Father, I Want Your Daughter.

Two of my friends feel they are ripe for marriage. They are joining my growing list of fallen soldiers. I think, in a while I will be the only man standing, not for long though. So in a span of three days we had two ‘Kumenya mucii’ loosely translated as going to meet the girl’s family. It felt like the crowded December period where premier league teams play every three days. 

The first on was easy,well, sort of. We had been going to the girl’s place since forever. The parents know us. But we were anxious. This was not like any other visit we had made before. We hoped it was going to be a walk in the park. It went on well. The second tail tucker. Only three of us had met the father of the girl. It was going to be a mountain.

First date. We were given a Sunday afternoon appointment.

Such appointments weigh you down, you have to put your best foot forward. What your small delegation does will be read as your character. They are meant to be your inner circle.  We were dressed respectfully, straight khaki pants, polished shoes and meticulously ironed and tucked shirts. If you show up in jeans, it might be seen as a sign of disrespect. Too casual to be taken seriously. But the Ninja of the day showed up in a t-shirt. Would you believe that, a t-shirt? Maybe he knew something we didn’t.

We had fun, and ate a lot of good food. One of the guys over ate. Three rounds. He said he hadn’t had hi usual Sunday brunch. Now I don’t know what our friend’s future in laws think. But thankfully, the man of the moment behaved. Talked only when beckoned to talk and smiled through the whole sessions. This was such a smooth meeting. All of us were not strangers to the house. They knew, they suspected. Scratch that. They knew why we always visited. This was just a formality. The dad was chilled out. There was no doubt who was in charge though. Silent power.  Before we left, the dad gave us his blessings; “It is ok, tell your parents they are free to visit us, and if I may add, we intend to make the process as smooth as possible.” Boy child was in cloud nine. The battle was quarter won.

Our second appointment was a dinner date; - Sunday lunch dates are better. People are in a state of grace; filled with the spirit from the Sunday sermon- now, dinners are scary. So many things go wrong under the cover of darkness. We got there on time. When invited for such meetings, you do not show up early or late. If you are too early it might be read as a sign of aggression. If you are late, that’s disrespectful and you do not want that. In laws (I am told) are sensitive people. Especially the girl’s. No man wants to see her baby girl leave the nest. And it is worse when the dude shows signs of irresponsibility.

We met by the boys of the house, two young boys around four and seven. Confident to a fault. They reminded me growing up in the village. When guests showed up, we would hide behind the house. Too shy and sometimes didn’t know -especially when the guests were from Nairobi and they spoke in English. Nairobi people speaking English in shagz didn’t start now- what to say. But not the little men. They were not cowed by our presence. One of the boys handed us ‘tickets’ to the ‘party’. Seems the dad had briefed him he was going to have a ball, with us. We later learnt that he is a budding musician. At seven, he can play the piano and vary his voice. At seven, I was feeding cows.

Twenty minutes later, the man of the house hadn’t showed up. He was still upstairs rehearsing his prose. Hehe. Power play I tell you.

When you are sitting there, your mind is working on overdrive. Are we not welcome? Are we sitting where the man of the house sits? Is there a CCTV and they are simply observing how we are behaving? When he showed up together with the wife, we all stood up, he greeted us with a firm handshake; such a manly greeting.

In their living room, there’s no doubt who’s in charge. There is a small ‘throne’ with two high back seats and a mahogany side table in between. Reminded or the President’s and First Lady’s seats. And that is intimidating, he was already at a higher place and strategically placed to see all of us. My pal started shaking. It was funny when he was told to say something, though he is always confident, his voice was so shaky. Thankfully, he said all the right things.

After dinner, for the next three hours he (man of the house) spends time telling us how to be men in a world where men have lost their place. He told us how far he has come navigating life in Nairobi from Mathare to Lavington. He didn’t take a bus, he didn’t walk, he crawled (something many young people nowadays don’t want to do. They want it now) meaning it took him a long time to get there.18 years to be precise. He told us two things, as a man you must know. Like you should not be clueless. You might be struggling but you must have a vision: where you want to go. And two, you must hustle hard. After all, we have a hustler for a deputy President. Hehe. All this while when he was talking to us, his 15-year-old son was there. Not at one time did he address him, he talked to us, but I could tell he was talking to his son through us. A brilliant chap.

The guy had great sound bites like “Nairobi is an equalizer.” A concrete jungle if you may. Now he has gone up the food chain. He still has aspirations to go higher. He started off with a bagful of clothes and a one room in Mathare area 4. Now if he was to be herded back to Nakuru (to his father’s home), he would need several containers to take them back home. Together with his wife and his four generals. The 15 y.o who is so composed for his age even adolescence has nothing on him. The 13 y.o who we didn’t get to meet because he was out somewhere becoming a man, more of starting the journey of manhood. The 7 y.o who is the life of the house and the darling of the mother and the 4 y.o who is too gangster to hug daddy goodnight. He made me wonder what 4 y.os discuss in school. Must be something like, “real men don't hug their fathers, they give firm handshakes. Right buddy? Right!”

Before we left, he asked the wife to pray, he then prayed. But he told us we also needed to go see his Mzee. He is the head of the family. Before he can say a full yes, we need to make a trip to Nakuru and tell to his old man. We are thrown off a bit. What do you tell an old man that you want his granddaughter? Will he see us as perverts? Will he ask questions we cannot answer? And no matter what we say, will he punch holes into them because of the wisdom of age?

Two weeks later, we made the dreaded trip to Nakuru. We arrived late. We had broken rule number one, and they reminded us as much. Before we left, we apologized.

When we finally settled to have the dreaded conversation, again, they (the grandfather and the wife) took a vantage point.

Again, the man of the house took charge. He spoke with a soft but assured tone. He was not in a rush. He knows that life is a marathon, he is probably three quarter way. He has learnt to slow down. He gave us a testimony. He remembers when he got saved. The exact same day and how the Lord called him. The wife did the same.

They are the first generation of born again Christians in Kenya. The Paul’s of our generation. They struggled to break away from the tradition and paid a heavy price, including rejection by the family. Now we take Christianity for granted. They don’t. They live in obedience.

We finally tell them why we are there. One of us would like to as their granddaughter’s hand in marriage. They say they have no objection. But he mentions that they must observe purity until the last day. God’s is honored when people do that. Again, when we asked to leave, he prayed for us. Like father like son. Apples and trees.

In all the three meetings a word kept popping up, ‘respect.’ In their words, it is an honor when a young man goes to ask for their daughter’s hand in marriage. Men, shall we keep the honor then? And take care of the ladies.

Image source: youtube.com/bestmarriageproposal2016