The Stolen Shine
Guys, it shouldn’t be misconstrued that I’m being penchant to rants lately. I only intend to inoculate you about the nugget of lessons stemming from the post “I do” rituals. They are somehow serving as a substitute for the mouthwatering jollof rice you badly missed. So bear with me. “Ani nyɛnu lo”?
Maybe those who opined that ‘life begins and ends with women’ are right. This is because the world of women is designed with pangs of artfulness. They mean to point at the vivacious affair we do have with our daughters, sisters, aunties, mothers, and grandmas. Genuinely, you’d agree with them that the aforesaid individuals are irreplaceable in our lives. That’s the truth.
Before the sad demise of my auntie, under whose nurturing I learnt about life skills, I can recollect providing essential services to her, and I didn’t take any fixed amount as a salary. My goodness. After her burial, it became plain that I’m done with the service I used to render her. Then a miracle happened, as my status got elevated from a proud bachelor to a conscious responsible boy-man. You’d need to know that any time we get the beautiful accolade “mister”, it’s followed by daunting tasks — hectic responsibilities.
I’m not saying I’m startled. I can even assure you that I’ve not wept woefully. That said, aside my job as an errand boy at home, I’m also the zipping officer — interlocking the back buttons/zips whenever she puts on Kaba & Slit or any garment which needs zipping at the back. Ironing her dresses is down my throat too. The only difference between this conjugal service and that which I provided some twenty years back was applying powder and pomade at the back of my auntie, in addition. Even with my auntie’s, I could, perhaps, evade it when I had a football match to play. The same could not be said about the current service I’m discharging; it’s “compulsorily by force”. (Inside marriage things.)
Never have I hitherto caught a capper out of this anywhere, safe today. Why? My shine is being stolen. Thus, I’m getting emasculated; don’t I look effeminate? See, I deliberately changed wardrobe some few days to the marriage event. I wanted to look good, not at home but to work and everywhere I go. Those who got to know me, say five years ago, are likely to describe me as very furtive — that I don’t want to be noticed so I always put on simple things — something like one normal dress, and case gets closed. That’s too good to be true though. I’ve carefully mimicked Tupac, Nas, Jay Zee, Eminem, Kanye West, and Marquees Houston before. Learning their lyrics, and trying to dress them. (Ahahahaha Ahahahaha. I’m laughing like a crocodile)
So when I first took a picture of my new look post marriage, I was overwhelmed per the compliments I had to swallow. Among the many comments I received, the most notable one was, “marriage has changed you.” Like marriage has embellished me (Oh, how?). And any time they issue this word of felicitation, they won’t end it until loads of credit have been given to my partner. Just today, I chanced on some colleagues from the training school who were in their well ironed white uniforms. They halted me and, all they could also say was, “hey Rahman, marriage has styled you. You’re looking charming. Are you a model?” This is all because they’ve seen me in suit, kaki with some nice long sleeves, and a timberland branded shoe. The truth is they had not seen me in that outfit before so I’ll give them a benefit of the doubt.
After moving some 300 meters away from them, I met one of my female bosses. She spoke of how long it’s been. I’ve moved from the office she used to work so she hardly sees me. In furtherance of her reservation, and to my surprise, she unequivocally yelled, “wow, you need to give me your wife’s number. She is doing marvelously well. Look at the way she has dressed you. Rahman, you are looking very gentle. Tell your wife that I said she’s doing well.” I reciprocated her flattering remarks with “thank you, boss”. And I went my way with a peaceful pain.
Here and now, I’ve been reflecting about marital life. With this little hypothesis, I don’t know if I’d be right to say that ‘God loves women more than men’. Because (see o) I bought my own dress. I did my own ironing. I wore it without anybody zipping my back. In fact, I polished my own shoe. And I put on my spectacles. Even yesterday I went to the barber to have my hair cut alone. I was the one who asked for that stylish haircut. So why is the credit going to my wife? (I feel cheated). Yet, when she appears, her well wishers give credits to her without referencing me, safe when it’s raining. This life isn’t balanced at all. How can my star be stolen like that? Men, our lives do matter!
The bachelors I have in my list who keep mirroring their nuptial day, you’d have to be fully geared up.
You can see the way my words are crying raucously. Those who develop pot belly after marriage go through a lot. Be rest assured that if you’re egoistic, irascible, armstrong, nerdy, apathetic, marital life will expose you flawlessly. So when you think about the flamboyant marriage ceremony, allocate another energy to ways and means to put life into your marriage after the event. Do this and, thank me later.
By Abdul Rahman Odoi
Posted by: Abdul Rahman Odoi