“So then it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth mercy”. Romans 9:16
By the time we were through with the night party, i was drained. Physically, financially, mentally and materially. Not that there was much of the financial-material available in the first place anyway. What really set the tone for me was the day after the wedding, the Sunday. With guests gone and visitors receding, obviously, my new and adoring wife was expecting that i will ‘surprise’ her with the announcement of the choice destination for our honeymoon.
Honeymoon ke? It was never part of the plan o. Not for me. Not in my head, at least. In my heart, maybe, and only feebly. I gave it a fleeting thought once. Only once. But the reality of my lean pocket forced me on the narrow ,wisdom path. I reminded myself again- thou cannot spend what thou dost not have. I took off the list of the TTD long before D-Day. Just like with i rationalised with valentine day, i reasoned everyday will be our honeymoon jare.
Six days later, we were on our way to Osogbo, for the thanksgiving service in my parents’ church, at the Union Baptist Church, Odi Olowo. I had been stretched and stressed by the entire wedding project, which i had so far , with the help of God and several pliant, loving, kind and willing donors, sponsors, supporters and destiny helpers, delivered with clinical efficiency. The type of efficiency that comes from taking the narrow path of less is less, otherwise you are on your own. The type that showcases the humble beginning of a struggling brother who was just commencing the real journey of life. So there was no room for extras and ‘frivolities’. Honeymoon? Ko likely.
Which is why i shake my head when i see the expense that goes into weddings these days. Even at that time, in those days (sounds ancient, abi?) i kept saying to myself- we should have done this wedding privately on a Monday o. Less crowd, less mouths to entertain, less pressure, less demand . We would just have done it and relay it on reported speech- “hey guys, Atinuke and myself got married yesterday. Wish us well”. There would have been no need to look for the crisp N50 naira notes (even as return money) proudly and deliberately displayed in a bulging white envelope as dowry. That was at the introduction and engagement, Thursday, November 29th.
What notes lacked in substance, was added in weight. Or so i thought. But the N50 notes were uniquely small, and i was immediately given away for the smart alec i was trying to be. I wish it had been the size of dollar notes, the type common place today which people ‘spray’ with reckless abandon at parties. Like i saw some guys from B—-N do in bundles in a viral video the other day. No one would have suspected as quickly as the bride, my eagle eyed wife to be did, even from right under the shawl covering her face! I really should have known better. She used to be a teller in the bank. How could i have forgotten that?
A N50 note is still a small note and cannot pretend to be the dollar. Worse, its colour was brown , far from the heart warming bottle green colour and hue of the American dollar. I still get poked on this till today by my wife.Paying dowry with N50 naira notes. Who does that?! And i say to myself- i wish she knew how even that materialised! In any case the money was to be returned and was only symbolic, so nothing spoil. And it was mint fresh, paapa.
Back to the journey. The entire family was in a chartered vehicle , a Peugeot 505 station wagon, on the way to Osogbo. My memory of that trip was that i was very sick. I threw up severally, with severe aches , fever and pain. I could not eat and i was most uncomfortable. The rigour of the wedding preps and aftermath finally caught up with me. I dozed fitfully through out the journey due to the cocktail of medicines.
But my discomfort was not just due to the illness alone. It was also from a conversation i had the previous day with my freshly minted wife, wanting and insisting to know the destination for the honeymoon. It seemed logical. Your mum, Tunji’s mother- her own new mother in law- had ruled that the thanksgiving must mandatorily happen in Osogbo. She bought the cow for the wedding how was i to say no? Remember, pay the piper so you can dictate the tune. I could not argue with that logic, even as i thought it was only stretching me and my wife further. For my wife, it only heightened the mystery and expectation. After thanksgiving would come the honeymoon, abi?. Given my loud silence on the matter and the delayed ‘surprise’ , a direct answer had become inevitable . She asked again- so where are the tickets and which country are we going for honeymoon? Matter escalated.
I edged and fumbled around for an adequate response. It became clear to me for the first time, that she took the issue of a honey moon seriously. Wahala dey. Have i started failing even before we got started on this life- long journey? I saw- felt really, the pain and disappointment in her voice because of my incoherent response. “What is honeymoon, i retorted silently, careful that my real thought should remain un readable. “You have me, i have you. Wherever we go is the honeymoon destination. As long as we are both present”, Ngwanu. I thought the ogboju mixed with rhetoric worked. For where?. She was taciturn.
I almost panicked with the thought of whether i would be able to take care of the Squadron Leader’s daughter, especially one that up till that moment was given to a life of reasonable comfort bestowed by a doting father, one of the Airforce’s best and most disciplined. I wondered if this honey moon thing was going to be a deal breaker. I was concerned about her having to start a car-less life with me , from someone who always had a car at her beck and call. O ma ga o. I remembered my father’s ringing query asking me if i was really ready for marriage.
My fears were compounded later that night when she said to me casually but emphatically, .’You owe me o”. I was not sure whether that was literal figurative or merely suggestive. I did not expect that a life of body reading, mind studying and mood assessment would start so soon . But i took the meaning to be that i may be off the hook for now but the honeymoon obligation is not forgotten.Respite! Dalu!
But this was an early but important pointer to was what would become the hallmark of our burgeoning life together as man and wife- she sticks by through thick and thin, always so considerate and ever so accommodating . I became even more determined to ‘prove’ myself and redeem my dented image.
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Luckily, our offices were in the same direction and a shouting distance from each other in Surulere. I worked on Bode Thomas street and she on Eric Moore. From Akowonjo ( descriptor:, An off-campus suburb of Lagos, then), we woke up daily very early to catch the molue that will typically snake through Abeokuta Expressway, down to Agege motor Road via Oshodi. From Challenge, i had found a friend in Ghanaian danfo driver, who was usually kind enough to reserve the front seat for me and my wife. He would take us all the way to Eric Moore junction from where another short taxi ride takes us to our respectful offices.
