The day I meet Ken Wakuraya…
I will be dressed to kill!
Looking like a PCEA deacon’s daughter I will step like a cat in my yellow ‘wife material’ kitenge. I will bat my eyes and sway my hips in a manner likely to suggest that I have potential to give birth to six children in one year. I will smile shyly and eat my nails like a fertile bride is supposed to do. Ha! I will walk with my ‘babies food’ pointed to the skies, throwing my ‘sodobek’ this way and that way,this way and that way.
Somebody tell Wakuraya that my clan is ready by force! by fire! to sell me to him even if it is on discounted hire purchase! goats are ready to die,cabbages are ready to boil and potatoes …my cousins have been peeling potatoes since I met him on the streets of INOORO reading news like he was reciting his marriage vows … .to me!
I have not been eating, neither have my lips tasted guarana and other allied frothy drinks, maheni! ken will not confuse me with piled up Michelin tyres.
I have everything figured out, Njeri and Waithira Wa Maruru will not attend the wedding, how can you trust cats with milk? will they not show up looking all beautiful in efforts to confuse my Ken, never! they are not invited.
I will thereafter request for a press conference with all media houses, Lucy style! Standing next to Ken I will warn all skirt wearers from harbouring ‘Kenish’ thoughts in their Brazilian weaved minds, in fact I will call for a total ban of all ‘people from Sarah’s clan’ from watching Inooro lest they throw their bad eyes at Ken. Failure to which I will raid every homestead at four in the night dressed in a pink track suit and a red bandanna asking all women ‘who is your mother’ you know it is not a threat …
I will do all these things but first, who has Ken’s number? and who is this woman smiling at Ken?
(lifted)