Mawage, er, Marriage Proposal Traditions

International Proposal Traditions 

By "international" I mean "outside of the United States". ;)

Ever wondered what other traditions there are out there for marriage proposals? Just how do they do it in a place such as...

Ireland.

They have one such tradition as women proposing to men.

By Source, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=25087659

 But only once every four years. Time and Date (of all places to read about proposals!) say this:

"According to an old Irish legend, or possibly history, St Brigid struck a deal with St Patrick to allow women to propose to men – and not just the other way around – every four years.
This is believed to have been introduced to balance the traditional roles of men and women in a similar way to how leap day balances the calendar."

This romantic comedy movie is super fun. I highly recommend it.


Australian Aboriginals

Traditionally promised to marriage at age five. Nowadays, Aboriginal people are quite contemporary, especially those who live in country towns or cities.

http://www.cairnsunlimited.com/aboriginalculture.htm

 The Netherlands

Clogs as a marriage proposal, what could possibly be more Dutch than THAT!

Image from creative commons.

One story says that young men once carved clogs to leave on the doorsteps of their chosen ladies, and if she wore them the next day it would signal an acceptance of the marriage proposal. Aww. In contemporary Dutch wedding traditions, some couples may wear clogs for the wedding day and later display them on the walls of their home with dried flowers.

Apparently we also have the Dutch to thank for bridal showers, wishing trees, and lilies of the valley. Ah. Where would today's brides be without those traditions? :)

 Italy
Giving one's true love a lumpy iron band. Cos, you know, nothing says "I love you" more than THAT!

Iron Roman wedding band. Photographed at British Museum, London.

 But Italians being the clever people they are figured out that iron rusts and decided to make them out of gold instead. And then add diamonds. And clasped hands (fede ala Claddagh) style rings thus bringing the tradition full circle from "I own you" to "I promise to marry you/trust you" to "I love you".

There are more traditions over at THIS blog. In the meantime, here's the mawage clip from the Princess Bride.

Your turn! What marriage proposal traditions have YOU heard of that is unusual?

God bless!

Lucy Thompson is a stay-at-home mum to five precocious children and wife to the ultra-handy Dave by day, and a snoop by night, stalking interesting characters through historical settings, and writing about their exploits. Catch her on facebook. She'd love to make a new friend. :)

My other half

I have always thought of myself as the strong, independent type. I grew up as something of a “latchkey kid” in South Africa. For as long as I can remember I got myself to school every day. In the afternoons I came home to an empty house. You get used to your own company. After a while you even get to like it.

All that changed when I met my wife. I’ll never forget the day she walked into the gym where I worked. It was like one of those western movie scenes where some stranger walks into a saloon and the music stops. She certainly took my breath away.  The guys behind the counter immediately turned on the charm. My manager was a body builder with Mediterranean looks. I knew I didn't stand a chance against such competition. I shrugged and sighed to myself, carrying on with my work as if she wasn't there.

One day a few weeks later she came up to me and said she liked the music I used in my classes and asked if I could make her a tape. She handed me a blank cassette and quickly left. Inside was a small note with a message saying that she was crazy about me. Her name was Ronell. To me it was the most beautiful name I had ever heard.

Three years later we were married and starting a family in our new home in England. We argued in the first couple of years. Not a lot, but enough to make us both wonder if we had done the right thing. I could not help but think perhaps my independent upbringing was an issue. I loved being around Ronell, but I was also single-minded and stubborn. We agreed that we would both give it 100% and that we would build our lives on God’s solid foundation.

In 2015 we celebrated our twenty-sixth wedding anniversary. I realized that, during that time, I had changed. People often call their spouses their “other half” and it is true. After so many years you stop being an independent person. Your lives become intertwined to such an extent that you become more like a single unit. At least, that is how it felt to me. This was especially true after the kids flew the nest. I realized that every decision I made and every action I took was centred around Ronell.

I remember putting together a two-picture photo frame for our anniversary. The one on the left was from our wedding day. The one on the right was a photo we took on the ferry—our first trip without the kids. Ronell's wedding dress train seemed to flow into the second photo, forming a white path. She said that represented our future lives together. I told her I was looking forward to spending the next twenty-six years together. She said she was looking forward to falling in love with me all over again.

We never made the next anniversary.  The cancer that had been quietly spreading through Ronell's body attacked her quickly and without mercy, robbing her of her health, then her mobility, and finally her life. When she was taken to the hospital in Delft I gave notice at my job and on our house and moved in with her. They did what they could to make her comfortable but they made it clear there was no chance of a cure. She was given the use of a wheelchair and I took her for long walks around the hospital.

Ronell said she wanted to go back to England and we arranged to get her moved to the hospice near our home in Blackpool.

She passed away less than a week later. I was due to return to Holland the next day with a van to collect all our things from the house. Friends were helping out at the hospice and I gave them instruction for Ronell's day-to-day care. I would return five days later. That afternoon, as I held her hand, she took her last breath.

At that moment my world fell apart. All my strength and independence evaporated. I had imagined I would continue without her until we met again in Heaven. Now, suddenly, I felt utterly and completely lost. It was like being torn in half.

