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Golden hour
One more wedding. That’s what she’d told herself. Her portrait studio was already up and running, and she was done with the traveling and the fourteen-hour days and the family drama. Just one last wedding.
Jacqui checked the time on her phone for the umpteenth time and inhaled deeply. Screw it, the mindful breathing wasn’t cutting it. She caught the bartender’s eye. “Whiskey, please. Neat.”
She normally never drank at weddings–at least not until she clocked off. But this uncertainty was doing her head in.
She shouldn’t have agreed to the job, but it was Celia. Plus the new studio lights were expensive, and the groom was minted. Like, banking-money minted. This wedding was leaking money, from the exclusive manor-hotel venue with its manicured lawns, uniformed staff, open bar, to Celia’s dress, which Jacqui knew had been a gift from the groom’s corporate lawyer father. Celia had whispered that it cost “two months’s rent.” Who knew how much that might mean.
Plus, she’d known Celia since grammar school in Cork. It would be like turning down family; she’d never have heard the end of it.
But then Celia had moved the wedding back two hours, and now Jacqui was screwed. She let the whiskey slide down her throat and its warmth seep up her spine.
How the hell to explain to a bride that you couldn’t take pictures during golden hour because of magic.
She should have cancelled.
The last time Jacqui had shot a wedding at golden hour, the bride’s politician brother had appeared in every picture with a blurred mouth. He was arrested a week later on corruption charges, and every paper in the country had run headlines using the word ‘liar.’ Before that, it had been her own cousin’s university graduation, where he’d appeared transparent around the edges in every photo. A year later he’d abandoned medical school and cut ties with the family. Was now living in New Zealand, a diving instructor.
Jacqui never knew what truth might be revealed, or how cryptic or obvious it would be. She only knew she didn’t want the knowledge.
Curse the golden hour. And curse whichever social media wedding influencer Celia was following who had no doubt insisted the perfect wedding had to have flawless photos taken in the purest light, so her skin would look magazine-cover exquisite.
Oh, this was nuts. Why wasn’t she at home on her couch with Andy and Luna, drinking pinot and watching something benign on telly? Maybe Ted Lasso or even Breaking Bad. Something old. Something with an ending she already knew.
The wedding planner was even now corralling the families towards the manor’s water feature. It would be fine if there was a chance in hell it would take less than twenty minutes to herd them all to one place, but wedding party guests were basically cats when it came to organisation. Even now they were milling around, new ones wandering off as lost ones returned.
Celia appeared on the grass, framed by the pristine white french doors of the bar area, which led onto the lawn. Gorgeous. And sweet. Did not deserve what was coming.
What might be coming? Jacqui liked the revised verb. Surely there had to be a chance that it wouldn’t happen again. Surely. Oh, quit kidding yourself. This had happened too many times to pretend and in too many different contexts. The magic worked on any camera, fancy or plain, expensive or crap.
Out there on the green, Celia was clearly at her wits’ end, searching for wayward relatives. It would be the twenty-somethings. Since they weren’t here at the bar, they were either at the hotel lounge, or in some corner having a sneaky spliff.
The bride looked to her right, just at that moment, still framed beautifully, the golden hour just about to make its glorious appearance and transform the light into magic, figuratively. And literally.
Jacqui raised her water glass and Celia returned an exasperated smile just as Gavin joined her. As the couple spoke, heads bent towards each other, love clear on both faces, Jacqui raised her phone and snapped a shot. Heart pounding, she checked the image.
On the screen, Celia was kissing air. The groom had vanished.
There on the grass, solid and substantial; in the photo, absent.
In the years since this golden hour trouble had started, she’d seen lies, grief, ghosts and once a man whose shadow walked three feet ahead of him. She’d never seen a bride or groom simply disappear.
“Bollocks.”
The bartender raised her eyebrows and tilted her head towards the whiskey, suggesting another drink.
“I wish. But no, thanks.”
Maybe she could fake a robbery of all her cameras. At least for an hour. She played the scenario out in her head: she’d exit the main bar carrying all her gear, and then come back moments later claiming a theft? Right.
She could feign illness. Some kind of sickness so debilitating that she couldn’t hold out for one hour…like a heart attack? Cue: a lifetime of guilt. Celia’s father had died of a heart attack. No, Jacqui couldn’t take the entire wedding down like that.
