About a year before I reported to high school, while still a student at Munyeki, my older sister decided to get married. She was having a real church wedding not the other kind everybody called “uhiki wa mabebe-ini” translation “wedding in the maize fields” the city folks later called it “come we stay”.
Well, my sister was not having any of that, so the planning kicked into high gear. A lady came home to take my measurements. The only other person who had my measurements was Ng’atho, our clothes “designer” in OlKalou town. I wondered what the measurements were for, but I did not ask. We never asked questions, it was considered rude, so I just stood up straight like a soldier like Ng’atho had taught us over the years and the lady left.
Finally, a beautiful Maxi dress with flayered sleeves was brought for me to try on. I had never seen anything like it. The fabric was soft and smooth to the touch. The design was modern, I felt like a princess when I wore it. That was a misguided feeling because I may have felt like a princess, but I did not look like one.
Consider this: I was a thin eleven year old who was already over five feet tall, with most of the height concentrated in my legs. I looked like a circus clown on stilts (nginyangi) or an awkward baby giraffe. My regular hairstyle was a clean shaven head, thanks to my parents convincing me over the years that life was much “easier” with no hair to manage. At this point my hair was starting to grow out forming some clustered stubs all over my head. A regular wooden comb (gicanuri kia muti), the only kind we had back then, could not blend the clusters together well enough to look combed. It may take a wooden hair brush with short bristles (kahari) to bring the clusters together for a half decent look. That was one problem.
Then there were the huge cracks in the heels of my feet (miatuka). Well, maybe those will be covered by shoes, nobody will see. My knees, elbows and knuckles were all black with thick skin that could be spotted from a distance. My nails were uneven and dirty. At that moment of trying on that beautiful dress, I suddenly felt unqualified to wear it.
Consider this: My tall thin frame with not the slightest hint of curves made the dress hang on me like it was placed on a hanger. If I dressed in my brothers clothes and you saw us from a distance, there is no way anybody could pick me out as the girl amongst them. I looked exactly like the boys, I walked like them and I behaved like them because they were my only companions.
Now I had a beautiful dress to wear and I was excited but scared at the same time. I had never been to a wedding. I did not know what was expected of me at the wedding, and like the visit to Nyahururu with my mother the year prior, scenarios of everything that could go wrong started playing out in my head. What if I stumbled and fell on the cake? What if I peed on myself in front of everybody? As I was worrying myself with that, the wedding was fast approaching.