It has been almost a year since she passed away. I still feel lost but I am learning to cope. The waves of grief are further apart now but their ferocity has not subsided. Music tends to bring on the tears. Certain songs remind me of her. I have to be careful in public places where they play music.

Writing helps, which is why I bared my soul in this blog post. Thanks for listening. It is therapeutic, putting my thoughts down on paper.

This evening I returned to an empty house. I am, it seems, a “latchkey kid” once more. Curious how life can do a full circle like that.

I don't know why Ronell had to go home. I believe God had a good reason for taking her. One day I will know that reason. Until then, all I can do is pray and wait. I believe I will see her again, God willing.

It may be a cliché but I really am lost without her. She truly was my other half.

A Tribute to Writers' Spouses — by Patricia Beal

This Saturday, my husband and I will be celebrating 11 years of marriage, and, for half of our time together, I've been working on my debut novel.

Even before I had the idea for A Season to Dance in early 2011, he was already buying writing magazines and books for me, certain that one day my writing dream would come true. Through the years, he has supported the dream emotionally, domestically, and financially, so I thought it fit to pay tribute to him and all writers' spouses out there today.

One of the best ways I gain knowledge, support, and success in the writing life is through writers' conferences. Our spouses should have a conference, too. How great would it be if we could send them to an annual gathering of people who deal with the same things they deal with in the crazy writing life that's their life, too? Here are some of the workshops I believe they should have (veteran spouses and field experts would teach, of course) -

The 100-level classes:

101 - It's okay to let your writer sing "Islands in the Stream" (or other song of choice) 129 times in a row when he/she finishes writing chapter 1 of every novel produced.
102 - How to help your writer practice his/her conference pitch (129 times).
103 - How to be a great body language and sensory detail laboratory without losing your dignity (let your writer touch your cheek and breathe you in many times, so he/she can describe it properly; reach out for your writer's hand many times, so he/she can study what parts of the hands make contact first, and how it feels; and many other potentially awkward and often repetitive explorations).

The 200-level classes:

201 - When you agree to do all the house chores so your writer can work, don't be surprised if he/she spends most or all of that time on social media. That can really be the task at hand for the writer's work day. Take the class to understand why.

202 - How to support your writer during writing contests.

203 - Become an expert on taking social media photos for your writer's online platform. You'll learn to click often and fast and with a smile and proper cheerful attitude.

The 300-level classes:

301 - Publishing as a second language (because a WIP is not a whip, vlog is not a typo, and MS is not multiple sclerosis). Learn the difference between developmental edits, line edits, proofreading, and other terms. You'll hear it (and often pay for it) for years to come--might as well understand it.

302 - The importance of annual conferences and occasional paid professional editors on the path to publication.

303 - Financial planning.

The 400-level classes:

401 - You should only survive on pizza, nuggets, and noodles for so long: Creative meals for the whole family--on a budget.

402 - How to combine family vacations with writers' conferences and book research.

403 - What to do when your writer cries for hours, overwhelmed by the beauty and depth of the characters and stories God has blessed him/her with. 

404 - A lifetime of dreaming big and praying big for two.

By our 2017 anniversary, A Season to Dance will be a 2-month-old book baby, thanks to God and Bling! Romance / Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas.

I could not have done it without my husband's unfailing support. Many times I wondered what I would do if I never got published. But that thought never crossed his mind--he always knew that the day would come when a publisher would make an offer, and because he didn't waver, I didn't waver. Thanks, baby!

On Tuesday he will put on his Army uniform for the very last time to "final out" and get his retiree ID card. He wants to go back to college and dreams of getting a walk-on spot on the University of Texas - El Paso (UTEP) football team. At his farewell Friday night, the guys were already chanting: "Rudy! Rudy!" :)

I pray I can be as good to him in his pursuit of a wild dream as he's been to me in the pursuit of mine. "Rudy! Rudy! Rudy!"

Tell me your stories! Who's your main supporter? A friend? Parents? Spouse? What do you think about a spouses' conference? What classes would you add?

*************************************************************************************

Patricia Beal writes contemporary Christian fiction and is represented by Leslie Stobbe of the Leslie H. Stobbe Literary Agency. Her debut novel, A Season to Dance, comes out on May 9, 2017 (Bling! / Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas).

She’s a 2015 Genesis semi-finalist and First Impressions finalist. She graduated magna cum laude from the University of Cincinnati in 1998 with a B.A. in English Literature and then worked as a public affairs officer for the U.S. Army for seven years. Now, after a 10-year break in service, she is an Army editor. She and her husband live in El Paso, Texas, with their two children.

Goodreads - www.goodreads.com/bealpat

Facebook - www.facebook.com/patricia.beal.author

Pinterest - www.pinterest.com/patriciasbeal

Twitter - www.twitter.com/bealpat

Web - www.patriciabeal.com

Another Twenty-Six Years

A couple of weeks back, my wife and I celebrated our 26th wedding anniversary. We have always both been pretty casual about the whole anniversary thing. Our shared view is that, if we have to place too much emphasis on the milestones, then perhaps we’re not enjoying the journey as much as we should. Also, raising our children was so demanding we did not really have the presence of mind to remember much beyond surviving each day. It was only when our kids starting preparing to leave the nest that we found ourselves remembering our anniversary.

