Marriage and being single may be compared to the situation immediately after the separation of India and Pakistan with Muslims headed to the latter and Hindus and Buddhists to the former.
The two groups used different routes as much as they could and when in close proximity some pelted stones and pieces of rock at the other not because they hated the individuals they tried to harm but blind prejudice and ignorance took the better of them.
While some people are bitterly trying to divorce from the people who once made their hearts pump faster others are having sleepless nights getting trapped in the thing called marriage.
None of the two groups can be said to use reason in their pursuits but blind chemicals in the part of their brains far removed from the part that reasons.
Once in a while the two groups pelt not stones but words at the other group and the unfortunate Kashmiris who I guess prefer to remain unmarried. Prejudice forces both groups to assume the responsibility for guiding and protecting the Kashimirs.
Now that Datiliva and I are already into this thing called marriage I have already crossed the Rubicon and will neither encourage nor discourage others from matters marital.
Whether you listen to your heart or your sight; may you enjoy the results of your decision.
The union between my Datiliva (not existent) and I is comparable to the terrain in North Western Rwanda; when I think we have reached the Karisimbi peak in our relationship then comes the steep descent into deep valleys of zero reason before the painful ascent to rationality and the cycle continues.
My teacher used to say that the mountains were formed as a result of hot magma bubbling in the earth’s crust and when a vent was found through rock strata on to the earth’s surface, hot lava flowed forming mountains and valleys.
I think there is unreleased magma inside the head of my dearest Datiliva (she prefers being called Mrs. Datiliva, like many Rwandan women, reasoning that adopting a maiden name lowers the status of women) and when the bubbling intensifies our small abode resembles the aftermath of a seven point on-the- Richter -scale earthquake.
Fate at times behaves like those old refugee camp commandants; I have in mind Ssemwanga and his assistant Oluwoch. When refugees lined to get donated used clothes (it was said) from dead Bazungus (whatever killed them?) Ssemwanga would throw a woman’s bra at a young man, a man’s trouser at a seven year old girl, a woman’s skirt at a gray haired man, a woman’s boxer at a teenage boy and a man’s shirt at a toothless old woman.
No amount of pleading would make Ssemwanga see reason and Oluwoch would shove away those who had got “clothes” to leave the place.
So barter trade would ensue; a woman who had got a trouser would be searching for a skirt held by an elderly gentleman who might be looking for a coat held by a girl interested in a blouse and many times the trading failed.
Well, when I went looking for a wife I had in mind a truly voluptuous bundle of African passion with delicate frame, big bust and behind, secret strength and long round legs but fate threw at me my dear Datiliva and like Matata sang eyes in love do not see properly.
My signature at commune like Oluwoch tells me I have already had my share and should move on. I hear Bazungu want women fitting my Dearest’s description but how do I barter my Datiliva even if the muzungu is married to the woman of my choice? He may instead fancy me.
My happiest time in our abode is when visitors visit seldom as they do; then my Datiliva puts on a show of grace and elegance I only dreamt of in a wife.
She remains charming until visitors make the first bend from our home and then, like theatrical lighting fading to nothingness, humor and charm flushes out of the face of my Datiliva and gloom rules till the next visitor comes along.
My Datiliva says that we should keep company of the rich and politically powerful which partly explains the source of our gloom; the rich and politically powerful are never happy as they crave for more and more and more.
Whatever stalked the political magma in her head I will never know but my Datiliva has decided to join politics reasoning that less deserving people than her were elected to political positions and big offices and she must prepare her entrance into politics now.
Like other acts of nature, nothing will dissuade the magma in her head; even my warning that no politician will enter heaven, albeit they will see its gates, went unheeded.
First she said that to be seen to be truly fit for a political office she needed to stop “padding” and squeezing into taxis and needed a “family car”.
Knowing our financial standing I opposed the idea but on my return from work the other day a rusty tin box of a Suzuki was packed in front of our rented house.
She proudly announced that although our joint bank account was depleted to four digits we could no longer be underrated.
Then she said I needed to get a bank draft so we could pay rent, buy fuel and new tires for “our vehicle”. Just when we put on new tires the Suzuki like Biblical Balaam’s donkey decided to stop and refused to move any further.
It was later towed to our doorstep and now I use the back door so I do not see it.
I have reason to believe that whoever drafted the marriage laws had such beautiful wife he was afraid she would elope with other men or a terribly ugly daughter he was afraid she would be divorced the day after she was wedded.
Else why make it so hard for two people once so mad in love to part as voluntarily as they came together later when the going gets sticky? When two people are attracted towards each other it is their business and it should remain so when the magnetism disappears.
No one can imagine my joy if some magma in Datiliva’s head bubbled, borrowed a leaf from one famous lady and said, ‘Good morning honey.
I am sorry I cheated on you the other day and I think I no longer love you! Would you mind if we divorced? You do not need to worry about divorce settlements‘.
But the law insists we share the natural wealth, acquired wealth and all the types of wealth I did not know we had, which stops me from mentioning the word divorce.
Do not get me wrong; I love my dearest Datiliva.