Call it a hazard of living in Utah: I had seen exactly 5.2 trillion people live that magical moment in front of a temple (not to mention dozens, and sometimes hundreds of well-intentioned but nosy onlookers who inevitably aww'd and clapped when she said the magic word). One time, near the reflection pond at the Salt Lake Temple, I literally saw two couples simultaneously get engaged within 15 feet of each other.
Ugh, no offence to any of you temple-proposal-story-havers (I'm sure you have nothing but good memories of the time your SO popped the question or said the very best "yes" you have ever heard), it was just a Mormon cliché I could happily live without.
If we're being real honest, maybe the biggest part of the temple proposal turn off for me was the crowd. As much as I might enjoy being the centre of attention at times, and despite my open-book tendency of sharing intimate life stories with friends (or you know, complete strangers on the internet), I prefer to actually live my private moments... well, privately.
Suffice it to say that I had never been keen on the idea of being proposed to in a public setting with lots of people present.
I had maybe pictured a low-key romantic proposal out in nature somewhere. Maybe a spectacular vantage point on a pretty hike (but like, not too intense because I wouldn't want to be too flushed or sweaty or disheveled). Maybe my adorable and well-trained dog would have had the ring fastened to his collar the whole time, stressing my fiancé-to-be each time I bent down to pet Scruffy along the hike. Maybe my Sweetie would pluck a spontaneous bouquet of wildflowers before dropping on one knee and delivering a none-too-rehearsed, but perfectly saccharine declaration of love and devotion culminating in the best question a woman who is pushing 30 and wants children (but not on her own) could ever be asked. Maybe I would cry because it would be so out of the blue, such a surprise! Oh, and maybe a very close and talented friend would be hiding in the bushes to be the big moment's DJ-slash-confetti thrower-slash-photographer-slash-sparkling-apple-juice-and-chocolate-sherpa.
I don't know, I never gave it much thought.
Fortunately, I guess, a temple proposal was out of the question for Steve, given the circumstances. A densely-populated proposal, however, was not.
By the time the sun came up on the day of our engagement party, halfway through my six-week visit, Steve still hadn't taken a knee. (Yes, it was such a given, a fait accomplit that we were getting married that his parents— and his grandparents, on the other side the family, the following weekend— planned a party in our honour before he even put a ring on it). So, as you can imagine, I had my suspicions about how things might go down that night.
And I can't say I wasn't at least a little grumpy about it.
For one thing, I felt roughly the size of an industrial warehouse in the dress that my sweet mother-in-law had purchased for me to wear that evening.
(Objectively beautiful and culturally significant, the brilliant blue and white oversized full-length kaba extended from the base of my neck and billowed out in every direction. Now, I have more or less tried to avoid flared and flowing floor-length garments since the first time my grandfather pinched my stomach pudge and called me Mama Cass (yes, I said "first time"). When you are already a person of girth, you don't really want to wear anything that adds to the illusion of a bulky frame.
Though fashion advice holds that it's smart to emphasize your thinnest part, I don't think they are talking about your neck. Anyways, I didn't want to be ungrateful and I was trying to have a good attitude about it, but, beholden as I am to Western beauty ideals, I felt super self-conscious the way the dress swung around me, vaguely like a grounded parachute.)
For another, I had been told that I would be expected to dance. Alone. In front of a crowd. Of people I largely didn't know. In a dress that already made me feel self-conscious. Awesome!
For a third, I had stupidly gotten ready on white man's time, meaning I was pumped-to-be-no-longer single and ready to mingle by the time the party was "supposed" to start.
And I was still waiting, mostly alone, anxious and bored out of my skull in the girls' bedroom, more than two hours later. Cameroonians like a good reveal, a grand entrance if you will, so I was to stay hidden until I was properly announced. Music and chatter had started somewhere along the line as guests started to arrive, but the wait dragged on and my anxiety grew. I just wanted to see my man and get on with the show.
