The Bridesmaid – Back to my Roots by #thegirlfrommbeere

Years back, I received an email from a relative in the United States of America. A big deal for a village girl like me for two reasons; one, to be in the USA, you had boarded a plane and two, you spoke proper English. 

Not different from the letters we received in high school promising us heaven on earth, the email was full of “goodies”. Part of it requested that I send my measurements for a wedding dress because I had qualified to be in the wedding lineup later that year. I started to practice speaking proper English, my friend Jackie volunteered to teach me how to wear makeup, I ensured my hair was braided from then until the wedding date. (The length had to be long enough you know). The journey began, waiting for the dress from America, speaking more English than Kiswahili and Mbeere, wearing block high heels (Nairobi wedding maids wore stilettos), smiling excessively (in readiness for the cameras) and more window-shopping in the right town streets (to have a feel of what the bride might have bought for me). Those were some of my best months in life. One of my village dreams was coming true.

The wedding month and no word from the soon to be bride or her family in Kenya. I consoled myself that the plane was delayed, I had never boarded one by then. The closest I got was a trip to the airport to receive my brother from India after completing his further studies. You see, in Mbeere having a degree back then was prestigious – you even presided a meeting at the baraza where the chief had to recognize you. The whole village won free transport to JKIA courtesy of Mr. Ireri to receive his son. He was the father of a learned child. Amen! My extended family loves to sing and dance during such occasions. We sang to Nairobi and back to the Rwamuringa village. It is at the slopes of Kamagu Hills in Mbeere South District.

Two days to the wedding and Mbandi daughter of Ireri has applied for 2 days leave from Mr. Pringle. I decided to leave my house in Maringo Estate to move in in the prestigious estate. You know the ones that have no matatus, the ones you have to walk a few kilometers to get in, then you have to press a bell at the gate, Yes! You got it right. On arrival, I find out that the bride had already arrived in Kenya a week earlier and enquired her whereabout. I mean, the truth is I want to see my dress more than I want to see the bride. I am informed they left for the salon with the bridesmaids. Ala! What about me? By now you know how this story is ending so let me shorten it.

I patiently waited in the huge mansion practicing how to walk, smile and style my hair in the long full-size mirror. (back in my cubicle in Eastlands, I owned an A4 size mirror). After a whole day of waiting, the bride entered the house, waved at the delegation from Mbeere who were in Nairobi for one job, to dance for the bride. She does not recognize me (don't mind Mbandi, she is tired). Excited, I follow her upstairs but her mother asks to talk to me in the kitchen first. Is this the moment Betty Bayo calls the 11th hour? I am given 3,000 shillings and requested to buy myself a dress for the wedding. Turn of events, the explanation by my was not clear or fun. I had been dropped from the lineup just like that after months of exciting myself. Back then, I did not know what to be "short-changed" meant. I was very excited to receive the cash. The following morning I was on the road to river road street. I got myself my first ready-made outfit, permed my hair, got a shoe and went back happy with my achievements. One thing I can promise you is that I looked very expensive at the back of an open pick up on the wedding day for the church function in Nairobi CBD. The planning committee had not provided transport for everyone so we had to do with what was available. Missing the wedding was not an option.

On arrival at the reception venue later, I and some other relatives were denied entry. Why? we had no invitation cards. Life is not fair we must drive on we console ourselves. After many hours, we were allowed in the 5-star hotel. Congratulations for guessing this right again, we had no seats. We sat on the grass and enjoyed the lovely meals we did not know (githeri was our stable food) and some good music by a band we did not understand what they were singing (there was no opportunity for our traditional dances)

Years later, I got lucky to learn the reasons why I was dropped from the lineup from a staff member of the prestigious home. They were not many, just a few. Mbandi does not know how to wear makeup, Mbandi is not of the same class as the bride, Mbandi will not look good in the wedding photos & Mbandi does not know how to speak good English (we call it English of the nose in the village). What can I say, I had been sentenced.

Lesson

?          Life's Not Fair, Drive On 

Book Recommendation

?          Educated by Tara Westover

Song Recommendation

?          Githe Tiwe Ngai by Phylis Mbuthia