There was always the truth. After all, Celia’d grown up in Cork, where every family possessed at least one story nobody could quite explain. But no. This was her husband, and her wedding day.
Perhaps she should check again. Jacqui slid off her barstool and approached the french doors. From the threshold, she snapped a few more of the crowd. Several of Gavin, specifically, who looked perfect in this flood of golden light.
She swiped through. There he was in the ceremony, saying his vows, holding the ring, kissing the bride, and walking up the aisle afterwards. All present and correct. But another swipe and there they all were, the whole wedding party, outside–all but Gavin. The groom was missing. Double bollocks.
Scanning the shots, in case some additional disaster had yet to reveal itself to her, it didn’t appear that any other guests were affected. Thank Hecate for that.
“I know it’s getting late. We’re almost ready, I swear.”
Jacqui jolted. It was Celia, who’d approached on stealthy-bride Manolos.
“Oh–Hey. It’s fine. It’s nothing. Take your time.”
“Is everything alright? Your expression…are the photos okay?”
The eagerness in her bright blue eyes belied the question. Celia didn’t actually believe anything would be wrong with the pictures. This wasn’t even the right camera, just a phone. All the good, important shots would be on the expensive gear. “Totally fine! I was just checking–reading a text. All good.”
Celia nodded. “Honestly, I’m losing my patience. I’m giving them five more minutes and then they just won’t be in the family photos. You know?”
Jacqui stretched her lips into a smile she didn’t feel. Wished for another whiskey to appear in her hand. Why didn’t the magic happen like that? Why with the damn photos?
“Jacqui, you look just like you did on the day Sean Ryan asked you to the Winter Dance. What aren’t you telling me?” Celia stepped closer, with laser focus on Jacqui’s screen. “Those are photos of today. Show me.”
She took the phone and peered at it. Frowned. Swiped. Swiped again, and again. Her frown deepened.
Jacqui winced. “I–”
“Odd.” She swiped further back and paused. “He’s here.”
“Yeah.” “But not here.”
Jacqui shook her head.
“It’s funny…” But Celia didn’t finish the thought. She handed Jacqui the phone and waved at the bartender. “Two whiskeys, please.”
“Bless you.”
“This is–” Celia bit her lip. “Come on.”
She marched to the bar, and Jacqui had no choice but to follow, grasping for something– anything–to say to explain the void.
“Do you know what it means?” Celia handed Jacqui a lowball tumbler.
“No.” She shook her head with more certainty than she felt. “It’s the time of day. Something about this light reveals…something. I can’t even say ‘truth.’ Because I just don’t know.”
Celia sipped her drink, thoughtful, eyes on the lawn on the other side of the french doors, where the wedding planner was gesturing like a demented traffic warden. “They’ll be waiting. I have to go back out there.” She remained seated.
Jacqui tossed back her drink in one gulp. “We have to.” She savored the whiskey’s burn. This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Celia was still staring at the scene on the lawn, at Gavin. Maybe he wasn’t the doting fiance Jacqui assumed. Maybe Celia had already suspected that something wasn’t as it should be. An illness. Or an affair. Maybe she’d already spent months imagining a future without him.
“You should go. I’ll grab my gear.”
Celia glided across the room in that Tuula Tatsuki sheath and those Manolo Blahnik stilettos, framed in gold by the light, which was even now changing. Darkening.
Perhaps the Golden Hour had passed. Maybe the danger was over.
Jacqui slipped her phone in her pocket and slung her bag over her shoulder. As she walked towards the lawn, she saw Celia take her place next to her husband, and Gavin look down at her with love. Celia didn’t look back. The light changed to blue.
The warmth of the whiskey evaporated as a chill ran straight up her spine. – Source:reedsy.com
THE Orthodox Church is leading a moral revolution. At least the Methodist Church will no longer permit entry to church members or visitors dressed as if they were heading for a beach party. Those dressed in hot-pants and skimpy tops will be ushered out or physically prevented from entering.
It has taken a lot of courage for the Methodist Church to come to this decision, even at the risk of losing members who believe in sartorial liberalism and ecclesiastical democracy.
Some churches have still not mustered that courage, because they still nurse misconceptions about the church. Some say the church must be built with increased membership, which is unbiblical. Narrow is the path of righteousness.
