The Umbrella

In countries where people fall in love and get married, there is bad blood all round when they fall out of love. The main bone of contention is the kids’ future. The next pull and push is property, who gets the house, the vacation home or the dogs. A man in a podcast said he will never get married because he cannot lose all he has worked for, in a divorce settlement.

But who gets the umbrella? It depends on its condition, if it survived at all, after all those gale force winds. The umbrella in question is not black, like Sherlock Holmes’ umbrella or tartan like a Scottish kilt. It is a folding umbrella in your handbag or jacket pocket. Whoever makes these umbrellas makes a killing in continents like Africa where walking is still the norm, something very hard to comprehend for Canadians and Americans, who are born and raised in automobiles.

The umbrella in this blog belongs to gentlemen visitors. A man came to visit when it was raining but it was clear skies when he left in the morning. The woman calls to remind him that he forgot his umbrella. She says they can meet somewhere so that she could give it back to him. He says not to worry, he will take it next time he comes by.

That is when the woman realizes that what she assumed was forgotten, was actually left behind with the future in mind. The owner unilaterally decided there would be a return visit. She has two options. She can return the umbrella and tell the owner to wait for a second invitation to visit or be thrilled that he will return to fetch it. Wahala (trouble)! As they say in Nigeria. When the love boat crashes on a rock, primarily because the things he ‘forgot’ are now in a bag, friends ask the woman how she got herself in such a mess.

‘The umbrella. I should have returned it.’

By: Nonqaba waka Msimang.