“Say, didn't we get married in March?” my wife asked.
“Yes we did. It was the 10th or 12th, I think,” I replied.
“How long has it been?”
“Twenty-two years. No wait, twenty-three. Wow.”

That was three years ago. Last year I bought a fancy silver picture frame with “25th Anniversary” engraved along the bottom and two oval holes for photographs. The plan was for me to find a photo from when we first got married and another more recent picture.

That never happened and the frame stood empty all year. This year, however, I made the effort and found two suitable candidates. The first was taken on our wedding day (we looked vaguely terrified). The other was from our first trip to England without the kids (we look relieved). So we now have a beautiful silver frame showing where we started and how far we have come. Through a trick of perspective, my wife’s wedding gown appears to run diagonally across the other, more recent, picture. It looks almost like a path, as if God is showing us that he knew our steps long before we did and that those steps would lead us...here.

What struck me while searching through the albums and computer folders, was just how much we have been though since tying the knot a quarter of a century ago. I got to revisit my children’s lives, from them clinging to us while we helped them take their first wide-eyed steps, to them gazing into the distance with that longing in their eyes that meant they would soon be gone. Our aim was always to raise them to love Jesus and build their lives on God’s unshakable foundation. They have both had their struggles with faith, but my daughter talks about God as if he is a part of the family and last night my son had to end our Skype session early to attend the church youth group he leads. This gives me hope for their futures.

Somewhere in those photographs was a snapshot of my very first novel and I remembered so clearly why it was I started writing. I wanted to create stories that Christians could enjoy and that perhaps atheists could read as well. What I never expected was for it to take so long for that dream to come to fruition. In fact, the journey of my writing coincides almost exactly with that of my children. Last year both my son and daughter moved out to start lives of their own. Earlier this year I discovered something about my first novel that made the years of effort worthwhile.

While searching for my book “Alpha Redemption” on Google, I found it listed on a site of top 25 A.I. novels, surrounded by secular books from the likes of Asimov, Banks and Clarke. The reviewer said that he never thought that he would one day write a positive review for a Christian novel, but that that day had come. Looking at my little book sitting on that list of secular titles among the giants of science fiction, I realized that I could happily stop writing because this is exactly what I set out to do all those years ago.

But, like any journey, it doesn't finish till you get to the end. My children’s lives have just begun and the path leading from my wife’s dress does not stop but appears to pass out of the frame and on into the unknown. And I have too many stories inside my head to stop writing now. I hope that this is just the beginning and that, twenty five years down the line, I will be looking for more photographs to put inside a frame and marveling at how much we have lived during that time.  

Lessons from a Seahorse

I was listening to a series on male and female relationships, especially marriage and gained some valuable insight. The most obvious issue is the male and female difference, physically of course, but also mentally and emotionally. Looking back to the Garden of Eden, Adam was without human companionship until Eve came along. Is it a wonder then that men are typically not very communicative, while woman tend to be more expressive? After all Eve had another human ear to bend as soon as she was created. In my mind I imagine that Adam was fascinated by her mellifluous voice; her laughter; her beauty…

I imagine that they were the best of friends, could read each others every mood and anticipate each others needs, even without words. But that oneness was shattered when the first blame game was played: Adam blaming God; Eve blaming the serpent. The Bible doesn’t tell us, but I would also imagine the shame and disappointment that they would have felt toward each other. Eve may have felt betrayed by her brother; her lover, while Adam probably felt angry. Angry at Eve for being gullible and for implicating him in her sin, angry at God for giving him Eve, angry at the serpent for deceiving Eve and even angry at himself for eating the fruit. These were emotions they had never before experience. Tongue in cheek here: Eve probably tried to over explain, while Adam probably went into broody silence. Their unbreakable relationship was now broken and I’m sure everything went downhill from there.

Fast-forward thousands of years. People break up for all sorts of reasons. I imagine that if Adam and Eve could see the world as it is today they’d be both perplexed and exasperated. Irreconcilable differences, fraud, infidelity, the list seems endless. I hope I’m not coming off as judgemental, because that’s not my intent at all. I’m just trying to pour out my heart and maybe get some understanding of why (from an outside perspective anyway) people sometimes give up on their relationships so easily. Could it be that expectations are unrealistic? Or that there are other choices out there that make leaving appear more attractive and worthwhile than fighting to stay together.

Is it possible that any marriage could be fixed as long as there is someone who is willing to humble themself? The thing, though, is that it’s hard to humble yourself when you feel that you’ve been wronged or that you’re in the right.

Marriages today seem to last about the same amount of time as casual relationships. The vows taken at wedding ceremonies don’t seem to be taken seriously. I understand that sometimes relations are irreparably damaged. And I believe that no matter what stories are told, only God and the 2 people in the marriage know exactly what went wrong.

This whole issue of break-ups makes one consider the seahorse. Seahorses are fascinating creatures that we can learn a lot from.