The house of God is not a market-place or a discotheque. It must be kept holy. Anyone who wants salvation should be humble enough to dress decently before coming to the altar of the Lord. Jesus had to cane people who desecrated the synagogue.
CONTROVERSIAL
The other change people want in the church is about TITHING. It is a very controversial matter, made more controversial by some pastors insisting that all church members must pay tithe.
In other words, tithing has been made compulsory. Even some tithes are allegedly calculated and deducted at source. When Jesus hears some of these things he’d lament.
In some churches, you must pay tithe, otherwise when you die, the church will have no hand in your burial. Is that the unscriptural mandate the church has arrogated to itself?
Tithing began with the Levites, the priesthood. Because priests were not permitted to work, God stipulated that Israelites should see to their welfare through the sub-mission of 10 per cent of their crop and animal yield. This was to be put in the storehouse of the Lord. Anyone who did this was expected to be blessed in terms of increased farm or animal yield.
The priesthood itself has gone through many changes. Today, it is only the Catholic Church that properly undertakes to cater to the needs of the Catholic Church cannot be challenged
In other churches, what pastors are given is so puny that they virtually have to fend for themselves. So pastors have drifted into other vocations, and pastoring has become a part-time job.
When Jesus came, He neither condemned nor promoted tithing, probably because He did not want to be an impediment in the way of the Law and neither did He want to condone a practice that was outliving its usefulness. So He spoke very little about tithing, not saying whether it was good or bad.
What He however stressed was GIVING. “Give and it shall be given unto you…” Luke 6:38. He emphasised kindness to the poor, because both the rich and poor have the spirit of God in them.
What I am sometimes curious about is why the modern church has abandoned all the Old Testament edicts and laws, but sticks so rigorously to only tithing.
In the Old Testament, believers in God were sacrificing sheep, cows, doves and burning grain as a way of atoning for their sins or as offering to God. They were barred from eating certain animals and birds because they were labelled unclean.
When Jesus came, all these stopped because there was a new dispensation. It no longer mattered what your sins were or what you ate. If you became penitent and believed in the Lord Jesus as your personal saviour, you were indeed saved
OBLIGATORY
Jesus or the church did not come to prosper anybody. He said give and it would be given unto you. And giving must not only be to the church, but to fellow human beings who need our support. With the advent of Jesus, tithing had become an issue of little relevance, because instead of tithing (giving to the church a tenth), Jesus declared no limits. You give according to your freewill “because God loves a cheerful giver.”
Today, those who tithe give it grudgingly because it is not of their own freewill. It is like a tax. This should not be!
And because it has become more compulsory than obligatory, believers are paying tithes on gifts, on loans they take and whatever monies they get. Even those who do not work borrow money to pay tithe, when your tithe is supposed to be from your income earned out of productive work.
Those who don’t work are not supposed to pay tithe. You can give money to the church but not in the form of tithe, because tithe is paid only from productive work. Once you pay tithe, you are supposed to be working.
Now, should tithing be abolished? I would say no, because I feel that the priest-line must still be maintained so that we cease having part-time pastors who have divided attention. So the church must look after their pastors so that they can lead the flock safely to heaven. However, those who give towards this cause should not be called tithers. They should be called GIVERS TO THE CHURCH.
It doesn’t have to be 10 per cent. It could be 20 or 30 per cent so long as you give of it cheerfully. It could be five per cent or a widow’s mite.
I personally do not believe that unless you tithe, you will not prosper. What of if I give more than a tenth? It is not a tithe, but would God not appreciate it?
I believe, there must be no limit to giving. The tithing was God’s limit to Israel at the time so as not to overburden them. That should not be the standard-of today. Jesus didn’t say “tithe.” He said “give”
Giving to the church will open doors of blessings. And giving to the poor will open even greater doors.
This article was first published on Saturday September 30, 2006
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My name is Bernard Forson. I was fortunate to have been blessed with three elder sisters, who contributed to give me a smooth tertiary education.
My dad taught Economics in senior high schools all his working life, mostly in the Central Region, and my mother worked as a matron or catering officer, either in the same school with Dad, or in senior high schools and polytechnics close by. My parents gave their four children a good upbringing and education.
Interestingly, all my three sisters studied catering at the polytechnic, and after a few years working in government establishments, established the Sankofa Restaurant and Catering, where they provided first class local dishes for patrons and delivered regular orders. They were strategically on the Circle-Achimota road, and many customers stopped for breakfast, lunch and supper all day.
