She tells you she has a surprise for you and you can’t wait to come back home and find she has gone for that girls trip to Dubai. Sometimes all a man needs is the latest edition of world peace.
She has already taken over your closet—whereby earlier you had a whole acre, now you are left with a plot, which she is still encroaching. She has declared martial law in your bedroom. Your shoes closet is her shoes closet and you wonder whether you are dating Imelda Marcos? Because, makosa. No? No?
You imagine all the things you will be cooking once she is gone. Mayai. KDF. Matumbo. Ever since she got on a ‘diet,’ even King Kaka’s rabbits have been eating better. What man takes lettuce and ugali for dinner? If you listen keenly, you can hear the sound of Dedan Kimathi rolling in his grave, and shooting himself one more time.
She is not good at surprises and you are not good at premeditated abandonment so you always act ‘surprised’. It just works. It’s not that you love surprises less, it’s that you love your sanity more.
If you are not accustomed to the art of wooing and misdirection you will believe her. Especially if you are a Kisii man, which thankfully I am…not. She is an open relationship with the truth, flirting with deceit here and there.
She tells you to leave work mapema. You figure this is date night. You figure wrong. She is a badass—emphasis on ass—but eh.
You find her at home.
“Babe! Guess what I’m wearing?”
She rolls her eyes. You sigh. Looks like that new episode of “The Bachelorette” is going to have to wait.
“I’m serious! Guess..”
“The smile I gave you?”
Okay that was a good one. She smiles. She tells you to close your eyes. You are not Catholic but you say something to Virgin Mary to intercede on your behalf.
“My heart or my eyes?”
Everyone wonders how you two are still together. Those dry jokes are grounds for a breakup.
You squint. She’s naked. You can’t spot anything. But there she is—donning them shangas. You shangaa (see what I did there?).
“What do you think? I got this for you!”
You let the silence yell on your behalf. It’s the thought that counts. You wonder how come she is not YouTubing this new reveal: welcome to my new body. I want to speak to your supervisor, you think. Those things look good from far but they are far from good. You want to tell her those waist beads are for people with waists not stomachs but Virgin Mary intercedes. Prayer works, guys.
The truth may set you free but it it’s also a rope around your neck. You smile. Besides, speaking of ropes, isn’t she your favourite Kamba?