As most people know, seahorses are monogamous and mate for life. Each couple go through through complex rituals every morning, when they perform an elaborate courtship display. This daily morning meeting serves to reinforce their commitment. A lesson here for us humans is that it takes regular effort to strengthen a relationship.

The other thing fascinating about seahorses is that they have extremely good eyesight. They have eyes on either side of their head and work independently, meaning that they can look backwards and forwards at the same time. Imagine if we as humans had that ability. But hmm maybe we do in hindsight and foresight, but most importantly as Christians we have the Holy Spirit.

Females have a territory of about 1.4 sq metres and males have a territory of about 0.5 sq metres. Their territories overlap. For someone like me who can be anal about her space, this one spoke volumes to me, but suffice it to say that a relationship cannot thrive if the people involved don't have a shared sense of ownership. Trying to categorically state that this is mine and that is yours, with little or no 'ours' surely can't be good. Yes we're each unique but one should come into a relation, especially marriage with a team mindset. The power of agreement is formidable.

What does Scripture say?
"Two are better than one,
Because they have a good reward for their labour.
For if they fall, one will lift up his companion.
But who to him who is alone when he falls.
For he has no one to help him up.
Again, if two lie down together, they will keep warm;
But how can be be warm alone?
Though one may be overpowered by another, two can withstand him.
And a threefold cord is not quickly broken. " - Ecclesiastes 4:9-12

But then again, maybe the beauty of the male/female seahorse relationship is born out of the knowledge that the male fertilises the female's eggs in his pouch. The female transfers her eggs to the male which he self fertilises in his pouch. The number of eggs can vary from 50-150 for smaller species to 1500 for larger species. I'm sure that alone creates a deep bond, understanding and appreciation between.

From which other animals or species have you learnt a human lesson?

Ufuoma Daniella Ojo is a Senior Technical Author and Software Trainer. She lives in Potters Bar just outside London. She is working on some new stories about relationships and is trusting God for connections leading to publication.

YOUR PERSONAL BLOG

Why blog? What do you really want to say?

If you are not well known as an author or don't really have a platform eg music or speaking then maybe it's not a good idea to use your own name if you want web surfers to find you. Now if you're only wanting to reach friends, family etc then that doesn't apply.

What is your passion or your expertise? A blog title which alludes to that would be a great help to help those interested in that to find you.
If possible address that subject. And do it regularly.

As I write romance, I figured my blog should be about that. Hah! As not many folk would find me by name, I decided I'd spell it out so, http://inspirationalromance.blogspot.com came to be.  But should I only stick with interviewing authors who write in that genre? Yes I do that, but decided I could also include real life stories of men and women who believed God had a real part in leading them together. And so many have opened their hearts and shared their unique situations. Some have even shared failed experiences, but where forgiveness and Christian grace rebuilt their relationship. These have been touching stories. I love stories that resonate, that we can relate to. I also ask experts in the field to share their advice on the expectations of marriage. These have been extremely helpful.

But with all this I felt discouraged because I didn't get many comments.Was I wasting my time? Who was I to write about such things? I weighed up the idea of quitting, but one day I hit the overview button and came across the stats. I could hardly believe what they told me! Viewers from all over the world were reading my blog; USA, Australia, England, Russia, Germany, and several Muslim countries were there. I'm up to 11,000 viewers in the past year. I gave thanks to the Lord in the discovery of an audience of real people out there.

That told me viewers read but don't always comment. What an encouragement. I hope this will encourage you as you share your thoughts, ideas, advice or stories. Who knows who will be uplifted by your blog?

* Rita Stella Galieh is an Australian author of two published novels with books II and III of a trilogy in the pipeline. She continues looking for more material for her weekly blog.

Noise on Hamilton Terrace

Below is the second instalment of a short story I posted in August 2011. It follows the struggles one woman has in dealing with a conniving and manupulative mother-in-law. I hope you enjoy it.

Move now! Move! Osaro mentally implored the train as it sat immobile in between Edgware Road and Paddington tube stations. Osaro shifted in her seat as the man next to her shoved her arm with his elbow, taking up the entire arm rest. She took a deep breath, immediately regretting it as the stench of stale cigarette smoke filled her nostrils.

Fifteen minutes later, Osaro exited Warwick Avenue station and quickened her pace to a fast trot as she hurried home. Please Father let there be peace tonight. Please.

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Hamilton Terrace was home to some of the most expensive houses in London. Tucked between metropolitan Kilburn and slightly bohemian Maida, it was a three-quarter mile long avenue with Victorian mansions and Tulip and Redwood trees on either side. These perennials offered shade during the few London hot days and a sense of privacy from passers-by. Residents tended to avoid getting too close to their neighbours; some called it the paranoia of the very wealthy; not wanting eyes prying into their homes or businesses. On Hamilton Terrace children rarely rode their bicycles along the pavements; they did that in their parent’s compounds instead.

It was on this tony street that Kola and Osaro Williams started their married life 2 years ago. The house was a surprise wedding gift from Osaro’s parents and boasted vaulted high ceilings, 5 bedrooms, a swimming pool and some of the most fabulous furnishings and accessories that money could buy. Osaro was grateful and delighted, but Kola was less so.

