A Blurry Wedding and a Burger
We had made a life-changing decision. Trading in our old life in South Africa for a brand new start in Kenya. It seemed a natural choice, since it was Ami’s home, so why not? Our life in Johannesburg had been hard as a mixed-race couple, and we were both fed up with permit renewals, xenophobic comments, and racism in general. Not a day would go by without it being spoiled by some insensitive comment or action. Don’t get me wrong, South Africa, in general, has changed a lot (for the better), but there was still that ignorant section of society that spoils it for everyone else.
Saying goodbye to our home in Sibiti was gut-wrenching, a place where we had created many fond memories. We had no choice but to leave. Business had been bad, and Ami had resigned from her job because of the way she was treated by her workplace over a permit renewal.
We had an overlap of around three weeks between leaving Sibiti and jetting off to Kenya. We found ourselves with a slightly odd invitation, to say the least. My ex-wife had offered us a place to stay as long as we brought our own beds. I know what you must be thinking, “Did he say his ex-wife?” After much thought and a check on how much alternative accommodation would cost, we accepted with a smidgen of anxiety.
Ami and I, plus the two kids, arrived at our temporary digs with beds and suitcases in tow. We couldn’t help but appreciate the serendipity of our unlikely new living arrangement. Our Kenyan chapter was off to a smooth yet strange start.
About two weeks later and nothing out of the ordinary to report, Ami and I got bees in our bonnets. We had decided that we needed to get married, I forgot to mention that I was not leaving with Ami, I was staying behind for a couple of weeks to finalise everything that still needed to be done.
With only a week until Ami and the kids’ departure, Ami began the quest to find us a registry office and an online lawyer (it’s always last minute .com with us) to write our simple prenup. None of us had any money or assets to speak of, so it was just a simple document stating, “What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is yours!” Anything bought between us, we share.
The only registry office Ami could find with an available time slot just happened to be Krugersdorp Magistrates Court in the west of Gauteng! And what’s surprising about that, you ask. Well, it just happened to be the same registry office where I married my first wife. I think some coincidental twist of fate was at work here!
Ami had already booked the venue, so that was it. It’s off to Krugersdorp Magistrates Court once again, this time with Ami by my side, ready to say “I do” in the same place where I had said it many years before. Marrying the love of my life, and jetting off to the unknowns in Kenya.
We arrived at the courthouse with ten minutes to spare. The ceremony itself, well, let’s just say it was as uneventful as a ceremony can get. You walk in, present your proof of identity, and just like that, you’re answering one question each. “Do you take Ami to be your lawfully wedded wife?” I answered “Yes!” Then it was Ami’s turn, and she presented her ID, facing the same question: “Do you take Brian to be your lawfully wedded husband?” To which she replied “Yes!” And with that, we were officially married.
None of us had a decent camera to record the moment, except my ex-wife, and landlady with a good phone. She stepped up to the plate as our official photographer, to document the wedding of the century. We ended up with six or seven pictures of the entire event. And you won’t believe it, every single one of them was blurry. Still to this day, I’m not sure if my ex-wife did that on purpose.
Our reception was a stopover at the Throbbing Strawberry for a burger and a drink to toast our marriage. As I took a big bite of my burger, I couldn’t help but reflect on the six years it had taken us to tie the knot. I looked across the table at Ami, the Queen, who walked into my DVD store on that day in 2005, altering the course of my life forever. I clutched my dad’s wedding ring that Ami had slipped onto my finger and gave it a kiss, making a silent promise to myself that I would never take the ring off until it is removed from me after my death.
As I looked at my new wife across the table, I felt like the luckiest man in the world. Who cares about the blurry images? I have Ami as my wife. When life’s good, It’s brilliant.
🍔 05–12–2012 💍
Feel free to follow my publication: Harrogate to Kisumu ❤️ or buy me a coffee.