Very car-less but determined to own one, i started to ‘build’ my first car, my father’s hand-me-down 16 year old abandoned Toyota Crown. I decided that i would not subject my wife to the indignity of rubbing shoulders with rude conductors and impolite drivers. Did i say impolite? Funny some of them can actually be polite. I encountered one.
I recall how one morning , a ‘friendly’ molure conductor announced proudly to all the passengers, “emi ni mo gbe awon oko ati iyawo yii l’ana. Emi naa ni mo tun gbe won l’eni..”). Translated: ‘i had the good fortune of ferrying this couple yesterday. And here they are again today on my bus. I am honoured…’ Now in a situation where you are trying to remain as anonymous as possible on a public ‘funky train’ , with 39 people seating and 49 standing, it is hardly the type of flattering compliment one looked forward to or is proud of. Certainly not a good testimonial for an up and coming advertising executive in his dapper double breasted suit that cover one of only three formal shirts he owned. (So i had to wash twice a week so i can make up for the 5 workday shirt wearing ritual). The conductor’s grin of familiarity and mild genuflection (to dobale (prostrate) was met with my hopefully , cold, impassionate facial expression that was meant to read ‘i don’t befriend molue conductors.Get lost! ‘
I should have known better. Not only to befriend him, but to also have him on ‘retainer’ if possible, because of the rainy day, figuratively speaking. At critical times of need, (like having a petrol attendant or manager as a friend today) you need people who matter. In those days of few, bus conductors and drivers do matter.
There was this one incident indelible in my memory, the literal rainy day.
The rule was to ensure you got to the bus stop BEFORE 6.45 am every morning in the part of town we lived. That guaranteed a head start above those who do school runs, because the roads slightly lighter at that time. This particular day, for some funny reason, we got to the bus stop even earlier, at about 6.20 am. Now usually, you will get a bus within 10-15 mins, with the worse case scenario being to break the journey.
The smart bus owners do this to make more money. 6.30 am. No bus. No Kabukabu. 6.40.am- Crowd of commuters had thickened, desperation higher. 6.45 am- we trekked to the next bus stop hoping to get lucky. No deal. All the buses were full. Not intending to give up, the morning now ruffled , and the discomfort of struggling for space on the few available buses getting gradually at one, i suggested we move even further hinterland, to the start off point of the buses. It was still futile. A sky blue Volskwagen kabukabu stopped by us, but his price was prohibitive, with clear profiteering intentions. Nonsense!
I decided we will stay until mother luck smiled on us, haven given up on my 5 minute- ‘God-please- intervene- and- send- me- a – bus- now’ prayers. I used to time and prompt God that i needed a bus or taxi within ‘X’ minutes while at a bus stop. And it usually worked. Oh the things you do with faith when you are deprived! But this morning, all my calls and prayers went to voice mail.
At about 7.45 am when i decided that we had given it our best shot and we had had enough, and my wife agreed that we should go back home, it suddenly started to rain. First as light showers, and very quickly became torrential. As the showers first broke, my wife struggled to cover her hair with her handkerchief.It was futile. Just before the torrents came, pouring down my wife broke into tears. Silent tears of ‘how did i get to this point’? Kai, emi omo onile , olona? (How did i get to this point? Me that i never lacked means and ways), From the exclusive part of Festac to some place called Akowonjo. Just because of marriage. Oh, the things we do for love!
I saw the tears but i could say nothing. I was numb. A bigger one welled up in me. I felt for her. Have i failed before getting started? i asked myself again. We had no umbrella, and we had no shelter. We walked home in silence, completely drenched, each lost in thought.
So i got about building my first car with even greater determination. Spending coins was a tradition that was still prevalent in those days. From the daily sojourn on molues, i had several pots of coins in my room where i generally tossed the change offered by conductors. It was this money that i changed to notes and got me started the project of assembling the parts piece-meal but diligently- from the engine (bought from Sir Shakiru in Ibadan) to the tires bought one at a time, lights, horn, salvo, break pads, several relays,brake lining, batter….all including refurbished padded seats…Virtually every component lost in a car abandoned for over 4 years. I would spend months to get the fittings together and pay the mechanic, re wire and panel beater in instalments.I did not have them means to pay for their workmanship in one fell swoop. My lunch hour became my follow up period at Oga Muri’s workshop somewhere near Olode Okuta street , not too far from Fela’s house.
Finally the big day came- i had bought a brand new Baroclem battery with which they would fire the engine. It worked! And from that point i became a very proud car owner. This car , KDA 3400, originally bought and used in Kaduna and later Lagos, Osogbo and back in Lagos, would later be named ‘battle ship Galactica’ by a cheeky fellow called Paschal Anyaso.
But the car and others after it did not make the honeymoon request go away. Not the trips and holidays to a significant number of countries around the globe; not the ride in some of the most exclusive aircrafts and airlines; not the stay at some of the most exotic and limited-edition serviced apartments and boutique hotels have been able to erase the debt i owe my wife of 25 years. She still wants The Honeymoon.
So if you see me another 25 years from now still chasing the honey and trying to grab the moon, please understand that it is because i had committed to a dashing young lady called ATINUKE OLABIYI TUNJI-OLUGBODI
who challenged and supported me to rise above the stars and aim higher. Chasing the honey in the moon is therefore my day and night job if the Lord tarries.
Happy 25th Wedding Anniversary, Baby.
I will always owe you.
Dr Tunji Olugbodi.