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“Good evening Mama.”
Osaro knelt in greeting to her mother-in-law. The older woman, pretending to be engrossed in whatever was being broadcast on the telly, ignored Osaro. Osaro was solely tempted to get off her knees and walk away, but she had learned the painful lesson many months ago not to leave the room until Mama dismissed her.
“Mama, I hope you’ve had a good day. Have you had your dinner yet?” Osaro did her best to look and sound as docile as possible. As she looked closely at Mama she noticed the older woman was wearing Osaro’s diamond earrings! The very earrings she bought on her honeymoon!
Mama turned to Osaro, with a sneer on her face, as though daring Osaro to say anything. She turned back to the telly.
“Get up! Why are you pretending? I know you don’t want me in this house, but this is my son’s house and everything in it belongs to his family.”
Tears pooled in Osaro’s eyes. She was tired. Tired of her mother-in-law’s unwarranted insults. Tired of living like a guest in her own home. She had bent over backwards to win over her in-laws, but it seemed that the more she did, the more they hated her and tried to make her life unbearable. She slowly rose from her knees and walked towards the hallway.
“Where are you going? Useless woman!”
Osaro stopped in her tracks, her fists clenched. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She opened her mouth to tell Mama just what she thought of her, when Risi walked in with baby Jessica. One look at her eight month old daughter and Osaro felt calm wash all over her. She quickly crossed the room and took her baby from the house-girl.
“Welcome Madam.”
“Thank you Risi. Has she eaten?” Osaro was referring to her daughter.
“No oh! Mama say she go wait for Oga before she chop. But I don cook Efo riro with plenty stock fish.”
“I was talking about the baby –wait! Where did you get stock fish? How many times have I told you not to cook stock fish in my house? The smell upsets my husband and please stop calling him ‘Oga’, call him 'Mr Williams'.”
“I am the one who told her to cook stock fish!” Osaro jumped at Mama’s sudden outburst. She didn’t realise that the old woman had crept up behind her. She instinctively held Jessica tighter as though to obtain succour from her child.
“Who told you that stock fish upsets my son? Isn’t that what he has been eating all his life? You think all the Oyinbo mede medes that you are feeding him can fill him up? No wonder the poor man is losing weight!” With that she shoved into Osaro, causing Jessica to cry.
Osaro shook her head. No I will not give her the satisfaction! She walked out of the room.

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“My daughter you did well.” Mama patted the side of her bed, inviting Risi to sit next to her. Risi tightened the wrapper she’d tied over her chest and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Mama, I no know oh! I dey sorry for Madam.”
Mama rolled her eyes. Stupid girl. She better not spoil my plans.
“Ah no oh! Don’t you want to be the madam of this house? Don’t worry, very soon my son’s eyes will be opened and he drive that woman away.”
Risi scratched her head, a question in her eyes as she looked at Mama.
Mama took off the diamond earrings she had on and placed them in Risi’s hands. Risi’s eyes widened.
“Mama, Madam go kill me o! She go think say I thief her earring.”
“Don’t worry. Who do you think buys all the jewelry that woman wears? My son! Don’t worry my dear! My son wants a son and all that woman could produce was another useless girl like her!”
“But Mama I know say Oga love Madam true true.”
“Love! Please!” Mama hissed as she tightened her head scarf. She drew closer to Risi and whispered conspiratorially. “I know my son. He does not love that woman. He is only confused because of all the juju she has used! But it will not work!” Her voice had reason a few octaves.
Risi visibly flinched. “But Madam dey go church. She be big Christian.”
Mama shook her head.
“Church?! You think say everybody wey dey go church na Christian? I beg! Listen, my friend. You will get pregnant and give me a grandson, and then my son will marry you.”
Mama squared her shoulders, a self-satisfied smirk on her weathered face.

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Kola took another sip of his now tepid orange juice. He grimaced and pushed the glass away.
“Bro you need to go home.” Kola turned around to look at his friend Derek. Derek took a seat at the other side of the chipped table.
Kola pursed his lips. He placed his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do. Those women are driving me crazy.”
“You know this is your fault, don’t you?”
Kola’s head shot up so fast he felt dizzy. “My fault? How?”
Derek raised his eyebrows, daring Kola to disagree. He got up to switch off the whistling kettle in his tiny studio flat. He took his time making a cup of tea as Kola stewed, waiting for some insight from the 78 year old Polish man.
Derek returned to the table, stirring his tea as he blew on to the tendrils of steam wafting from his cup.
“You married ‘Saro so you need to let your mother go. Or at least stand up to her. What were you thinking moving her into your home, when you’ve barely had time to establish your marriage?”
Seconds ticked away, with only the sound of the men breathing filling the space.
“What was I supposed to do? My mother needed treatment.”
“And they don’t have doctors in Nigeria?”
Kola looked at his watch. He should have known Derek wouldn’t understand. He stood up.
“Thanks for the juice.”
Derek nodded.

Kola took the three steps to the door. He opened the door and walked through. As he closed the door the door behind him, Derek shouted, “And get that house maid out of your house. She’s trouble!”