Finally, finally, my father in law quieted the music and welcomed everyone, expressing his excitement to be able to share this celebration with our assembled guests. Then, after little preamble, the music was cued back up and I was introduced as Steve's fiancée. The idea was, I was supposed to emerge from behind the curtain that separated the lime green living room from the hallway to the back bedrooms, dance my way to the love seat that had been set up as the focal point of the room (where Steve was already seated and waiting), and continue to shake a tail feather until such time as whoever was in control of the music decided to turn it off.
As I stepped into the living room, my anxiety ratcheted up to 1000. Except for a small square of open space in front of the love seat, every spare inch of floor was charged with white plastic chairs borrowed from the church. The chairs, in turn, were filled with dozens of people— many more than I had thought possible for one apartment. I recognized some as church members or family members I'd briefly met, but many I could swear I'd never seen a day in my life. The dining table, normally centered between the balconies, in front of the windows opposite where the love seat was now sitting, was shoved up against the wall to my left and absolutely brimming with dishes lovingly prepared by my mother-in-law and several women from the local branch over the previous two days. Despite the open doors and oscillating fans, the added body the in the room, on top of the already 30-plus day and 100% humidity, broached on overwhelming.
I'd barely danced 10 seconds before I had rivulets of sweat making their way down my forehead and lower back. Mercifully, Steve jumped up and joined me, his joyful expression and exuberance melting away my anxiety. I looked into his eyes and remarked that he had never looked at me more tenderly. He told me over and over again how amazing I looked. Later, he would explain to me how a traditional kaba emphasizes a woman's natural and inner beauty by concealing the form of her body. Whereas I looked in the mirror and saw the broad side of a barn, he looked at me and saw tradition, nobility, modesty, elegance and beauty.
The music was again silenced as Steve's uncle, the head of his father's family, stood to say his piece. He kissed my cheeks and offered me a warm welcome to the family, taught the gathered crowd how to "properly" pronounce my name, then proceeded to speak eloquently for 10 minutes about the joy and trials of marriage, the commitment we were entering into and what that would mean for us and our families. Steve's uncle finished by offering us hearty congratulations and was about to move onto blessing the food when Steve piped up.
"You've heard here today that Brooke is my fiancée," he said, standing. "But that is not technically true. There is still one thing I've neglected to do."
He fished a small, red, plush heart-shaped box out of his pocket, and some of the guests whooped and tittered. He started into a little speech which TBH, I don't 100% remember (though we definitely have the whole thing on video somewhere, from at least four different angles, because smartphones). The gist of it was that his heart had searched. His heart had found. His heart had chosen.
Then, before lowering onto one knee, he slipped me a little rectangle of glossy paper and asked me to read it out loud. It was one of those cheesy love "coupons" I had half-jokingly slipped into a gift I'd given him. It said "Grant me this wish:" and left a big blank space for your lover to write down their's heart's desire.
There, in English, he'd scrawled "Be my wife."
D'oh! For cute right?
Wait a second. I've just realized that he still technically never asked me to marry him. Like, with his own mouth and voice. Oh well, that ship's sailed I guess. Plus, in fairness, I'm not sure I ever actually said yes (let's call in a video replay on that one). All I can be sure of is that I nodded repeatedly, tugged on his outstretched hand for him to stand and planted one on him before he had stood up the whole way. Regrettably, there are copious photos of my rather ample arm lifted to wipe the pale makeup off his face. *Cringe*
So, it wasn't exactly the proposal I'd once conjured in my head. As you've probably gathered by now, not much about our relationship has gone much according to fantasy (just wait until I tell you about our wedding!) but I'm finding more and more that fact can be so much better than fiction.
Now, I can appreciate that Steve wanted to share that joyful moment, and have it magnified by an audience of most of the people he cares about most. Looking back I also find it adorably fitting that we got engaged just steps away from where we first laid eyes on one another, in the same room where his dad had given me so much hope about our future, where his mom had played matchmaker between us, adjacent to the room where we had shared our very first kiss.
Now there's some low-key romance that no trail proposal à deux could ever top.
Still waiting on those flowers, though.
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