Marrying a Chagga

I have always known that getting married to a Chagga woman is a headache, especially if you are a kyasaka – but my girlfriend’s dad took the cake and the cherry on top!  The cream even!  With a mchagga father one never wins! You see, most Chagga parents don’t believe in inter-marriage.  When the topic of marriage comes up they will always insist that home is always best.  Infact some parents are so fast at hooking their children up!

             “When is daughter coming back?  Is she done with her law degree?  My nephew is just about to finish his doctorate.  Maybe we should introduce them when they get back from overseas.” 

Naturally when you hear degrees, overseas and such arrangements it only means prominent families – with names and clout. Anyway, so there they were, the two of them, sharing that father-daughter moment.  They used to have that, those two.  So my girlfriend brings up the topic that makes any possessive Dad freeze.  But since they always had that bond, he was down with whatever.

             “If I ever get married I will get married to a mzungu,” she announces.

             “Where from?”

             “Hmm, say German.”

             “No, his parents will always make you feel like a second class citizen.”

             “England?”

             “They will never see past your race and colour.”

             “Okay, an African then.”

             “Great!  At least we are home.  But where from?”

             “Okay, South Africa?”

              “They will abuse you.”

               “West Africa?”

               “They will probably sell you for your organs.”

                “North Africa?”

                “They will put in a harem.”

                 “East Africa then.”

                 “Great!  At least we are home.”

                  “Hmm, Uganda?”

                  “Uwii!  HIV/AIDS!”

                  “Kenya?”

                  “They will harass you!”

                  “Jamani wapi sasa?”  my girlfriend had started the topic to get at her Dad, but now the tables had turned around.  She was getting highly agitated. 

                  “How about home?”  Her dad offered. 

                  “Okay, how about Wagogo?”  She asks about the tribe from Dodoma. 

                  “Omba omba wale.  You will be as poor as a church mouse!”

                  “Wahaya then?” 

                  “They are too arrogant!” 

                  “Wapare?” 

                  “They like sex too much!” 

My girlfriend giggles at this, thinking – as if there is something wrong with that.  The dad seeing his daughter’s reaction gives another point quickly.

                 “And they are misers!”

                 “Okay, wakurya?”

                 “You’ll be beaten black and blue!”

                 “Wasukuma then?” 

                 “They will fatten you up and force you to bleach your skin.”

                 “Okay, I take it you will be happy if I got married to a mchagga?”

                 “That’s what I have always been telling you!”

                 “Wakibosho?”

                 “They will beat you black and blue!”

                 “Wauru?”

                 “Very smart, educated but no maendeleo.  You husband might end-up being a shoe shiner with a pHd.”

                 “Wamachame?”

                 “Wachawi!  They can even bewitch the dead!”

                 “Wa-old Moshi?”

                 “Washamba!”  He spits on the ground, “they are so ignorant they don’t know the difference between a cell phone and a remote control.”

                 “Wamarangu?” 

                 “They are too arrogant!“

                “Okay, so I guess you will be happy if I married someone from our village.”

                “Absolutely,” he smiles.  “But they are too …” 

                “I hear you, dad,” my girlfriend interrupts, “someone from the same community then?” 

                “Which clan though?”  

                “The Tembas?” 

                “The great grandmother was a witch.” 

                “The Machas?” 

                “I hear the aunt’s cousin’s sister’s son’s father was a mental case.  Your children might inherit it.” 

                “The Mushis?” 

                “They are thieves.  They are so bad that they even steal their very own livestock jamani!” 

                 “The Temus?” 

                 “They haven’t gone to school!” 

                 “The Lyimos?”

                 “They drink too much!  They will forget the baby’s milk but never the beer.”

My girlfriend then coughs, not because there was something irritating her throat, but because she was so tempted to remind her father that his blood pressure and liver problem were – by the way - because of drinking too much – tena hard liquor even. 

                  “The Teshas?”

                  “Their late great grandfather owes your late great grandfather!”

                  To this my girlfriend raises her eyebrows, but since she didn’t want to get into it – clearly – she went on, “Okay, I guess you will be happy if it was from the same street then?” 

                  “Absolutely!”  The dad replies with a grin, “but which family though?”         

~ by saharasoulfood on June 19, 2007.