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Ufuoma Daniella Ojo is a Technical Author and Software Trainer. She lives in London. She is editing a manuscript, learning French, working on some new stories about relationships and trusting God for connections leading to publication.

A West African Wedding

I'd like to share with you an excerpt of a story I'm working on that highlights some aspects of wedding preparations and customs from a Nigerian perspective. What's fascinating is that there are just as many wedding customs as there are tribes in Nigeria. I'm looking forward to see what the amalgamation of Urhobo (the tribe to which my family belongs in Nigeria) and Ngemba (my fiance's tribe in Cameroon) wedding customs would look like.


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It was getting harder and harder to ignore her ringing mobile phone. From the ringtone Osaro knew it was her fiancé’s sister, Yinka. She lifted the right corner of her silk eye-mask, squinting as a bit of sunlight hit her eye. Just as she reached across the bed to pick up the phone, it stopped ringing. She put her hand on her forehead, biting her lip.
Why can't Yinka leave me alone? I have so much to do getting this wedding organized. She groaned. No use trying to get back to sleep now.
She got up and knelt by the side of her bed. There was so much on her heart to share with the Lord. As she opened her month, she heard a soft voice cross her heart. Though you walk through the midst of trouble, I will revive you. She recognized the words from Psalm 138. She furrowed her brow.
Twelve minutes into her prayer hour, her phone rang again. The ring tone told her it was Kola. She wished she’d turned the ringer off.
“Hi Babe.”
“Yinka says she’s been trying to reach you. Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
Osaro was taking aback. She moved the phone from her ear and gave it her ‘dirty’ look. Kola was becoming increasingly annoying as their wedding day neared.
“Osaro are you even listening to me? Yinka is quite upset. I don’t have time to be refereeing between my fiancée and my sister!”
“Kola, I-”
“Listen, just call her back and apologize. I’ll speak to you later.”
The call was disconnected. Osaro shook her head. How come I never noticed how whinny Kola can be? She stared into space for a full minute.
“Lord, please help me.”
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Osaro clicked the Save button after entering her notes from her last patient visit. She closed the application and opened Internet Explorer. She typed in ‘breast augmentation + breast cancer’ in her search engine’s Web Search field. As she waited for the search to run she heard a knock on her door.
“Come in!”
“Hey girl! Ready for lunch?” Osaro’s best friend and business partner, Kay, entered the room, the fragrance of her signature perfume coming in with her. Kay seemed to glow.
Well, why wouldn’t she? Osaro mused. She has a husband who is totally devoted to her and she doesn’t have to deal with the stress of in-laws.
“Sorry Kay. I can't make it. I'm psyching myself up to call Yinka.”
Kay rolled her eyes. “She’s not causing trouble between you and Kola again, is she?”
“No, of course not.” Osaro replied a little too quickly. She picked up her phone, poised to dial. Kay shook head.
“Listen, you better get Kola to tell them to back off, or else for the rest of your life his family will be running you ragged.
“You’re being melodramatic as usual. Kola’s family loves me.” She shrugged. “I’m sure stress is a normal part of planning any wedding.”
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It seemed Kola and Osaro were arguing more than talking these days. Coupled with their increasingly busy work schedules, they hadn’t spent as much time together. For the first time in almost a month they were spending a quiet Friday evening together.
“I finally got my boss to approve my time off. I confess I was afraid I’d have to resume work immediately after we get back from Nigeria.”
Osaro widened her eyes. “But everything is okay now, right? After all this wedding prep stuff I really need that trip to Bali.”
Kola edged closer to Osaro on the settee and took her hands in his. Osaro pulled her hands away, recognizing Kola’s tactic of tactile attention to deflect from something she was sure she didn’t want to hear.
“Please tell me you’ve booked the tickets and the hotel room.”
Kola’s eyes roamed the breadth of his living room, missing Osaro’s gaze by miles.
“Kola? Please tell me something. Anything!” Osaro’s nostrils flared.
“I'm sorry Babe.”
“You’re sorry?!” She leapt from her seat. “What do you mean you’re sorry? Sorry for what?”
Kola leaned back in his seat. “I don’t see why we have to spend all that money for first class tickets and a fancy hotel when we can just as easily go somewhere nearer.”
Osaro put her hands up. “You agreed! You agreed months ago! If money is the problem you know I can afford it.”
“There you go again! Throwing your money in my face! I didn’t say I couldn’t afford it. I just don’t see the need for such a grandiose display!”
Osaro took a step back as if she’d been slapped. Her eyes filled with tears. Kola quickly bridged the space between them.
