Free Abyssinian Chronicles by Moses Isegawa Page A

expectation. It would be a free-for-all, with everyone dancing or singing along; diehards cursing, catcalling, ferreting for quick sex or fighting, and the remaining old people retiring to make room for youthful excesses. The drummers struck the drums and the fiddlers rubbed the fiddles with great vigor, charged by the food, the beer and the full-throated cheers from the crowd. The bride could have tossed everyone into hellfire, if only to wipe the all-knowing glint from the eyes directed at her. The quick ones had already heard that she had been a virgin, and the drunken imaginings of blood and tight sex seemed to have made them bolder, more provocative.
    Serenity was on the same wavelength with the crowd. He was so confident and so happy that he ignored the fire from the deep cuts on his glans. He enjoyed the attention and the congratulations he got from friends, relatives and strangers who came up onto the dais to shake his hand and whisper a few words in his ear. Their excessive politeness reminded him of his father at the height of his power. For a moment he even thought about campaigning for the post of clan land administrator. This was a dream away from the gap-toothed cheers of his pupils on parade or at the football pitch. The wave thrust him into the center of a hot political rally, with the loudspeakers booming, the politicians shouting and the crowd intoxicated with promises of a better life. Independence was approaching, and something coming off the imaginary rally crowd told him that he could not miss out on this chance of a lifetime. All the drumming, the singing, the dancing and the obsequious congratulations told him one thing: to grab the chance and better himself.
    Serenity got up as two dancers approached the dais with waists gyrating, bellies jiggling, legs spread wide in anticipation of one of those spectacular splits which cramped amateur leg muscles. He went down to meet them, and they smothered him with bad-woman smiles. They thrust their dancerly pelvises at him, simulating copulation at its hardest and most playful. He shook fluidly, as they grabbed his armsand quivered as if the earth were coming off its hinges. Then, raising their legs as if they were male dogs with cramped thigh muscles attempting to piss on a high section of pole, they quivered their withdrawal. The bride could have shot the whole lot. She could also have shot Serenity for taking off his coat, tying it round his waist, following the dancers and almost tripping over the straw on the booth floor. He was a bad dancer, too stiff, too inelegant, but since he was the groom, the man responsible for the extravaganza, the crowd cheered. He was floating on a new wave, intoxicated with a new daredevil spirit unwitnessed before. He was not sure about the origin of this blaze, and he didn’t want to pry too much for the fear of losing it or frightening it away. He hoped, as he pranced, that it had something to do with the rubies, and nothing to do with that magic touch on his shoulder. He was swallowed up by the crowd. They started pouring beer all over him, thrusting banknotes into his pockets and lifting him high in the air. All the drums seemed to be throbbing and thundering in his head. Grandpa was ecstatic. He swayed like a drunken dancer. Tiida and Nakatu were dancing, and shouting for good measure. Grandma was waving a scarf in the air to the rhythm of the song.
    The last person he saw was Nakibuka, the officiating bridal aunt, disrobing him, washing the beer, puke and grime off him and ultimately leading him to bed.
    Weddings were notorious for their anticlimaxes, and if the evidence outside Serenity’s house was anything to go by, something of a small disaster had insinuated itself into the jubilations. There was so much vomit outside the booth and on the veranda and in the road that if it hadn’t been too ridiculous to think that some plotter had paid people to vomit, Serenity would readily have believed that there was somebody