married now.

The first time I met Nalitye (Nali), was in early 2014. She and Tshii were together, they were on their way back to Windhoek from Swakopmund, so they kindly gave me a lift. Tshii did the driving: calm, very moderate speeding type of driving. One thing was immediately clear, they looked like one of those couples who are very comfortable with and around each other. So much so that they were even comfortable in each other’s silence. Which is creepy, because you never know what two people are saying to each other in their silence. They could be plotting to kill you, not that Tshii and Nali seem like a murderous pair, I, am just saying.

One of my objectives for the year (2015) was to be a more decent human being, mend broken bridges, plant trees, that sort of stuff. I prefer calling this endeavour an objective instead of a resolution, just because an objective sounds more serious.

I called Tshii. I asked about the usual; life, work, and social scene. He replied in his usual calm demeanour, “Fine, progressing, what social scene?” It was like any other conversation we’d had, until he mentioned a wedding, his wedding. That’s when I started wishing I had one of those uncles with ten million heads of cattle, you know, those generous uncles who give away bulls at weddings like it’s nothing.

Just dishing them out like, “You have a bull, and you, heck, everybody gets one.” Like they’re handing out sweets.

Alas, the only riches I have are in my mind, so maybe I’d give Tshii some imaginary cattle. What’s a city slicker going to do with Sanga Cattle anyways, yes, they’re drought resistant, but they’re not exactly prime beef.

2 months before the wedding, I invited Tshii to lunch (Yes, guys invite other guys to lunch, its 2015). Tshii shows up, all calm and shit, like he wasn’t late! I started thinking, if someone discovered a way to bottle calmness, Tshii would an exporting country. When you put Kwambis at a table, all you here is 'tsh' (Similar to the 'ch' in church), 'tsh' this and 'tsh' that. All the melanin deficient folks having their lunch were craning their necks and unfolding their ears to listen in on the conversation.

“You nervous? I mean, things will change.” I asked Tshii. I was curious. I’m always curious.

For once, Tshii doesn’t think or pause. “Look, I’ll still be the same person, I can still hang with my friends. I just can’t stay out till 5 AM.” It’s the response of a man who had decided, a man who unlike some I’ve seen, actually looked and sounded ready for marriage. What spell had Nali cast on Tshii? I asked myself, in my head. Even my joke about marriage invitations being indirect social peer pressure didn’t faze him, his body language was like, “Dude! I am getting hitched, is you coming to witness or not?” Reality set in, Tshii was getting married, in truth, I’d always expected him to go first – on traces of maturity alone.

A week before the wedding, I got a nasty surprise. The words ‘leave denied’ will give you chest pains worse than a heartbreak. It threw a spanner in the works, I’d be missing half the wedding. Actually, I’d be missing the ceremony, which is kind of like missing the wedding. I had already bought a brightly coloured tie, and I don’t even know how to tie one, that’s how much I was looking forward to the wedding. Luckily the wedding festivities of the Aawambo are held over two days, one at the bride’s residence/parents homestead, and another the next day at the groom’s residence/parents homestead.

So as I pondered my dilemma, I get an IM from Tshii. Who is all excited, he doesn’t even fret when I tell him that I’ll be missing in action on day 1 of the best weekend of his life. I can tell it’s not calmness, dude is incredibly excited. At that point I realised that Nali must really be on her game, if Tshii is so eager to be committed to her for life. It can’t be witchcraft, it can only be the most dangerous drug of them all – love.

Then the day came, Friday the 14th of August. Coming off 8 hours of night shift, it was straight from dodging rocks to travelling to the North. A quick breakfast and long ass taxi ride later, I was in the wild west of Windhoek City: Hereford taxi rank, popularly known as Monte Cristo. I sat shotgun next to the driver. I wish I could tell you about the journey, but I slept through most of it (Working nights = sleep debt of Greek proportions). I reclined the seat and by the time I came out of the best sleep of the week, it was sunset, we were already in the north. All we had to do was navigate the puzzle that is the roadside villages of the Ondonga kingdom and everybody would be home in time for dinner.

There was only one problem, the driver was filling in for the previous incumbent, and his knowledge of the north is akin to my knowledge of Otjiherero. So I ended up navigating for the poor guy, through Ondangwa, past my alma mater in Ongwediva, and around the maze of winding streets in Oshakati. I was almost home, just needed a lift to Oshikuku, and I got one from a middle aged man on his way to Ruacana. He drove like he had ADD, so fast that by the time he slowed to stop, he was almost past my village. Not to be shaken, I thanked him and walked home, in the dark, because my phone’s battery was too low for the flashlight to work. Anyone who knows me, is aware of my uselessness in the dark, can’t see shit and that’s why I never believed in the monster under the bed (Couldn’t see it). But, I’d walked the path enough times to know how many telephone poles it is to the gate and how many steps it is from the gate to the main building. I was home.