“I'm sorry Osaro. I didn’t mean… It’s just that you can't relate to being responsible for a very large family. You know I have to send money home every month. Yinka’s husband is not pulling his weight and I have to help with her children’s school fees-”
“I didn’t choose to be an only child Kola. I won’t apologize for my family’s wealth. Anyway, you more than anyone knows how hard I worked to achieve all I have!”
Kola clenched his fists and asked quietly, “Are you saying I didn’t work just as hard to achieve what I have? Or do you think you’re better than me just because you got a good head start?”
Osaro couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How did things get out of hand so fast?
The ringing phone interrupted her thoughts. Kola turned towards the sound. Osaro, eager to resolve this issue between them, reached for his arm.
“Let the machine pick up.”
Kola moved out of her reach. “It could be my mum, or someone from the family.”
Immediately Osaro felt her heart rate climb. I've got to do something! At this point I don’t know if Kola’s family is the problem or if his perception of himself and his family is.
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“Hello.”
“Ekasun oh!” Kola recognized his aunty from her voice and the traditional Yoruba greeting. Because he knew that Osaro felt excluded when he spoke to his family members in Yoruba, he answered his aunty’s greeting in English.
“Aunty! Good evening Ma?”
“Ah you want to speak Oyinbo. Okay oh. How is your wife?” Her voice dripped with saccharine sweetness, belying how she really felt about Osaro.
“She’s fine aunty. How are you?”
“I thank God oh. I can't complain. Not that anyone would notice.” Kola rolled his eyes. His father’s older sister was the matriarch of the family and was not above causing a little ‘innocent’ trouble to get her way.
“Aunty is there anything I can do to help?”
“Well my son, now that you ask, I'm really more concerned about you and your wife. I don’t want to cause any trouble, but does she understand that by marrying you she is marrying your entire family? She may have all the money in the world, but in our custom she has to show the family some respect. And my son, from what I'm hearing and seeing, she is not respecting you oh! At all, at all!”
Kola brought a shaky hand to his forehead. He needed to get away from Osaro’s presence because he knew an Osaro-bashing session was imminent, and Osaro being the astute lady she was, would guess what was being said just by his half of the conversation.
“Aunty, can I call you back?”
“Ah! What is the problem? Is your wife there with you? You mean you can't talk in front of her? My son oh! Who is the man in this relationship? This is not the way to start oh!”
Kola felt his head would explode. He looked at Osaro for inspiration. She just had a bemused expression on her face. Without saying a word he left the living room and walked into his bedroom. He shut the door behind him and sat on his bed.
“Sorry aunty. Please continue.” Even as he apologized he glared at his reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite his bed in disgust.
“Do you know that your wife’s mother had the audacity to send her driver all the way from Benin with one hundred yards of lace, yam and kola nut? What type of tradition is that? We are the husband! Doesn’t she think we know what to bring to Benin when we are coming for our wife? Maybe she controls her husband but that is not the way we do things oh! No!”
“Aunty I think she just sent those things as a gift. I'm sure she didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Eh! You are defending them! Is that how it’s going to be in your house? I feel sorry for you. In case all that Oyinbo living has confused you let me remind you how things are done.
“Our family will take twenty-one tubers of yam, a sack of salt, a bag of kola nuts, a drum of palm oil, forty-five dry fish, twenty-one bitter kola, a carton of sugar, five pineapples, honey, a bunch of bananas, a basket of oranges, a goat or ram dressed up with shades, coral beads and asho oke material, palm wine, cartons of beer, schnapps, whisky.”
Kola’s head was reeling. This wedding was going to cost much more than he could afford. How could he do all this, plus take Osaro to Bali? They should have just eloped instead of involving family.
“Aunty I will do my best.”
“Ah that’s not all oh. Your best had better be very good. We have to show those people that we are a family to be reckoned with otherwise your wife will think she can just walk all over you.”
“Aunty, Osaro is not like that. I'm sure that you will love her when you meet her.”
“Ah, ah! I already love her! I'm a Christian, ke! But things have to be done properly and in order.”
A soft knock on his bedroom door reminded Kola that an argument with Osaro was waiting for him. He took a deep breath. He hated having any form of conflict with her. He loved her and was convinced beyond any doubt that marrying her was God’s will.
“I'm coming honey.” He called out, even as his aunty was adding to his list of To Do’s.
“Don’t forget oh. We also have to bring plenty money. We must be able to bring more money than her parents’ request.”
“Aunty I really have to go. My bride is waiting for me. Oh, and please tell the family that Benin wedding traditions are not the same as the Yoruba ones.” He gently pressed the phone's End button.
Aunty was speechless.

