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Carolyne Nakazibwe
I love weddings, oh yes I do. They make me feel not only
blue but give me a lot of hope at love. It is only at weddings
that I see couples act so affectionately.
But last Saturday somebody almost ruined a wonderful wedding
for me.
I don’t know where this particular MC was picked
from, but man, I now think MC, stood for Mental Case in
this case.
From the moment we arrived at the reception, MC talked until
we left. He reprimanded everybody, the Dee Jay, the guests
and even the service providers all the time and through
the microphone for nothing and everything.
What with an MC who has a problem with every song the DJ
plays. When the DJ insisted on playing his music, it did
not deter him from shouting through it demanding that a
better song be played for “the bride’s parents
as they come to deliver their speech. But not before warning
the very parents that if they dared talk too much, he would
embarrass them.
The way he called on people to perform their duties was
to say the least humiliating!
Apart from mispronouncing the groom’s name the MC
kept the newlyweds on tension for reasons I did not understand.
He had a thousand rituals for them to perform at the cake
cutting ceremony, instructing them to speak love through
the microphone.
After the poor guy and his wife said his rubbish, he grabbed
the microphone, gave off a hearty laugh, jumped up with
excitement then told off the envious guests.
When meal time came, the MC boomed, “if we have not
instructed you to get up and go to the serving point, don’t
because you don’t want to know what we shall do to
you.” Everybody stared at him in shock, but he was
not bothered. After each of those weird announcements he
would take time off to dance off-beat and then yell at the
Dee Jay for playing terrible music. No brother, it is you
dancing terribly to wonderful music!
If I were some two-and-a-half-year-old I would have yelled
“mummy, tell that man to stop talking, ah!”
The disadvantage of being old!
And misery loves company. The Mental Case on the microphone
was doing his thing at the same time as the stranger on
my right, who was my self appointed commentator for the
night.
I tried ignoring her by pointedly paying attention to the
date on my left, but there she was, nudging me with an elbow
to ask how the bride could wear such a gown! And the cake
is too soft. And why are they making us clap now? Shya!
Why is the woman over there overdressed – is it her
wedding!? Oh gosh, how can the Dee Jay play that hideous
song (Sophia Nantongo’s Amaggwa) when the parents
are here?
Eh! By the time the wedding was over, I desperately needed
a painkiller.
carol@ugandaobserver.com
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