I was a ‘retirement baby’, born ‘by accident’ when my parents were close to retirement, so my sisters took over all issues relating to my education. I sailed smoothly through university, earning a first class degree in development economics.
I did my National Service with the Electricity Company of Ghana, and was offered a job in the Projects Department, My sisters advised me to acquire a postgraduate qualification, so with the ECG experience in mind, I did an 18 month Masters Degree in Project Management at the Ghana Institute of Management and Public Administration, during which time I often went to help my colleagues at the Projects Department.
I was re-engaged at the ECG, but six months into the new job my fatherly Head of Department, Mr. Osekre, encouraged me to apply for the job of Northern Sector Project Manager at what was advertised as a ‘development agency’.
It turned out to be the European Union, which gave me the responsibility of coordinating the development jobs being done by various contractors in the northern regions. I was offered a comfortable flat in Tamale, and given a new pick-up truck.
I established good rapport with the contractors, and sent monthly reports which informed them about the progress of work. I established an online portal which enabled them to easily monitor what was happening in all their projects.
This was greatly appreciated, and the Commissioner wrote to thank me, and informed me that due to my work, the regular visits by expatriate staff to the north had become unnecessary. And better still, the offices in Brussels and other countries heard about me. I was sent to several African countries to help them establish similar online facilities, and was soon promoted to Consultant.
I often came to Accra by air to spend a few days with family and friends, but I preferred to drive, because it gave me the opportunity to bring a substantial amount of foodstuffs for use in the restaurant. Of course, I was very well paid, Upon the advice of my elder sisters and my mentor Mr. Osekre, I took two major decisions. I decided to find a stable lady partner to marry and start a family. I also decided to invest in housing projects. Mr. Osekre took me to some areas in Accra with several uncompleted buildings, and suggested that I buy a couple of these houses, finish them and sell.
Under his guidance, I did extensive investigations to find the actual owners of the properties and completed negotiations with them.With all the resources I could muster, I put them into perfect condition, and buyers rushed to take them even when I was putting final touches to them. Having made a substantial profit, I registered a company, opened an office and employed two graduates to scout for properties, conduct searches on property documents, and arrange meetings with the owners of the properties. This became a very successful business to which I could retire anytime I wanted.
On the relationship side, I reconnected with Abena Gyasi, who was two years behind me at the university, and was working in a recruitment agency. We had gone out a few times, and I had visited her family and enjoyed their company.
Apart from the fact that her parents were well known to mine, we got on well together, and although I did not propose directly, all indications pointed to our heading towards marriage. She was tall and quite elegant with a commanding presence, and I felt proud about the glances that were cast in her direction when we went out. We enjoyed each other’s company, and spent long hours on the phone when I was out of town.
Everything went well until I went to her house one morning, and she introduced her friend Jennifer, who was her mate in senior high school. She was a big girl, quite fashionable and outgoing. They talked excitedly about new fashion trends, and called other mates to chat.
I was quite glad that she had found someone to spend time with when I was not around. She smiled and even joked with me, but I felt a bit uneasy that she was not too excited about me. I thought this was normal, as she perhaps wanted Abena all to herself.
A few weeks later, Abena started asking questions about my job, even though I had told her a lot about my work in the north. On Mr. Osekre’s advice, I had only told my family about the investment business.
It was better to wait till it was on firm ground, he advised, and that would take at least a couple of years. Of course, I would tell her everything when we decided to get married. She started asking some funny questions like ‘did you say you were doing agricultural extension work or development projects?’
Initially I gave her answers with some details, but when she persisted along the same lines, I said out of exasperation, ‘Abena, why do you keep asking the same questions even though I have answered you? Listen, there is nothing wrong with agricultural extension work, but that is not my line of work. But if that is what you wish to believe, then please go ahead, if it makes you happy.
I just don’t understand this’. Not long after, some friends said they had seen her with Jennifer eating lunch with some young guys. I complained, and said that I would prefer it if she went out with only me at that stage in our relationship. And if she needed to go out with others, I had to know.
To my great surprise, she brushed it off, saying ‘but Bernard, what is wrong with going out for lunch with friends? As for this one, I think you are doing too much?’ That was the beginning of the end.
By Ekow de Heer
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