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Ufuoma Daniella Ojo is a Technical Author and Software Trainer. She lives in London and is currently editing her first manuscript titled The Sower, working on some new stories on relationships and is trusting God for connections leading to publication.

Once Upon a Time

by Marion Ueckermann

Everyone loves a fairytale. Say the four magic words, “Once upon a time”, and images of princes and princesses, witches and ogres, white horses and glass carriages conjure up in the mind. Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, Snow White . . . even Fiona and Shrek.

I have a fairytale to tell. It’s not set in the usual kingdom, forest or castle however, but it does start way, way up in a timber tree house.

In sticking to the common theme, I’ll begin my story in true fairytale fashion . . .

Once upon a time there was a little girl who dreamed of playing in the timber tree house with her brother and his three friends. But she knew it was an impossible dream . . . boys didn’t play with girls, and they definitely did not invite them into their tree houses.

One day, the middle brother of the three friends felt bad that the little girl was left all alone down on the ground. When the others weren’t around, he invited her up to his leafy penthouse pad. Like a monkey, she eagerly clambered up the tree to join her hero.

Not long after, Hero moved away to boarding school in a distant city. They didn’t see each other much anymore.

The little girl grew into a young woman . . . okay, a beautiful young woman. She too had moved away from their village to follow her dreams in a big city, far, far away. Sadly, she kissed a few frogs as she searched for her prince, her one true love.

Years later, on a visit to her childhood village, she saw Hero sitting on a wooden pew in the village church. He was home visiting his kin. She couldn’t help noticing her tree house hero had grown into a handsome young man. Although shy, Hero wasn’t blind either to the fact that the little girl had blossomed into a beautiful woman.

A few months later they were betrothed and she often reminded Hero how they had played together in his tree house as young children, never knowing that one day they’d be making a home of their own together.

Soon after their betrothal they were saying their own four magic words:

“I do.”

“I do.”

And they lived happily ever after (well, at least for the next 25 years and counting . . .)

                                                                                                                   THE END

In my true-life fairytale, I’m not quite sure who wooed who. As a ten-year-old, Noel had invited me to share his tree house; as a 23-year-old, I invited him to share a picnic (it was the twentieth century). From that day on we were inseparable.

Noel and I celebrated our silver wedding anniversary this past Tuesday. 25 years of marital bliss. Quite an accomplishment I’d like to think in today’s divorce-happy culture. But 25 years of marriage is not just handed to anyone on a silver platter (sorry Shirl, this was one cliché that was just too appropriate to ditch). It comes from years of perseverance (working through the times when many would think it far easier to give up), communication, and having eyes only for each other.

Successful writing and successful marriages have these same three things in common.

In his book, Plot and Structure, James Scott Bell states: “The main difference between successful writers and unsuccessful writers is persistence.” The same could be said about marriage, ie. the main difference between successful marriages and unsuccessful marriages is perseverance (or persistence).

Jeff Gerke in The Art & Craft of Writing Christian Fiction counsels in his chapter titled ‘An (Accepting) Audience of One’: “Be sure you understand Who you’re writing for and why you’re writing it for Him.” Ephesians 5 exhorts married couples too about that audience of one: “Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord (v22); Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it (v25); For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh (v31); Nevertheless let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband (v33).”

In Fiction 101, Randy Ingermanson teaches that dialogue must advance the plot. Lack of communication is cited as the #1 reason for divorce. Better communication can, however, save a marriage. Just as dialogue moves a story forward, when husbands and wives communicate, they move their marriages forward from one year to two years . . . to ten, twenty, fifty . . . and finally, a lifetime.

Do you have a fairytale tucked away in your life story? I’d love to hear it if you care to share it.

MARION UECKERMANN’s writing passion was sparked in 2001 when she moved to Ireland with her husband and two sons. Since then Marion has been honing her skills and has published some devotional articles in Winners at Work as well as inspirational poetry online and in a poetry journal. She has written her first Christian Women’s novel (unpublished) and is currently completing the sequel. Marion now lives in Pretoria East, South Africa with her husband, sons and a crazy black ‘Scottie’. A member and moderator of the South African Christian Writers Group, Marion can be contacted via email on marionu(at)telkomsa(dot)net or through her website www.inkslinger.co.cc

Marriage: Arranged By Whom?

Narelle here. My husband and I recently celebrated our wedding anniversary. As usual, our kids dug out the old VCR tape of our wedding (which we need to transfer to DVD before the tape breaks!) and their questions started: Who’s this person? Where do they live? Our light hearted, fun viewing became deadly serious when we’re asked to explain the current location of the deceased wedding guests on the tape.

I've been married for more than a third of my life. Like all couples, we’ve had our share of ups and downs, dealt with the external pressure of work, kids, extended family etc. We’ve hung in there during the tough times. I look back and I’m thankful I made a good decision when I accepted my husband’s romantic marriage proposal. After lunch at a gorgeous restaurant on the beach, he proposed, bending down on one knee in the sand.

Not long ago I met a young woman who was about to fly home to get married. Her Asian homeland has different cultural values to the western society I live in. Her parents arranged the marriage and she hadn’t yet met her fiancé in person. For those of us who live in the western world, this concept is foreign, possibly horrifying and is reminiscent of a plot line in an historical romance novel. To her credit, this young woman respected her parent’s decision, accepted their choice of husband and was determined to make the best of her marriage.

In progressive western societies, our right to choose our life mate is held in high esteem. Yet, as time goes on the divorce rates climbs and more relationships break down. I realize that cultural and religious values make divorce an untenable outcome for many couples in arranged marriages, but I assume many, quite possibly the majority of these couples, are satisfied with their relationships.

Which makes me wonder, do our parent’s know best? Are our parents, who have lived longer than us and maybe learned life’s lessons the hard way, better equipped to choose our life partner? Did your parent’s influence your decision regarding your choice of a spouse?

Marriage of convenience is a classic plot line in the romance genre. Do you like reading books set in foreign lands that explore different cultural traditions? Have you recently read a book that draws on the unique cultural heritage of the country where the story is set? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Narelle Atkins writes contemporary inspirational romance. She resides in Canberra, Australia with her husband and children. She can also be found around the inkwell at the Inkwell Inspirations blog. To learn more about Narelle, please visit her website.