I charged the phone and called Alex, it went straight to voicemail. He was too busy chopping the wedding. I went to bed, happiness overflowing, in the morning I’d be witnessing a great sight – Tshii taking his bride home, the excitement was palpable.

If you’re not in the know, now’s a good time to tell you that I’m a ninja. Teenage mutant life navigator, because life tends to come at you extremely fast, but that’s a story for another time. That Saturday morning I packed everything into my ride for the day, the trusty little Hilux bakkie, aptly named, Autie van Speka. Yes, guys not only name their genitals but we name our cars as well. I took a walk round the village, it was dry as the Kalahari. The rains could not come any sooner. Alex answered his phone sometime after 10h00. “Cool, drive to Oshikuku and call Peter Shilongo, he can bring you to Tshii’s house. We going to get the bride at 12h00.”

The time is 13h45, Ed Sheeran has just finished the chorus to Give Me Love, I step out of the car and immediately the temperature contrast hits me. It. Is. Toasty! I walk towards Peter’s grey sedan and sarcastically comment on Imms’ navigation skills, “It’s a good thing that they pay him to find minerals and not villages hey?” Peter and Westside laugh, Imms and his distinctive HEAD don’t, he’s too busy trying to get a GPS location (The things smartphones connected to satellites can do these days, amazing!).

After I spotted them because of Imms’ distinctive HEAD, I followed Peter’s car from Outapi, under the impression they knew where they were going, 30 minutes later and we’ve circled the same village twice. I should be annoyed, but it’s honestly the most fun I’ve had in months, who knew being behind the wheel could feel so liberating? I’m sure that you must be asking yourself how I got from Oshikuku to being lost. Pay attention. Things are about to pick up speed.

I spent my fuel money on Coke, bananas, and ‘happiness’. There’s no Bank Windhoek ATM in Oshikuku, so I’m on a quarter of a tank, not enough. I buy a beer, park behind a bar and change into my outfit. Blazer, shirt, tie, denim jeans, and pointy shoes. I que Ed Sheeran’s album and drive to Outapi, like I’m being chased. I fill up, and as I pull out towards the road, a grey sedan passes and there is Imms’ distinctive HEAD. Are we all together? Or do I have to draw a cartoon?

It is 14h00, we’ve finally found Nalitye’s house, and the convoy leaves just as we get there. I smile, more driving = more fun. I’m not sure if it’s just being here or all the ‘happiness’ that I bought on my way to Outapi. It’s been all of 8 minutes and the convoy stops. I get out and the heat slaps me awake. I’m on my way back to my car to get my camera, and there she is – it’s Dahlia Mystique, and she’s a bridesmaid. I’d love to digress and tell the story of how we met – at a bus stop, maybe next time.

The Groom's men

The bride is my cousin,” she says.

I respond, “Nice dress.”

It’s 14h30. I’ve taken a few snaps, shaken a few hands, and smiled at a few bridesmaids – who all look like they’ve had it up to here (points to neck).

The never-catch-us-smiling bridesmaids.

I’m standing next to Imms when Mr Groom comes striding over, swaged up and dapper in a black suit with a shirt – simple yet classy. We shake hands, he still has softer hands than mine.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say.

He smirks, and calmly replies, “You’re not late. You’re right on time.”

His lips curve and the grin spreads across his face, it must be contagious because I’m doing the same. I know he’s smiling because the radiant young woman to our right, who’s making the sun envious would make any man happy. I am smiling because I’m high on jelly babies, or ‘happiness’ as I call them. The answer to world peace is in a packet of jelly babies, they’re also known to help single ladies attract a husband. Okay, I’m joking about that last one.

“I have to get back,” Tshii says to me, the voice in my head is tempted to say, “She’s not going anywhere dude, and you’ve already put a ring on her finger, no one is going to try and steal her.” But common sense prevails and I tell the voice to shut up.


They came with gifts.

It is 15h30 and everyone is gathered under the shade of the closest tree to Tshii’s parents’ homestead, the sun is still angry as fuck. Wambo wedding proceedings are like the military, everything has a protocol. You have no say in the speed at which protocol is executed. You just stand, walk, sit, and stand again. The customary walk to meet the parents, and the dancing and cheering have been done and dusted. The welcome-to-the-crib-ceremony under the tree is in full swing, we’re past the prayer and the speeches, a column of people snakes towards the groom and bride’s table with gifts. They sing happy songs, songs of praise, songs of can-we-speed-this-up and get to the food.

Protocol : Walk, stop, and maybe sit. Do it all again.

