I am married to a Mosotho woman. How did this come about? It’s a story that stretches over years. During my fifth and final year as a Peace
Corps Volunteer in Lesotho when Qenehelo was working at Catholic Relief
Services, and where I was friends with the staff, we got in the habit of having
Friday dinners together in the room where she was living. I would come in from Matsieng, call her at
CRS, buy some chicken, vegetables and wine, and go to her room. She cooked and we dined by candlelight. The latter was partly for atmosphere and
party because there was no choice: there was no electricity. Basically we were two friends who enjoyed
each other’s company.
When it was time for me to go to Washington to begin my
training for the Foreign Service, Qenehelo was at the airport to see me
off. Over the nine months of training we
sent each other letters. We were allowed
to say where we would like our first posting to be and, needless to say, I
chose Africa, resulting in my being posted to Zambia. So in September I set off, with a detour
through Lesotho, where I met again with Qenehelo, and spent my nights visiting
my old school in Matsieng. Before I was
scheduled to leave for Lusaka, I went to Qenehelo’s new house on the hills
above Maseru to say goodbye and to invite her to visit me in Zambia at
Christmas time
Alas she wasn’t there.
I waited for what seemed to be a long tine and finally decided to bag it. Just as I was leaving I heard a familiar
voice saying “U ea kae uena,” where are you going you? We happily met, I invited her to visit, and
my spirits were lifted. We’ve often
speculated since then that if I had left a few minutes earlier or she had
arrived a few minutes later, we never would have gotten married.
Fast forward to December: Qenehelo arrived and we had a
great time, touring the city, visiting a game park, and meeting my
colleagues. This time we were sure: we
decided to get married! We were so
happy that we went to the church of the Order of Poor Claires, where I had been
teaching English to a few nuns, to give thanks.
There are many steps that have to be taken before getting
married in Lesotho: after Qenehelo returned home, I wrote a letter to her
mother asking permission to marry her daughter and her mother replied that I
had done the right thing by asking permission, but I must be sure this wasn’t a
“whirlwind romance,” (her brother translating).
In June of that year Qenehelo returned to Zambia to stay with me.
By December we decided to do the deed and returned to
Lesotho. First I had to negotiate with
Tumisang, Qenehelo’s older brother and, with the passing of their father, the
head of the family, over lobola, the
bride price. I was happy to be able to
provide some financial backing for her mother.
Then I was interviewed, one by one, by several village women. A woman would come into Qenehelo’s hut,
heave a sigh, sit down and quiz Qenehelo’s mother. After a while she woul nod her head
positively and leave. Finally I had to
visit the village chief, so he could approve the marriage since lobola had been
paid.
On December 23rd Qenehelo, Tumisang and I went to
Maseru to ask the district administer to marry us. Alas Christmas celebrations were well underway;
administrators were dancing and crying out “Happee, happee!” A lost cause. We returned on December 28, went into the
administrator’s office where we found a secretary with her head on the desk. The administrator was at the bank; try coming
back in the afternoon. In the meantime,
Tumisang laid down a gratuity and we had a license.
At 2:30 in the afternoon, we returned and were told the
administrator would marry us at 3 pm.
Woah! Thirty minutes to prepare
emotionally! But we did and were
married with two other couples amid stern warnings that I faced jail time if I
had another wife. Next stop, Morija where
we woke up a minister who prayed for us.
Then to Qenehelo’s house and off to our honeymoon in Mauritius; a lovely
island in the Indian Ocean.
That was thirty one years ago and we’re still happily
married.
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