My Accidental Escape from a Marriage Proposal – Episode 2

Just when I thought the only thing in my future was toast and tears in my pyjamas, Duncan called with a business proposition.

Not the pyramid scheme kind, thankfully. No, Duncan had a vision—to export handcrafted wooden bowls made by women artisans in the Transkei. These weren’t just bowls; they were intracately carved by hand from the beautiful Wild Olive Tree, and Duncan believed they’d be a hit in European homeware boutiques. It wasn’t a terrible idea. In fact, it was the first thing that had given me a flicker of hope since I crash-landed back in Durban with heartbreak, no job, and a champagne lifestyle I could no longer afford on a ginger ale budget.

It wasn’t just the potential income that drew me in—it was the chance to travel, to start something new. Things were finally looking up.

The Business Trip Proposal

Duncan suggested we take a weekend trip to the Transkei to scout for suppliers and see the business potential firsthand. I was all in—I’d never been to the Transkei, and any excuse to leave town sounded like an adventure. He offered to pick me up en route, since I’d be in Umkomaas on Friday night. Technically, Umkomaas was wildly out of the way, but I wasn’t about to skip the party. One of my school friends lived there with her fiancé, and he had a tribe of handsome, single friends. None of them showed even a flicker of interest in me, but that wasn’t going to stop me from putting in the effort. “Perfect,” I said with breezy confidence. “I’ll be ready.”

How Not to Arrive on a Business Trip

To say I overdid it would be an understatement. I drank far too much, spent a good portion of the night making best friends with the toilet, and got maybe an hour of sleep—if we’re being generous. By the time Duncan pulled up the next morning, bright-eyed and full of road trip enthusiasm, I looked like a cautionary tale in a health textbook. I hadn’t eaten. I hadn’t showered. I hadn’t even brushed the disappointment off my soul.

Duncan, bless him, was thrilled to see me. Beaming, chatty, completely unaware that I was one sip of water away from disaster. I told him—somewhat sheepishly—about my wild night. He was kind about it, even chuckled and said I could nap on the drive.

Nap? Please. I blacked out like someone had tranquilized me. Mouth wide open, head tilted back, full-on drool situation. By the time I resurfaced from unconsciousness, we were pulling into our first hotel—The Royal Swazi. A very fancy, very majestic place that I could not have cared less about because all I could think was: Is lunch still being served? I was dizzy, dehydrated, and still had last night’s mascara flaking down my face like a dusty shame trail. I probably looked like I’d been dragged through a nightclub and then rolled into a bush. But hey—business trip, right?

Trinkets, Tiredness & the Toasted Agenda🥴

Once I’d inhaled something resembling lunch and had a moment to resuscitate my soul, Duncan and I set out on our grand mission: to find authentic, handcrafted bowls made by the famed Transkei women carvers.

What we found instead?
A whole lot of wooden rhinos, giraffes, and generic tourist trinkets. Not a bowl—or woman artisan—in sight. It was like going on a hunt for buried treasure and coming up with themed fridge magnets.

Still clinging to the hope that tomorrow would be more fruitful, we returned to the hotel. That evening, Duncan suggested we meet at the bar for a drink. I physically recoiled. After the previous night’s wine-fueled meltdown, the thought of alcohol made my internal organs shudder. I ordered soda water. He looked a little disappointed, but frankly, he wasn’t someone I needed to dazzle. He was my former boss—not my Tinder match—and ideally, my soon-to-be business partner who’d lead me to financial freedom (and maybe a European buying trip or two).

I managed to endure one polite drink and dinner, though I can’t recall much of the conversation. Duncan was in full storytelling mode, but exhaustion was steamrolling me. My brain had officially checked out. I excused myself, went straight to my room, and collapsed.

I slept like the dead. No dreams. No stirring. Just blackout recovery mode. So deeply asleep, in fact, that I completely missed our very ambitious 8 a.m. breakfast meeting. Duncan had to call my room. I shot out of bed like I’d been electrocuted, did a 90-second beauty triage in the mirror, and flew down to breakfast—apologizing so profusely that I almost offered to buy the hotel a new clock.

Bowls, Business…and One Bed?

After we checked out of the rather regal Royal Swazi, Duncan and I hit the road for our next stop—a hotel on the opposite end of Swaziland. We drove for hours, still scanning the roadside for those elusive bowl artisans, but there was a noticeable shift. Duncan no longer seemed too bothered by the lack of handmade goods. In fact, he looked… relaxed. Almost like the bowls were suddenly optional.

I tried steering the conversation back to business—suppliers, logistics, pricing strategy—and to my relief, he responded with some solid ideas. That little entrepreneurial spark reignited. Maybe this trip wasn’t a complete disaster. Maybe I was on the verge of turning my financial ship around after all.

Four hours (and zero bowls) later, we arrived at the next hotel.

Then came the twist.

At check-in, the receptionist gave us that smile. You know the one: “I’m about to ruin your day, but I’m going to do it politely.”

“I’m so sorry… we’re overbooked. We only have one room available—but it is a suite.”

My internal alarm bells started clanging. I turned to Duncan with a hopeful, please-tell-me-this-isn’t-happening expression.
He grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh, you don’t mind, do you?”

Reader—I minded. I REALLY minded.

Still, my ever-optimistic brain tried to soothe me. It’s a suite, I reasoned. There will be a couch. You’ll sleep on the couch. No problem.
Except… the couch was one of those decorative ones. You know the kind—designed to look expensive, not to be used. It was about the length of a yoga mat and looked like it would buckle under the weight of a handbag.

Oh well, I told myself. I’ll make it work. This is just a blip on the business journey.

We dropped our bags and Duncan suggested heading to the pool for a drink. Finally—something safe. No surprises. No intimacy. Just water, maybe food, and hopefully a moment to recalibrate. The afternoon passed uneventfully, with more business talk and less bowl talk. I let myself get hopeful again.

Then came dinner.
And that’s when the wheels really started to fall off.

Coming up next in the final episode: A proposal, a panic, and my desperate attempt to keep a straight face while my internal monologue screamed. 🙃