Thursday, November 5, 2009

Will You Bury Me?

Tahidi High is on the TV, rain drops are in the sky, love is in the air, Usain Bolt is in the country, the constitutional process is in disarray, history is in the making, Jeremy is out of the Big Brother House, Success Cards are in all shops, the KCSE examination is in progress, weddings are on the horizon, AFC Leopards are on the prowl, Tom Cholmondoley is out of prison, a very sardonic smile is on my lips and you -my friends- are on my mind!

It must be November.

And it really is. Judging by my two posts in October which all happened to be guests, it was as if I had taken on Wyclef Jean’s Gone Til November. As anyone who has ever lost an opportunity for a quickie would easily tell you, time waits for no man.

Monique had been out of town to the Mara the last two weekends and I had realized how she filled a huge needy void in my life but that was quickly forgotten when she came back and asked me to babysit her nephew Marcus as she went to get her nails done. Or whatever it is women like to do at the salon.

First, this was something I could not say ‘Nooooooooooo!’ to granted that Marcus is a four year old boy who lost his adoring and adorable parents last year.

Second, I sensed this was some sort of test Monique was setting me up for and I was in the mood for tests with the hope that when she came back from the salon she would be in the mood for testes.

Third, I was avoiding another messy fight and having gone through a dry spell for the past couple of months, chances of Monique picking an easy fight were as high as chances of a hotel keeper in a dingy River Road hotel finding dirty sheets in the room.

It all started when Monique mentioned that I needed to see a shrink about my highbrow attitude after I casually mentioned that I was in the middle of a conundrum of submissions for a client who was paying maintenance for his son and wanted to have a clause stipulating that in the event his ex-wife had another baby with another man, he would stop paying maintenance for the son.

Under Divorce Law, children are called ‘issues’. And, boy, do people have issues!

‘Why would he stop paying maintenance for his son just because the lady has another child with another man?’ Monique had posed as she peered over her cup of pineapple tea.

Because he wouldn’t be sure that all the money he sent to her would be spent exclusively on his son and not the other kid.

‘You seem to be siding with your client on that one like you believe he is doing the right thing?’

Oh no.

Before I knew it, the idea of me spending time with Marcus had been conceived and born.

I didn’t mind it at all. Marcus turned out to be quite exciting company.

‘Mbona unapenda ku-watch gazeti?’ he asked me as soon as he realized I was paying more attention to the newspaper than to his self.

He went ahead and doodled with a marker pen some writings on the wall. At least he will be remembered by my landlord for that. Or even better, by the unfunny Marangi.

Before long, he had fished some red thong from the sofa and holding it, he playfully asked whom it belonged to as he laughed. The poor kid. Like my grandma Rosa says, humour is the ability to laugh even when there is no joke. When he grows up, he will realize that taking off a woman’s panties is the most erotic thing anyone can do, sometimes even better than the sex itself.

But I digress. Seeing Marcus holding the thong was the last straw. I closed the newspaper and told him we had to get out of the house. We ended up having to go watch some cartoon movie at the theatres, but that didn’t stop the boy asking another million questions. My guess is that when this boy grows up, he would be a journalist.

So when that baby sitting session had passed and I thought I was a free man, Monique suggested that it would be a great idea to attend the birthday party for another nephew. That was bad for a Sunday that had started so brightly.

I had walked down the stairs to the kitchen wearing some bathrobe that I am being forced to wear in the house, when I bumped into Cilla wearing nothing but a t-shirt.

‘Hey you!’ she squealed. ‘You should check out the breakfast I have laid out for you. Truly fit for a king!’

Don King.

This was Cilla’s way of saying sorry for messing up my dishes after she sheepishly washed all of them using a hand-wash rather than the Morning Fresh dish washing liquid. If that was her way of saying sorry, perhaps she ought to make a few more blooming gaffes.

As I picked the newspapers, Monique walked in, wearing another white bathroom robe.

‘Put on some clothes!’ she barked at Cilla. You would think the t-shirt her friend had on was invisible.

‘Before I forget, I hope we are going for Prince’s birthday party’, she said it for the first time whilst looking at me as if she had mentioned this request before.

Are you kidding me? Prince? The one year old nephew? The sprog is one year! He wouldn’t even notice if I went for his party nor care if I missed it.

‘Sprog?’ she asked.

Well I tried to explain that it was an affectionate word for a child but she wasn’t buying it. It was like asking Wako to smile more. Not even a visa ban could wipe out the smile from his face just as no explanations could wipe out the snarl on Monique’s.

‘First you call children issues, and now you term them frogs!’

Frogs? This beauty queen could easily be crowned Miss Quoted!

I do hate birthday parties. Especially those for children who reckon that the very birthday parties are an unnecessary interruption to their schedule of Kim Possible watching. Plus who doesn’t know that the ‘Happy Birthday To You’ song has a copyright and shouldn’t be sung in public until the year 2030. True.

