‘Lilian Muli loves wearing black underwear!’ Austin said matter-of-factly sparking a bout of oh dearism from yours truly.
I have taken up baby-sitting duties the past few days and I am really feeling like the new Kofi Annan to Kenya. But the coffee-spluttering moment above came when Austin, my eight year old nephew, uttered that sentence.
One thing is clear. They don’t make them like they used to anymore. No. Not black underwear. I am talking about babies. I honestly think the babies of old were mostly born out of missionary positions but chances are that modern ones aren’t too sure whether their parents stayed conventional or were a bit dodgy.
I am excluding of course test tube babies who being hand made tend to take the fun out of this serious business. Despite having a womb with a view.
The moans and groans that come from baby making and the resultant joy when kids later just don’t shut up, is an apt transition from noisy love to lovely noise.
Yes, things have changed. Parents now update their Facebook status even when they are making babies. So “…is cuuuuuuuuuming!!!” has cunningly popped up once in a while as parental graffiti on walls. And once babies are made, they are for life!
I am sadly stuck with Austin for life! He didn’t have to do a lot of pleading for me to attend his school’s closing day last week.
‘Uncle, some of my classmates have hot mums. What’s it you called it some time back when talking on the phone? MILF!’ he said. Note to self: Watch what you whisper when Austin is within a radius of a kilometer.
So I trudged along with Austin to the Closing Day of his school last week and was immediately horrified at the babyish antics of some parents.
I sat with Austin, not quite deliberately, behind a lady whose flowery thong was on display and my whole body voted: Eye!
The candy-ness of the eye disappeared when the lady stood up to complain at the impromptu PTA meeting that her daughter’s rubber had been stolen during the course of the school term. I couldn’t resist and tapped her lightly. ‘Isn’t she a bit young?’ I asked her. Turns out, she meant ‘eraser’.
The buffoonery continued when another parent gave unsolicited advice to the school to buy sandals to use them to discipline errant children since she also uses sandals to discipline her children at home. I know caning was banned but surely the remedy isn’t renaming it ‘sandaling’.
Frankly, if my late Dad, an avid disciplinarian walked into any classroom in this No Caning age, he would certainly glue misbehaving pupils together. After all, don’t they say that if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em?
What will be next? Parents demanding detention as punishment? Look what it did to the Prime Minister, the man who makes people say that the only ship to dock in Kisumu City is the Premiership.
The Top Three pupils were called to receive their presents and they were each asked what they wanted to be when they grew up.
‘I want to be a matatu driver!’ the top student in Class One stated. Clearly to disobey traffic rules and dodge potholes is now considered artful. Perhaps an audition for Formula One.
The top student in Class Two said she wants to be a VJ. I blinked. VJ? I have avoided using short forms since I was dumped by some girl I had sent a text with the message: Enjoy your VD. I really meant Valentines Day! How was I to have known that some people’s thoughts are venerably diseased?
The teacher tries: ‘You mean CJ?’ The kid has none of it.
‘No, VJ, a video jockey. It’s like a DJ, only with video’, she says.
And oh yes. A parent somewhere is nodding his head as he thinks about what has recently happened in Madagascar!
My Dad wasn’t that easy to fool. When I was growing up, Yvonne Chaka Chaka (amongst the few artistes that are so good they were named twice) sang ‘Am In Love With a DJ’ I also thought I would become a DJ. And when she sang ‘I’m Burning Up’ I thought I would be a fireman. When she sang ‘Caught Breaking The Law’ I settled on being a lawyer. Sometimes I shudder if she had sang about ‘Casanova’ like Pat Shange. I would have become a porn star.
That aside, Austin was the best in Class Three. I walk with him to the front of the assembly for him to receive the prize. And he is asked the dreaded question: What do you want to be when you grow up?
‘I want to be a player!’, he declares triggering a gasp of Pat Shange proportions from some parents.
A player? My mind races to the Lillian Muli incident. When he talked about her underwear, I had quickly rewound the PVR, to see if whilst reading the News, she had uncrossed her legs.
‘A player?’ the Catholic Priest dishing out the prizes repeats whilst looking at me disapprovingly. I resist the urge to say I am just the Uncle.
‘Yes, a football player,’ Austin says to my relief.
Then whilst holding on to the microphone, he adds, ‘Dennis Oliech makes more money than my lawyer Uncle here, right? He has a Chrysler, right? And he pulled Lilian Muli, right?’
I snatch the microphone and I pull him away. What is with this boy and Lilian Muli? She is getting married, hello!
Football is just an excuse for ugly men to date beautiful women. And I believe that Austin knows that. Austin is precocious and sometimes doesn't mask his innocence. I am sick of his embarrassments. He even asked some grieving widow who said in an eulogy that her doctor husband had fought the good fight whether he had actually been working in the General Service Unit. GSU, now that is a career I would like Austin to end in.
I notice that the top boys in latter classes have serious ambitions. One wants to be an astronaut. Seriously! That boy just threw away his chance of getting a TV girl pronounce his name except on a news item.
Another top girl says she wants to be a nurse. Now that one just threw away a chance for latter day Austin’s to get interested in what colour of panties she wears. For nursing doesn’t get you in Pulse. You know, if Satan did not exist, it would still have been necessary for Christians to create him. If celebs in Kenya did not exist, it was necessary for Pulse to create them!
Black underwear? Question is: What do I want to become when I grow hard?