Dear Husband-to-be

Hi darling,

 

Hope you’re well. Also, hope you’re not bald. Ha ha, kidding! (Or am I?) Just thought I’d holler and say ‘hey’. How’s work? If you’re a farmer that’s real cool, because I’m crazy about mangoes. You could pay half the dowry in mangoes, I know Mum and Dad will understand.

How’s Morocco? Coz I figured that’s where you are, seeing as it’s taking you this long to find me. Just in case you were wondering, or don’t know how to use Google Maps, I’m in Kampala, Uganda. I’d tell you the house number and estate as well but stalkers be crazy, I know you’ll know how to get to me J .

Hun, I just wanted to be honest with you. I tried joining the gym and doing aerobics but I hate it, I hate jumping around in a closed-off room with too many sweaty people. You’ll come to learn how super-paranoid I am about hygiene, and how I’d rather be beaten up than use a public toilet, so the gym thing is understandable. But I’m walking every day, so I know I’m fit. It’s funny, I’m learning to love my body, together with these hips that I think are way, way too large for my hobbit-height (though everyone else salivates after them) and I’m hoping you’ll love them too. I’m hoping you’ll be the one to tell me how beautiful I am every day. I already know how good-looking you are and I will tell you so all the time. I already know you have a dimple (or dimples) when you smile. Don’t ask me how I know but I do know.

What are you reading right now? I hope, I hope, I hope you’re a reader. I hope part of the ‘baggage’ you’re coming with is your library- yaaay! And if you read Paulo Coelho we will make a bonfire and burn his horrifically boring books together (and send you for therapy). I hope we can spend crazy late nights finishing up the latest CNA novel (or S.K.R novel should I fulfill my ambitions J ) and not even talking because we’re both so engrossed in whatever we’re reading. I hope in our family calendar we’ll have days to honour late greats like Barbara Kimenye and Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Wahome Mutahi. And that we’ll raise total geeks who’ll read and change the world 😀 If you are not a reader-gulp! No no no, I’m not going there, I choose not to stare into that particular black hole.

I also hope that in the Moroccan desert you are learning how to communicate, that grunts and long periods of man-cave silence have long been phased out of your vocabulary. On that note, please feel free to tell me when I over-communicate!

I have my worries too. What if you’re a social butterfly, the life of the party? I’m sometimes so melancholic, prolonged people interaction drains me. Or what if you’re a total football fanatic? Or a mountain-climbing sporty super-fit freak? Will I be able to cope? What if you’re shorter than me? (But this is far-fetched, like I said, I am hobbit-height). So many what-ifs, but I just have to breathe in and out and remember that God knows me even better than I know me, and that “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” The creator of the Aurora Borealis made you so I guess I can relax and know that you look nothing like Smeagol (snort! “Preeeeeeciousssss!”)

And you don’t have to worry. For now you have no competition (I gave up on project Taye Diggs), not that I’m that undesirable but whatever prayers you’re praying from that desert of yours-they’re working! Argh!

Okay, I have to go now hun. And we can decide on a pet-name for each other when we meet. I’m leaning heavily towards ‘Preeeeeeeeeeciousssss’ (complete with hissing sound effect). No? You don’t like that? Really, how odd! Details details, we can work it all out later.

Can’t wait to meet ya.

Love always,

Me.