I love my wife. This is not a scientific fact but an emotional reality. I love her so much that I have already been married to her four times, and there are still three wedding ceremonies to go.
Here is the genesis of my love story: There are two versions of how I met my current wife. Let’s call her Professor D. The first version, possibly more revolutionary, says that we met in the underground of the African National Congress (ANC) in the late 1990s. The second version, perhaps closer to the truth, is that we met in 2001 after of the brutal attack on my late brother. Both versions have some elements of truth. Yes, she was an ANC activist and served in the same ANC structures as me. We attended similar events and shared similar networks, but the truth is that we never recognized each other in all those encounters. Here’s the thing; I was so overwhelmed by the white comrades that my eyes were probably on someone else.
Our second meeting was more dramatic. He came to give me the worst news that my brother, who had been missing for three days, was actually dying in a hospital. He had woken up from a coma and remembered a varsity phone number from his then graduate supervisor: yes, my current wife is a nerd. That’s how he came looking for me at the Durban University of Technology to give me news. Unfortunately, my brother didn’t make it. He passed away on March 31, 2001.
However, something happened the day we were writing my brother’s obituary. I narrated and Professor D. typed. The more I told him about my brother’s story, the more little things about me he mentioned to him. Once the obituary was completed, we firmly established that we did, in fact, know each other back then in the trenches of the ANC underground.
After the funeral I met with her to convey the family’s thanks for the work she had done for our dear brother and the grieving family. This was supposed to be the last meeting, but something happened. I remember sitting in her car completely enchanted by this woman. I was attracted to her by her dignified beauty, her courteous nature, and her abundance of kindness. It was clear to me that I had to keep talking to her or my only chance to save anything would be gone in seconds. At some point, we hugged to say goodbye, and then something extraordinary happened: we kissed. We kiss over and over again. I was so overwhelmed by this historical moment that I shed a tear. I knew intuitively then that he was in love. In that instant, she literally “took my grief and pain and buried it.” To this day, the melody of Brandi Carlile’s song “Hiding My Heart Away” resonates in my head, with a twist, of course. She goes like this: “It was in the darkest of my days when you suddenly blew me away, blew me away.” Later that day we went out for a couple of drinks and parted on good terms. This was the start of a whirlwind romance that has lasted sixteen years and counting. Just three months after our first kiss from her, I moved in with her as a tenant. The story of how this tenant became a landlord is the stuff of legends for another day.
Our first marriage was low key. We got married at the post office. Yes, you can marry someone at the post office without even knowing anything about it. This is despite the fact that we were both poorly prepared for our first marriage. Our plan was simpler: get an affidavit confirming that I was living with her. This was a requirement for me to be listed on her medical aid. In all honesty, all we needed was an official seal from the Commissioner of Oaths. Our Oath Commissioner, clearly a man of some reputation, studied the forms and an affidavit with a fine-toothed comb. He didn’t water down his words: “Do you understand what you’re getting into? Are you ready to marry by law? At first, we laughed, then we realized, we weren’t ready for the legal consequences.” of a legal agreement to live as a couple. We calmed down and confirmed that we did understand the consequences. He sealed the affidavit and signed it, soon we left as a married couple. We had a good laugh outside the post office and sealed it with a kiss.
Our second marriage was very serious and formal. We went to the Mauritius High Court in Port Louis to swear before a judge that we did know the legal consequences of our marriage. We also had to dress so that there was no impediment to our nuptials. We were duly married in terms of Mauritian and international law.
Our third marriage was more fun under the open sky at the beach hotel in Mauritius. The marriage official explained the reason thus: “It is appropriate, therefore, that this wedding of Bhekisisa and Professor D be in the open air, where we are close to the earth and to the oneness of life, the totality of beings.” alive of which we are part”.
So we did the radical thing of making our own vows: “I, Bhekisisa, take it, Professor D, as my friend and love, by my side and apart from me, in laughter and tears, in conflict and calm, asking that you not be other than yourself, loving what I know about you, trusting what I don’t know yet, in all the ways life can find us.” There was no usual line: “Now you can kiss the bride.” However, we couldn’t escape the kissing part: we kissed in front of a small audience of tourists from all over the world. Then we did another revolutionary act by taking our wedding photos in the tranquility of the Indian Ocean. It was total happiness. No guests. No priest. No problem. The only official witness was our three-year-old daughter, Miss N.
Our fourth marriage was at our home in Durban, a few weeks after Mauricio’s tour. We had about 50 guests. It was jovial and amber liquids flowed. We convinced ourselves that we had done enough wedding ceremonies to last a lifetime. In fact, we mistakenly thought we were completely gone. We were wrong.
Before the trip to Mauritius, I proudly informed my family that I was getting married. I apologized that they couldn’t come due to the exorbitant costs. Upon my return, I duly went home to report the good news in person. My father stunned me. He was furious. He told me to my face that I was not married. “When did we kill a cow to ask the ancestors for a blessing for this so-called marriage? When was umembeso? In Zulu culture, umembeso is when the groom’s family brings gifts to the bride’s family to thank the gift of their new bride. daughter-in-law. The groom’s family is greeted by the bride’s father with the sound of singing and ululating as one family loses one daughter and another wins. My mother, not to be outdone, asked politely, “When is the white wedding? ” ?”
The drawback of the entire Zulu version of the marriage ritual is that it assumes a posture of being a superior culture. According to my parents’ narrative, unless I model my marriage on them, I’m not married. But here there is a clash of cultures. My wife is English. She is the daughter of a French Mauritian father and an English-speaking mother. She was born in Durban. She doesn’t believe in white weddings. She refuses to have anything to do with a wedding ceremony in which the slaughter of poor cows and goats happens in any way. She has no relationship or knowledge of the whole thing of her ancestors. I don’t believe in white weddings. I do not have financial resources for a fanciful ancestral blessing of my marriage.
However, I owe my parents and the town where I was born two wedding ceremonies: the traditional wedding and the white wedding. Oh, we haven’t registered our marriage with the South African Home Office either. I guess there are three more wedding ceremonies on the horizon.
