There are some things in life that should be easy to do. Like taking a walk in nature, reading a book, listening to music or cooking a simple meal. (And I don’t mean ugali, mum. That is not a simple meal). To that list, you can add eloping, right?
I mean, how hard can it be? You grab a janitor and a second clueless pedestrian and politely ask (or coerce) them to be witnesses, walk into a judge’s chambers, swear to love your runaway lover till the cows come home, sign on the dotted line, and if you are in the mood for it, you toss a few kilos of rice in the air and pretend you had a royal wedding to rival that of Meghan Markle.
But if you are like me, then you can relate. You, like me, understand what it is to be unlucky in love. That one of your girlfriends used to ask for money from you all the time, until you asked her why you had to pay her every morning before you left for work. Then she told you she was a hooker and she thought were you in on it all along.
That the next girlfriend stayed with you for six blissful months only because you’re a policeman and she’s been working up the courage to ask if she could borrow your gun for an afternoon and swears to hand it back in the evening.
No? So, it’s just me?
I guess my misfortunes must be entirely unique to me because once my fiancée realises that her parents plan to wed her to a complete stranger, she and I decide to elope, only to arrive at the judge’s and discover that her mother beat us to the place.
“Mother!” Sophia shouts in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”
“Judge Wetang'ula gave me a call,” says Mrs Kali. “He and I go way back and he owed me a favour.”
“Several, actually,” the judge says.
“You can’t do this!” I scream in a rare moment of bravado. “You have a sacred duty to uphold the law.”
“No one has broken any laws,” says the judge. “I only mentioned the matter in passing and your mother expressed interest to be a part of your big occasion. That’s all.”
“Like hell, it is.” I’m shaking in my boots, and for once, I’m glad I didn’t bring my weapon along. “No offence, Mrs Kali, but Sophia and I are getting married today, whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t know about you,” Mrs Kali says, “but Sophia can get married if she wants to.”
“What does that even mean?” Sophia asks, rolling her eyes.
“Glad you asked.” Mrs Kali says and then raises her voice. “Stu!”
Through a door walks a strapping young man straight off the cover of GQ magazine, all rock-hard abs and pecs rippling through his clothes.
Mrs Kali puts an arm around him. “Honey,” she says to Sophia, “this is Stu, the boy who’s dying to marry you. Isn’t he cute?”
“Frankly,” Sophia says, her eyes all over the new guy, “I thought you were calling for stew. As in food? Although Stu here does look good enough to eat.” She shakes her head. “What am I saying? Mum, I don’t want to marry Stu or any other Adonis.” She wraps an arm around me. “Makini is my one and only.”
And just like that, Stu starts crying. “I told you she wouldn’t want me!”
Judge Wetang'ula shoots to his feet. “Now see what you’ve done? You’ve made my boy cry.”
I mean, what are the odds, right?