You are at the extreme edge of your sanity and you pretend to be busy taking minutes and doing the stew to rice ratios using complicated calculus formulas.
Next on the agenda is the cake, and the cake service provider wearing a big colourful headscarf is there with photos of her alleged culinary expertise which I can clearly tell are downloaded straight from the internet.
She wins the tender nonetheless with some persuasion of veto powers from the chairman. Further investigations reveal that she is a first cousin to the bride.
The cards printing supplier is next. Despite the fact that the colour theme for this wedding is purple and green (who choses these colours in the 21st century?), the supplier shows up with yellow cards with blue ribbons that are in sharp contrast to the colour campaign .
The bride is obviously livid, but time is running out and it also turns out that the supplier is also her close relative, so the cards are given an uneasy okay.
Meanwhile, the groom’s two brothers who are his only relatives in the meeting and who had travelled all the way from the village have only spoken twice in the entire meeting, seeking clarity as to whether the carrots shall be grated or sliced, and whether there shall be a bus to ferry them to Nairobi on the wedding day.
They only speak in Swahili, and we keenly listen to their important submissions with a lot of patience.
The last agenda item is the photo shoot session. Although the church wedding is being conducted in Rongai, the reception party is happening in Athi River and the photo session is in Thika.
I try to paint a bleak picture regarding the logistical complications that this plan is bound to present, but one glance at the bride and I quickly retract my claws. I even laud the idea as brilliant, but inwardly I am already making plans to skip the wedding and save this county thousands of shillings in petrol.
In the AOB session, the groom beseechs the attendees to give him their vehicles to ferry his big entourage around on the wedding day.
A small piece of paper is passed around for people to pledge their cars for the big occasion.
Although the last time I placed my jalopy on sale it could not fetch more than two hundred thousand shillings, the last thing I expect is for someone to disrespect if by forcing me to pledge its availability on a piece of paper.
My bare minimum is a strong delegation paying me a visit and offering me a big basket full of high end shopping and a large bottle of whiskey before they state their mission.
To save myself from a piercing glare from the Chairman, I scribble down my vehicle registration and make and leave it at that.
Finally, the treasurer takes over.
“We have a budged of Ksh 850k, and so far we have 60k in cash and 110k in pledges, we are doing quite well and we hope to meet our target during our next meeting which shall be the last,” she coos with the confidence of a Wall Street venture capitalist.
She passes more pieces of paper for the attendees to pledge more money for this noble cause.
As the meeting comes to a close with a song about how Paulo and Sila prayed until the prison doors opened, I steal a few glances at the treasurer and I come to the conclusion that she is not so bad after all.
I promise myself to look for her during the wedding's evening party whose venue is still a heavily guarded secret.
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