The Sunday News
Mzana Mthimukhulu Lighterside
A FRIEND of mine almost died on his chair. It was understandable. The scene before us would have caused even Nelson Mandela to break down, weep uncontrollably and slip away to save himself the embarrassment of collapsing in church.Of all people, a pastor was responsible for the state of affairs. “You may,” the pastor had told the groom, “kiss the bride.”
Let Matshadisa be the name of my friend. Matshadisa was the father of the bride. His jaw almost dropped to the ground following the pastor’s commandment. “Shuwa, not now,” Matshadisa muttered to himself. “In front of all these people?”
In Matshadisa’s world, any physical contact in public between members of the opposite sex is frowned upon. As for kissing, it is taboo. This practice is a curtain-raiser to a much more intimate activity and should only be carried out in private, behind closed doors. How dare then could this so-called man of God order his daughter to be kissed in public?
Lest you think my friend is some country bumpkin whose only pleasure is admiring and counting his cattle, kindly be advised that Matshadisa boasts a Master’s degree in modern studies and is an internationally respected culture guru. He regularly presents highly subscribed papers at international forums.
Matshadisa concedes that times have changed and “as a people we must not be left behind”. He, therefore, tolerates kissing as the finale to the exchange of marriage vows. “But,” he explained at one of the preparatory meetings for his daughter’s wedding, “The kiss must be done in a respectable manner. I expect just a peck on the cheek, taking no longer than a dragon fly’s touch of the river water.”
Clearly, the groom was not on the same wavelength with his future father-in-law. His face lit up following the pastor’s invitation to kiss the bride. He playfully stretched out his neck and smiled. Like a bull at the cattle dip tank itching for a fight, he kicked back his right foot and got closer to his bride. The congregation loved it. Delightful squeals, whistles and cheers filled the church.
Matshadisa squirmed in his chair and felt his heart beat faster. He glanced sideways appealing for support from his wife but with sparkling eyes, she looked straight ahead not wanting to miss a second of this exciting moment.
Matshadisa prayed that the floor open up and swallow him. “Embarrassment is worse than death,” he said to himself as he closed his eyes. When he opened them, horror of horrors, the groom’s lips were hurtling like a heat-seeking missile towards his daughter’s mouth.
The missile was just the length of a finger away from its target. Matshadisa hated the sight and sound of explosions. Hand on his heart, he gasped and turned back. Scores of pairs of eyes were staring at him. He swung back seeking refuge at the altar. The groom’s lips were resting on his daughter’s. Matshadisa wished he could immediately ascend to heaven and quit this sinful earth.
The congregation’s cheers lent wings to the pastor. His face beamed like that of a challenger who has just floored the world heavyweight boxing champion. “May all married couples please stand up,” he urged. Several couples obeyed. Relieved that the kissing session was over, Matshadisa stood up. His wife was still smiling when she also stood up.
“In solidarity with the newlyweds,” the pastor continued. “All married couples proceed to kiss each other.” Matshadisa grabbed his wife by the wrist and marched out, dragging her along. “We will come back when basic decency returns to this church.”
Matshadisa is not alone in suffering the kiss embarrassment syndrome. Another friend tells me that he sees nothing wrong when white people kiss each other on the screen. “It is their culture,” my friend explains. “I understand. But when it is blacks, sorry, I find it all wrong, even vulgar. I don’t mind black dancers swing their hips and wriggling their bottoms in a sexually suggestive manner but to watch blacks kiss, hayi bo! I look away in embarrassment. It is just not right.”
The last time I saw Matshadisa, he was a confident and excited man. “Don’t mourn, mobilise,” he said, “is my resolution for the year. I am putting the final touches on a paper I will present at a traditional chiefs’ meeting next Monday.”
“The title of the paper is,” he continued, “the case for post-wedding penalties. Parliament must pass a law that if a groom embarrasses his in-laws at a wedding, the initial lobola agreed upon should be reviewed upwards. The law will be applied retrospectively. That son-in-law of mine will not get away with what he did to me.
Further, if a pastor goes above and beyond the call of duty, he must be suspended from conducting marriage vows for at least a year. Some pastors are easily excitable and are a danger to society.
“I have already sounded the gist of the paper to some chiefs and they are enthusiastic about it. The public is invited and so I expect you at the presentation.”
“Count me in,” I said.
Well dear reader, are you not coming?
