Painting Marsabit

Me: Nairobi, Kenya

Him: Rye, UK

Distance: 10,561km

My A-level art teacher had a tendency to roll her eyes and instruct me on a fairly regular basis to "Just put the paint on the page, Elizabeth!" This is not to imply I was putting it on the walls, but rather that I was dithering about how to get started. This is the written equivalent to that. I have Mrs Hayes in the back of my head telling me to "Just put the words on the page, Elizabeth!", and not get hung up on the fact that I have not written a post for far too long.

Usually the problem for leaving a long period of time between posts is trying to work out which snapshot in recent history has been the most interesting, the most important, the most impactful. Fortunately this time, it is relatively easy to pinpoint.

This story starts long before this blog started, with a book club in Tanzania, a love of red wine, and a girl who would become a good friend in spite of only living in the same country a few months. It was her idea, I believe, for a group of us to go and try on wedding dresses when I got engaged. If you have never had the pleasure of seeing a Tanzanian wedding dress, think Lada Gaga meets Bjork meets Cinderella. What they lack in taste they make up in volume and sparkle.

We had got engaged not long after we moved to Tanzania and before we knew many people very well, and Megan (who from Tz moved to study in the UK) was the sole representative of our Tanzanian life at the wedding. If she was disappointed to see that I had not chosen one of the concoctions from the "Best Classics" wedding store, she hid it well.

The years passed and we stayed in touch, mainly via WhatsApp. While I remained in Tanzania with a brief stint in the UK, Megan bounced around the globe, occasionally seeing us on R&R in Tanzania or latterly Nairobi. When she met Daniel (a Kenyan) I was thrilled that we may end up in the same part of the world again, and we are certainly a lot closer - even if the same country has not yet been achieved. I was even more delighted when she and Daniel announced their engagement. I should also say that I offered to find a "Best Classics" alternative, but was turned down (I like to think purely for the logistic challenge of us living in different countries).

As is the norm for couples from different countries, there were two weddings. The first - in Canada - was too far for us to travel for. The second - in Marsabit, Northern Kenya - was a mere 9 hours drive north (avoiding potholes and camels along the way).

There is no way I can do any sort of justice to Megan and Daniel's wedding. Suffice to say that I have

never seen my friend so happy (happy that is apart from during the long speech/rant given by a politician that covered topics as diverse as a 'woman's place' and troubles in marriage, roads around Marsabit, and his position and talent in public speaking being superior to that of pastors. At this point her smile drooped slightly, although she did admirably well to remain calm).

The traditional portion of the wedding consisted of an obscene amount of Ethiopian food, speech-giving, and dancing with wild abandonment. In the evening there was a sit down meal, both preceded and followed by more of the wild abandonment dancing. Daniel and Megan were at the centre of it all, looking like a photograph and its negative: dark skin and black hair against white skin and platinum hair; heavy black velvet cloaks over white; dark brown eyes smiling into light blue. A truly stunning couple in every sense of the word.

And with that, Mrs Hayes, I have tried to paint a picture with words. The couple, the wedding, the weekend really deserve a bigger mural, or at least a more refined portrait. But at least after weeks of meaning to, I have finally put the words on the page.