I’m taking more snaps when I pull my finger off the button and look at the Best Man, co-Best Man, Maid of Honour, and Assistant Maid of Honour. “Between them they probably have less than 120 years of age,” says a voice behind me. What that has to do with anything is beyond me, the same voice puts a hand on my shoulder and starts harping on and on about Rosh Pinah. I realise that he’s got me mistaken with Tshii’s older brother Eliakim, I try to point this out. The guy he’s talking about is taller, skinnier, and in his own words, “cuter.” But, the voice just keeps talking. I’m at my wits end when he finally stops. I walk away to smile at the bridesmaids. I have enough on my plate with the three voices in my head.

Charlie (pink t-shirt) and Zendy (White shirt).

It is 17h00, I’m sitting next to Charlie and Zendy in the Grooms tent. My jaw drops. They. Can Eat. The things Charlie did to the pork roast, uhm, let just say that it’s a good thing that the pig was already dead. I’m starting to put faces to the names, I’ve heard all the high school stories from Alex and Imms but have never met the characters in them. It’s kaleidoscope of racial diversity. As Tshii and Nali awkwardly sip warm champagne from each other’s glasses, I tuck in and make light work of the marathon chicken, the real reason I attend Wambo weddings. The booze starts to flow, food lines the table, and the good times start to roll. After the Bride and Groom take their leave, things really light up, it’s bust-a-move time, SAKA was well and truly Los!

Watch me whip, now watch me NENE!

Saka as los!

It is 19h30 or later than that, everybody is about to ditch the tent and head into the house. Dahlia Mystique pulls me aside, she’s like, “I need your help, and you need to promise that you’ll help.” And like an idiot, I said yes before she told me what it was. I can’t divulge, I am sworn to secrecy and what not. Let’s just say the only cool thing about being a guy is that when nature calls, we can answer the call standing up, with minimal cover.

It is 20h30, we’ve spent an hour in Dahlia’s car talking about people who used to like each other, amongst other things. A whole hour without arguing, it’s a sign of progress. We inconspicuously reintegrate into the group, it is way past beer o’clock, and some are more inebriated than others. There are 3 splinter groups, I sit with the most sober looking bunch. Conversation starts, ranging from why Coca-cola tastes different on the northern side of the red line, to Caitlyn Jenner, and why society should go fuck itself. In the middle of the controversy is one of the bridesmaids (Tjijandjuea) and my old friend Chicken (I kid you not, dude is named after poultry).

Her name has too many vowels so let’s just call her Controversial Bridesmaid. It’s all good, till Chicken pokes a little too close to home, it turns out that generalizing people’s relationships with society’s expectations is a sure fire way of turning normal talk into flaming debate. The Controversial Bridesmaid wasn’t backing down, and Chicken was insistent on talking rubbish. It was lit! Words flying left to right, back and forth.

So I decided to ask a stupid question, “Who is next?”

Mem! I should have bitten my tongue, it turns out that nobody has to be next, that it is society’s way of pressuring people. Things went from lit to supernova, in seconds. I started thinking that maybe I sat with the wrong group, sure the conversation was stimulating and constructive, but we were at a wedding, surely it should be more drinking and less talking? But it was fun, it was different, did I say it was fun?

It’s almost 22h30. I stumble into Mr Groom, he’s wearing that smug grin that the last 3 grooms I know wore at their weddings. Even in the aftermath he looks way too happy, actually Both Nali and Tshii looked way too happy. See usually in these kind of situations, the couple always look like constipated lizards. Like I said earlier, love is a powerful drug, especially when you’re getting high of your own supply. I ask him why his groomsmen wore 2 different coloured suits.

He responds in usual Tshii fashion, “I just wanted to play around with it.”

Surprisingly, he asks me a question, “Did you have fun?”

I give an honest reply, “I did. Way too much.”

(Who would have thunk it?) I shake Tshii’s hand and say my goodbyes. I’m glad I came, life can pass you by so quickly.

I find Alex, who looks like he has run a marathon, we exchange the customary brotherly embrace, and I leave, departing as I came – following Peter’s grey sedan, what a day!

The Bride and the Groom, looking way too happy.

I realised something incredibly profound while I was driving home. Life is a journey, and there is always a destination. But, sometimes, we fixate so much on the destination that we forget to enjoy the journey. I was doing this whole life thing wrong. Life is a race, you can get caught up in the crowd and sprint through the whole thing, or take you time and run at your own pace. Make sure you savour every kilometre, celebrate every milestone, and derive the maximum joy from every little triumph. Once you get to the finish line, it is curtains, and you will regret the things you were too distracted to enjoy or never did in the first place. Live life the way it’s supposed to be, one day at a time.

But, one question still lingers, who is next? Yes, fuck society, but someone has to go next.