Till death us do part

Sekuru and Mbuya's routine had changed very little since their wedding on April Fools Day in 1961. Their Diamond Jubilee celebration had snuck upon them. The whole family had kept the secret. So when the couple were told to dress in their Sunday best for a ride that afternoon, they envisaged a few drinks, perhaps a dinner at a nearby restaurant and then back home. They didn't expect to be going to a five-star hotel on the outskirts of town.

They knew something was up when they were greeted in the hotel reception area by very excited grandchildren; all dressed up. One had a large bouquet of roses which she presented to Mbuya. The concierge was all smiles and escorted the couple with their grandchildren up a spiral staircase with lush maroon carpets and chandeliers. Soft music was seeping through from the other side of an imposing large pair of oak doors. The mass of giggling grandchildren surrounded the couple and escorted them into a loud blast of music.

The couple looked at each other and with broad smiles, and shouted in unison, "Our favourite tune played by the African Jazz Pioneers!" The two fell into step and swayed to the music as they entered the large ballroom. The volume went up. There was ululating and clapping. Everyone got up from their dinner tables set for a four-course meal, as Mbuya and Sekuru entered to an overwhelming welcome. Sekuru was grinning relentlessly while looking at his speechless wife holding her handkerchief over her mouth.

"Mum, Dad, come and sit at the top table. You genuinely look as if you were not expecting this surprise!" said Mwadiwa, their eldest son; laughing and hugging his young wife, affectionately. Mwadiwa had recently re-married with a little one on the way.

"Come, come we were waiting for you as the guests of honour and Mum you look like a blushing bride! I am the master of ceremony, and everything is going like clockwork so far."

They wove through the room while Mbuya and Sekuru greeted guests as the music mellowed. The crowd slowly returned to their seats in anticipation of the announcements. Hunger was getting the better of them, especially among the relatives from the rural areas. They had spent hours in uncomfortable long-distance buses which arrived in the city late in the afternoon. Since the funeral of a nephew who had passed away after being critically injured in a drunken brawl over home-brewed shake-shake beer, some had not seen each other and were sharing news in loud excitable voices.

Mwadiwa went to the podium with a microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, comrades and friends!" The crowd burst into laughter. One person shouted above the dim," Who are the comrades you are referring to? We are relatives and friends here!"

Mwadiwa laughed and took a more serious tone.

"You all know why we are here! To celebrate our parents' 60th wedding anniversary! The couple are your grandparents, uncle and aunt, everything to everyone! It's time for speeches. I will ask only one speaker to break the ice. Uncle Desmond, please be brief. We know how you can preach!"

Uncle Desmond, a distinguished-looking elderly man who had come from a border town for his sister's anniversary party, walked to the podium with an exaggerated step which fitted the celebratory occasion. He straightened his tartan bow-tie and grey suit jacket which he wore on such important events and proceeded to welcome everyone. Uncle Desmond talked about first meeting Sekuru in Form One at their local missionary secondary school. Their family was so proud that his sister, Mbuya, and her husband had managed to arrive at 60 years in marriage, which was no mean feat. He mentioned about when Sekuru first came courting. Everyone knew Sekuru was a bright scholar, but no one was impressed with his skinny, impoverished stature. Sekuru could not even put together enough lobola ( bride-wealth) to marry when it came to the crunch. But Mbuya pleaded with her parents not charge too much. Look where they were now!

Uncle Desmond declared that the anniversary couple had made a success of life through hard work, perseverance, love and respect for each other. As successful entrepreneurs, they owned a fleet of luxury buses that travelled cross-border to South Africa and as a sideline, carried freight in the subregion. Unlike some of Sekuru's contemporaries, wealth had not got to his head; where the more money they accrued, the more pseudo-wives and concubines they accumulated. Mbuya and Sekuru were still together with two unspoilt children who had studied abroad and returned to give to their motherland. Uncle Desmond explained that although the couple were now grey-haired and nearing retirement, they had invested in a large residential property in the northern suburbs. What a success story to emulate! The uncle thanked his two nephews, Mwadiwa and his sibling, for arranging such a wonderful feast in a five-star hotel, where some guests would have died before entering such lush surroundings.

As Uncle Desmond took a sip, Mwadiwa interrupted him since it was now clear the alcohol was speaking. Uncle Desmond was enjoying his speech more than the audience, which was beginning to fidget after eating dessert. Some had gone for repeats and were now lounging in their chairs like beached whales. Bored grandchildren started chasing each other among the tables, a recipe for disaster. Mwadiwa thanked his uncle and called on his father to make a speech before the vote of thanks. Mwadiwa then escorted his mother onto the stage and adjusted the microphone for his father before giving last-minute instructions and reverting to his seat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, relatives and friends. I am not sure where to start." Sekuru, who was reacting to the floodlight in his face, squinted as he wiped his brow and loosened his tie. He continued, "You won't mind if I sit down. I'm not as young as I used to be. Mwadiwa, my son, help me with this microphone."

