My Father’s Bride
Story By Thiyam Ningol, Africa

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“We know, it is hard for you, Papa. But we think you need a company. We really do not object you remarrying” - on behalf of all his other siblings, Peter was telling his father.

It was hardly a year ago that his wife died. Since he became a widower, he had aged a decade. For forty years they were together. Every step of his life, every corner of their room, every moment of his living reminded him of his late wife.

All the neighbours were used to seeing the old couple having evening walks. They were cheerful even at their sixties. Sometimes they would jog with their grand children. The old man would always carry a small bag of sweets. While they were jogging, if they would come across any child, he would ask his grand child to give the sweet to the other children. Sometimes other children would also join them jogging-a marathon of its kind.

His grand children had come several times asking him to go for jogging. “I am tired, you people go and jog” -was the daily answer. His appetite had become very poor. He did not care anymore about his attire. People had to repeat the greeting twice/thrice to get a response from him. He was deeply depressed.

Nearly two months after Peter’s suggestion, one day Mzee Abraham announced that he was bringing his bride to introduce to them. All agreed and waited eagerly. They all got the shock of the year when their father appeared with a young girl, walking holding hands together. Quietly and politely Peter enquired if he was really serious. He never answered.

After the marriage, Mzee Abraham took a big U turn. It was Peter and his siblings’ turn to feel their mother’s absence in every field of their lives. None of them could stay any longer with their father’s bride. One by one, every one moved out.

The couple became an eye shore to the neighbours. No child followed them anymore. The marathon had ceased.

Mzee Abraham was wearing bright coloured, printed shirts with a Mexican cow boy hat, permanently covering his bald head.
His bride had one inch thick make up with penciled eye brow, longer than Ruvu. The lips smeared with the Cherry coloured lipstick bulged out like overstuffed charcoal sac. The pointed, high heeled shoes gave up struggling to bear the weight of its owner.

From morning till late evening, they sat down on the verandah munching snacks and drinking tea. Despite all the luxuries, relaxation and romances, Mzee Abraham was drying up fast economically, morally and physically.

He started selling his properties one after another.

The houses which he and his late wife built were sold. His new bride bought a bungalow at Msasani, not for living but for renting out. His children and grand children became his enemies.

His bride asked Mzee Abraham to sell the old pick up and buy a new Shangingi with a TV and CD/DVD player fixed in the car.

The old pick up had the old story of the old family. The whole family had gone out for outings several times, mzee Abraham- driving, his wife seated by his side in front and the bunch of children singing and shouting at the back.

It was the pick up where for the first time he taught his late wife driving. He still could feel the stale smell of his wife.

His bride sold the pick up and he sold his soul. He got a severe heart attack.

Peter took his father to the hospital; his bride had gone out to collect the new Shangingi.

When his bride came to see mzee Abraham in the hospital, the attending doctor mistook her as Peter’s wife. “Your father in low is lucky to have a son like your husband, little delay would have made him have severe complications.”

“Sorry Doctor, this is my father’s bride.”

The doctor got choked with his own saliva, excused himself and walked out. He was about to take a history of mzee Abraham’s sickness with the help of Peter. He knew it was no more necessary.

The day when he was discharged from the hospital, Peter decided to take his father to his house, to make him feel again the happiness of staying with a family, a family of caring people.

“At least let him see my new car first”-the bride was shouting.

“Enjoy your drive. Father needs a rest” –Peter answered.

Not long after they reached home, while Peter and his wife were busy making arrangements for their beloved father to be comfortable, a nurse phoned Peter “Sir, your wife who was here in the hospital with you not long ago had an accident and admitted in our hospital ICU. She has a bad head injury, she is in coma. Please come quick.”

“Thank you, sister. My wife is here with me. The accident lady is my father’s bride.”