Unwana has a wedding

Jubilee

The book of Leviticus, in the code of holiness, is the source which tells us of the significance of the jubilee year, a year of liberation “par excellence,”

A year of emancipation and restoration provided by ancient Hebrew law to be kept every 50 years by the emancipation of enslaved Hebrews, restoration of alienated lands to their former owners, and omission of all cultivation of the land.

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I have just passed our tree, Unwana. I am about to watch you wed your lover at the other end of jubilee bridge.

You were all things sound and warm; summer, sunflowers, and sunshine. Fair as the morning sun and refreshing as freshly cut lemon grass. Every moment we shared was your fairness, freshness and the colourful sundresses that adorned your skin.

It was your laugh that first introduced you to me, Unwana.

It tinkled like bells made from the finest tin and very little copper. I heard your laugh and I looked for you. I found you jumping under an almond tree, trying to reach it’s lowest hanging fruit. I announced my presence and I saw your body curve in surprise and unfurl in recognition. You did not know my name but you recognized me. I told it to you that evening.

Eventually, you had no almonds but you had lots of laughter and we had many trysts under this almond tree.

I sat under this tree every evening, watching, waiting for your form to approach. I wondered what the pattern on your sundresses would be. I whiled away time making guesses until you approached and I drank in your enthusiasm as you ran into my embrace like the fine wine that it was.

One day, I waited for you. The evening was turning to night and you still hadn’t come. I wondered what had become of you. I resolved to trace yours out of the hundred houses in our town and demand from you why you had withheld you presence from me. But then you I heard you approach and though you deprived me of the sight of your bright sundress from a distance, my hands stretched out of their own accord to welcome you.

As you walked straight into my outstretched arms, you whispered,

“I knew you would wait.”

Not all our evenings were beautiful. Some were full of grief. Like that time you lost your home and no one would let you in. I gave mine up for you and promised then and there to marry you atop Jubilee bridge.

Our evenings were not always beautiful because sometimes, you did not understand my extreme generosity.

“Why do go so far? Why do you always give all that you have? Why do you empty yourself for me every time?” You enquired.

“Because I love you.” I answered.

My answer was not enough for you. I saw it in the shadow of hesitation that crossed your face. But my answer was the truth. It still is, I am the lover of your soul, Unwana.

I know why you questioned me. I know you were listening to the voice of strangers.

You were speaking about me to the many people who didn’t understand our love or know our almond tree. They were warning you to be skeptical of my kindness. Still, I was hopeful about our love. I thought there was nothing time could not fix. Until this stranger appeared.

I lost you the day he stepped into town.

He wore a coat of many colours and matched it with a mask. Nobody knew where he came from, yet he serenaded the entire town with his many elaborate and flamboyant performances.

He had a way of stating the obvious in a more sophisticated manner, yet everyone who heard him always heard something novel and they praised his wisdom. You came to our tree to talk about the new man in town.

“I just love how he wears his colours,” you said.

I did not like the stranger or his colours but I held my peace.

Soon, the stranger started to hold speeches at the other end of jubilee bridge. He said there were cities beyond the bridge, full of even more colours than anyone could imagine.

“Freedom is at the other side! Freedom is the opposite of Jubilee!”

That did not sound right but I held my peace. I was never one to cause trouble.

The next time you came to our tree, you brought that colourful stranger with you.

“We wore matching colours today, I and The Man.”

It felt like a punch to my gut, but I stood still and held my peace. He may have your colours, but he did not have you, I thought.

I was so mistaken.

“Let’s leave this sleepy town and start a new life at the other end of Jubilee bridge.” You said.

“Unwana, my one true love,” I implored, “we are on the right side of Jubilee. Love, joy, peace and every other thing we could possibly need lives here.”

I did not realize that my statement of truth only succeeded in driving you away from me, Unwana.

I became a broken man the day I heard about your wedding.

You had stopped showing up at our tree, soI went to the house I gave up for you to demand why. And then, I saw a colourful mask lying on the ground just outside the door.

Incensed, filled with rage at the possibilities of what that masked stranger might have done with you; what harm he might have inflicted on you, I went out to the townsquare and started to shout your name. And as I did, I shouted some curses at the masked stranger. I cursed him and all his sophisticated drivel.

The townspeople shunned me.

They said he was twice the man I’d ever be.

Unperturbed, I kept searching for you and screaming your name. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Every woman in a colourful sundress started to look like you. But none of them was you. Half mad with grief and rage, I went to the almond tree to find some solace and I saw it. A poster on the tree’s trunk. The most elaborate wedding in town was happening on the other end of Jubilee bridge.

It was between you, Unwana, and the masked stranger.

It was in the thick of my heartbreak that it occurred to me, Unwana, that only masquerades wear masks and colourful clothes. Only masquerades have no identity. Only masquerades are consistently flamboyant. The masquerade deceived you and snatched you away from me.

And now, you are about to wed an inhuman, unholy thing.

As I approach Jubilee bridge, the sight of barricades at the end of the bridge startle me. I see a line of people turning away with sour expressions on their faces.

I hear them register their indignation to the wind with their voices, “What does he mean? Who does he think he is?”

The masquerade placed a barricade at the end of the bridge and allowed no one to attend the wedding until they signed a contract. A solemn promise to take up permanent residence at the other end of jubilee bridge. All the moving expenses would be paid and they need not worry about work or livelihood. Toil and labour was waiting for them at the other end of Jubilee Bridge.

The devil of a stranger. Promising freedom at the other side of Jubilee. And you are about to be wedded to him.

Dread envelopes me as I further learn that your wedding is a rite of passage for anyone who is willing to abandon their first estate and take up residence at the other end of Jubilee bridge.

I rail and shout till I am the only one left, abandoned by the townspeople who were only hungry for a fine wedding.