There was a low murmur as people watched the proceedings before Sekuru resumed in an emotion-filled voice.

"When Mwadiwa came to fetch us this afternoon, we thought we were going to his house and lo and behold here we are. We are both very pleased that this evening's celebration is ending in your company. It's like our wedding all over again, except we would never have been able to afford all this splendour. I know you all want to hear how we survived 60 years of marriage. I met Mbuya at secondary school, as Uncle Desmond mentioned. I think I began noticing her when she came to watch football matches against rival schools in our league. Both Uncle Desmond were fast forwards in our heydays when we were quick and agile. I noticed her, a pretty girl among her friends, cheering on the side-lines. Desmond encouraged our courtship because I was initially afraid to date the sister of my best friend. Funny I had never really noticed her before!" A burst of laughter erupted in the room as Mbuya tried to hide her embarrassment.

Sekuru continued, "In those days, there were no cellphones, and we could not use phones willy nilly. We also didn't have the pocket money for visits, when Mbuya went to college. So our relationship was on a slow burner for years. We stole chances to be together during the holidays. I would visit Mbuya under the guise of spending time with Desmond. I am sure initially he was not convinced I had honourable intentions. One thing led to another, and as Desmond told you, I decided to marry the love of my life. I knew I didn't have enough money for the dowry. Our family were poor, and my father worked as a petrol attendant, which paid very little in those days, certainly not enough to support a family of my five siblings. So I made sure I paid enough dowry for a first instalment and promised to work and pay off the rest. In our culture, you all know that the son in law does not pay the dowry all at once. It's a lifetime hire purchase! I can now share this story because there are no consequences at my age. Our secret was that Mbuya helped me pay off the instalments through the years as we had our two boys and built up our business. By the time her parents passed away, we could even afford to take them on holiday to various resorts abroad. God rest their souls."

"Back to our story. We had a simple wedding, and I believe when we said our vows to each other, we meant it, 'Till death do us part.' We meant it. My wife and I have come a long way and don't think it was a leisurely ride! I'm sure you remember that Mbuya and I lost a child when we were still newly married. That was devastating. Then we lost my parents, who never enjoyed the fruits of our businesses. I regret not seeing the pride in my father's eyes.

There were times when we also had disagreements, Mbuya and I. But we never spent more than a day before we made up. Mbuya has always been the steady hand both in the home and in the business. She worked as the accountant and whatever profits we made; we planned our spending together. Not like the youngsters these days who have separate bank accounts and talk about 'my money.' It was always our money. We planned things together, didn't we, Mbuya? We were careful not to allow people to get between us, not even the children. That's how marriages fall apart.

Sometimes grief comes not from our friends, but our vices. Well, what I can call evils such as spending one's life in mists of alcohol and drugs. I am not saying that I had no vices myself, but, everything should be done in moderation. In conclusion, the family, especially my wife, will always come first. Thank you all for coming to celebrate this special day."

Mwadiwa started approaching the rostrum while trying to catch his father's eye, as Sekuru became energised, "I can spend all evening talking about Mbuya and how she has been the woman behind the man, the mother to our children."

Sekuru wiped his brow with his handkerchief as the room became silent. Trying to control his raw emotions, he continued, "This woman beside me, has been my best friend since I first met her. She has put up with a lot. Every family occasion, whether births, weddings or funerals, she has been the number one daughter in law; organised, efficient and loving all in one. I could not have made a better choice of a lifelong companion."

Sekuru paused and began a slow return to his wife who was dutifully still on the stage; took her hands and then folded her in a bear hug to the acclaim of the crowd which began to shout, whistle and make a dim in celebration. Some of Sekuru's age mates came to him and shook his hand and embraced him. They respectfully shook Mbuya's hand as their wives came to join them. There was an overwhelming pouring of sentiment as the couple returned to their table.

Mwadiwa, now back in control at the podium, turned to his mother, "Mum, are you not going also to make a speech? It's your day! A few words? I take it the shaking of the head means No? OK. Everyone, now that your champaign glasses are filled, let's toast to the wonderful couple. To my parents, your Sekuru and Mbuya, thank you so much for sharing your love story of 60 years! We wish that many of us could last that long in marriage."

The room exploded in celebration as the music returned. People were engrossed in exchanging anecdotal stories about how youngsters these days are getting married and divorcing, even within a year! Some said, "What we heard about today is true love."

Mwadiwa called the room to order and added a few words to close the speeches, "My brother and I are witnesses to our parents' love and a result of this happy couple. We've never heard our parents quarrel, well not in front of us and they always remind us about the need to love one another and do good! Congratulations once again and if we could, we would not have chosen better parents!"

The evening wore on as the DJ played rhumba and a myriad of local artists for the younger crowd. People continued making requests for their favourite songs of yesteryear. The anniversary couple took to the dance floor for one or two of their favourite numbers. They continued mingling among their guests, celebrating their life together, in anticipation of a few more decades till death parted them.