Love Conversations: 26 year old man marries a 56 year old bride in a Taxi

I squeezed into a taxi at Kyaliwajala, right outside Agenda Hotel, and immediately found myself in the midst of a mouthwatering conversation. Ugandans are known for their love of lively discussions, especially in the central region, and this ride was no exception. I was wedged between two ladies who were generously endowed at the hips—because in Kampala, a seat meant for two can easily accommodate four!

On the other end of the seat, there’s this full-grown man doing a precarious balancing act – half on the seat, half floating in eternal hope, using one of the ladies’ laps as an emergency landing pad. The poor woman kept throwing verbal barbs at the poor fellow, but in true Kampala taxi spirit, nobody moved an inch.

Then came the drama. Enter Madam X, our self-appointed marriage counselor seated in front, who dropped the bomb about a 26-year-old boy marrying a woman old enough to be his mother. She nearly spat in disgust.

The taxi erupted like a volcano of opinions. Our driver, trying to be humorous and diplomatic at the same time, shrugged and declared, “It’s love!” (Though I suspect he was just trying to avoid becoming the next hot topic). Well, his shirt looked like it had not seen water in years. He emitted an odour that I could swear with my head on the line that it wasn’t a perfume. 

The lady beside me quickly snorted – with the energy and gusto of someone who puts chili in their morning tea – how she’d “educated” a would-be sister in-law (also twice her brothers age) through a thorough beating. Madam X, apparently a retired boxer, threw a practice punch that nearly got the “Left hook” on the person seated next to her, cheering “You did well!” The entire taxi rocked with laughter. I moved a little bit just in case he threw another practice punch in my direction. Madam X had within minutes turned into a marriage apostle with a growing discipleship in the taxi.

Then our conductor, brave soul that he was, chose violence that day. He confessed to being married to a woman 20 years his senior. The taxi went so quiet you could hear someone’s conscience whisper. Poor man started listing his credentials faster than a job applicant: “I work hard! We have three children! We sell vegetables! We have chickens!” He was one breath away from bringing his piggy bank.

Madam X, our resident judge and jury and former heavyweight boxing champ, was ready to sentence him to death by disapproving looks until he mentioned the magic words: “We bought land.” Suddenly, she transformed from fierce critic to understanding aunt. Apparently, real estate is the universal peace libation in Kampala.

I got off at Jinja Road traffic lights, leaving behind what was surely going to be another chapter in Kampala’s greatest taxi debates. As the taxi disappeared into the chaos of downtown, I couldn’t help but wonder: in a city where two-seater benches hold four people, who are we to judge how many years should separate two hearts?

Just remember, if you’re a young man in Kampala thinking of marrying someone twice your age, beware of Madam X and her disciples. They’re watching, they’re judging, and they’ve been practicing their punches.

And to that poor fellow still half-sitting on someone’s lap: I hope you found your balance in life.

Wataka Rogers