I come home from work, as tired as the individual who drew the Japanese flag. Nothing positive to describe how the day has been but if you force me to tell you I’ll say ‘siku mrefu’. It’s on Friday btw but nothing to ‘furahia’ about. I open the door and the first thing I encounter is a sufuria at the door. I step on it and start grasping for balance from the air. My 2 year old girl somehow looks for amusement in the happenings and lets out a sarcastic laughter….i swear its sarcastic and anger continues to boil in my chest and in the process the anger sends signal to my hypothalamus and the motor neuron picks up the signal then sends through the connective neuron to the effective tissue/organ-the leg. I give the sufuria a Victor Wanyama’s goal of the month kick. It lands on the wall and bounces back as if in retaliation to land on the 53” tv, cracking its screen.
My elder girl senses the tense air and immediately feels sleepy. Mama Shylene makes no comment but brings my food. As I eat, the little girl starts playing around me nakosa amani ya kukula. “enda kwa mama” I roar in a semi scolding manner. Mama starts it, telling me how I rarely have time for my family and literally states my timetable. “Monday hadi Friday kazi…unakuja kwa nyumba sa tatu usiku….ata leo mtoto amekaa akikungoja at least akuone na unamfukuza. Kesho Saturday utaenda penye huwa unaenda….Sunday ndo hiyo huwa hukosi pa kuenda.” Shes damn f**kn right, but because I don’t want to raise her ego, I use my most eloquent mechanism….i eat in silence. As it happened, the little girl was playing with the sufuria and left it at the door.
Ffw bed time, I’m thinking about everything and how I got here. I blame it on my secretary. The lazy descendant of Eve delayed the monthly report and I was on the receiving end. I would have fired her were it not for her beauty. So I decide to apologize to my wife. “Mama Shylene amka tuongee”……she ignores me 3 times…I give up and face the other side to sleep. I man can only try. Then I hear a murmur….’Unanitesa hivi….kama ungekuwa umepeleka hata kuku kwetu si ungenifanya punda?’ damn again she’s right, not the punda part but the kuku part. 2 kids down the line and I’ve never gone to their home, let alone pay the bride price. The las time I was there was to bring her ‘home’. I indulge my eloquent mechanism again and sleep as if I didn’t hear her.
Gus Fring:
And a man, a man provides. And he does it even when he’s not appreciated, or respected, or even loved. He simply bears up and he does it. Because he’s a man.
heeeee, Mama Shylene atasiriiika tu but at the end you will talk but hapo kwa watoto jaribu hata kubeba a slice of watermelon ama KDF tatu, usiende bure, jipange na “kuku” pia upeleke
There are some things that you as a man would rather not get involved in i.e naming… I had my own beautiful name for Shaylene when she was born but her mother pulled it down hence suggesting it becames the second one… which till now she herself doesn’t know…no one has ever called her by it…mimi humuita tu mummy
hehehe i have a new born and happened to look at her birth notification today and i was surprised to see 4 names… 1st, 2nd 3rd all the way to 4… why? am yet to get the answer from the mother