Forty-ish, greying, with a noticeable bulge around the belly and a pate that was fast losing hair, he still cut a figure.
Standing at over six feet, his hunk physique was negated by a round, jolly, face lit up by ever-twinkling eyes.
The icing was that he was not doing badly by any parameters.
Well, except one.
He was not married.
Bro Maro was such an eligible bachelor, his singleness gave hope to other guys when the talk around getting hitched swelled and overflowed.
Once, the pastor of The Apostolic Believers' Church was preaching and said "Bro Maro..." intending to give an illustration, someone quipped, "Goan marry." The saying stuck.
Still, the good brother was not fazed. People began to speculate.
He had a good job, lived in one of the better parts of town and seemed like a good guy... Was he gay? Or could he not get it up?
All the sisters in church wanted was an indication of interest....
When they got tired of waiting for him, the bolder ones made their move.
They called on the phone, and sometimes in person, to check on him. Some made food others ordered.
Bro Maro was appreciative, of course.
Then the news broke.
Pastor's daughter was pregnant for Bro Maro. As were two others in church.
By the next Friday, he formalized things at the local registry with the two that agreed to polygamy.
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