Not that I can sing. When Marcus tried to get me to do a rendition of ‘Old McDonald Had A Farm’ it was clear that this voice has not been getting better ever since my distant-in-memory Class Six carol night as my performance was rather off the notes drawing giggles from the bemused but quite thong-fishing lad. Things change. For few decades ago when you said ‘the Sopranos’ I would’ve been one, but if you say it now, I will tell you I am not part of the mob.

So I mentioned it to Monique that I also had to stick around so I could watch ‘a Manchester football match’ later in the day. Since she doesn’t know the difference between Manchester United and Manchester City, she simply marched off, slammed the door and drove off.

Cilla came down the stairs having replaced the t-shirt with a pink bathroom robe and sat on the couch. Whoever bought those bathroom robes should really be shot.

‘I also get confused especially after that Carlos Tevez move,’ she said. The thing about her is that at least she gets the football thing. She however threw in a dampener when she sided with her friend by saying ‘You really should have gone for Prince’s birthday party’

Prince. The last time I saw that kid he threw up on me. But wait ... hold on. That wasn’t Prince. At the time, he was called Joseph. Then some village idiot claimed it was impolite to name a child after a living soul, as the mother of one of his parents was Josephine. So they changed it to Prince. He is only one year old and the boy has changed names more than the Zain network.

I believe if I turn out for his second birthday, he would be The Baby Formerly Known As Prince.

‘You know Our Kid, you have to attend functions such as birthday parties. Otherwise, when you die, no one will come to your funeral!’

I spilled my coffee and it poured on Cilla’s robe. The coffee was rather hot and must have scalded her as she instinctively disrobed revealing that she wasn’t wearing anything else underneath the robe.

I apologized but she told me not to worry as I hadn’t scalded her most precious asset: her mat. Whilst I wondered when she bought a matatu, she told me ‘mat’ was the short form of the Swahili word for bum. She went upstairs to change.

I was left wondering: Do people really attend birthday parties so that people can come to bury them? Would anyone want to come to my funeral? Would it hurt me if no one came to bury me? All uneasy thoughts but perhaps they are what keep so many of us hopping from birthday party to another or wedding ceremony to another.

The rest of the day went smoothly with me returning Cilla the favour by preparing our lunch within the breaks of watching some crappy football matches. This camaraderie was shattered when Monique walked back in and uttered four heavy words: We need to talk.

You know, this might be the lady who buries me. Moments after killing me.

I feebly attempted to lessen the heightened tension by asking her how Prince’s birthday party went.

‘What do you care?’ she retorted.

I was hoping that this wasn’t the beginning of another four word sentences disguised as a conversation. Then I spotted a book she was carrying. It was one of those demotivational books with a title Become A Better You. The author is a Joel Somebody.

‘I have been thinking…’ she said and paused. Ooooh, four words sentences. Apparently, she has been thinking that I am incapable of any form of serious loving. That I don’t seem to say the right things at the right time. And she has been taking all this crap until she came to a certain realization.

‘You are a robot!’ she said.

I am a what?

‘You are emotionally selfish’, she continued. Apparently, I act like I don’t need anyone, by which I guess she means herself. That I do things that are unpredictable in our relationship. Me? Unpredictable? I have worn a blue shirt each and every Monday for the last ten years without even once failing to do so!

But when a woman says WE need to talk, SHE needs to talk, and so I didn’t interrupt.

She demanded that I should read that book. I know you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover but I hate books which have the author on the cover. And smiling! It is as if they are happy that another gullible one just made them inch higher on the bestseller list.

She said something about how she has thinks I need to find myself. How this relationship needs a mission and a vision.

What? This isn’t a venture. It should be an adventure. This was getting plain ridiculous.

‘You are so wrong,’ she said.

I am?

She was quiet. Not a good sign for someone who needed to talk. I spoke too soon.

‘Will you marry me?’ she asked.


Maya said...

Hhahaha, you can tell a S.T.O.R.Y!!

"I hate books which have the author on the cover. And smiling! It is as if they are happy that another gullible one just made them inch higher on the bestseller list!!"

Typical of Self help books!!:) I actually speak to them whenever we meet at book stores and most times I ask 'who the hell do you think you are?":)

kellie said...

Wow! This was quite a read.

I read all sorts of books but that Joel somebody is just annoying, from the cover, all the way to the sunny writing. Shish!

Pineapple tea? err...that's dried fruits. Tea is the dark stuff that comes with all the sweet poisons.

So? Will you marry her?

Mama said...

There's a question for you! Even I want to know the answer and please Kiddo, invite me for the wedding. I will come with my ODM kitenge :-)

Sorry, its lunch time I couldn't help but comment on the food. That table has quite a spread! I don't know many people who set their tables. I always thought food is eaten infront of the TV.

Seriously, I am going to be praying for you with your tests!! If only Sr. Bernadette read this!Heh!

Mo said...

I share your distaste for self-help books AND books with the author on the cover. I've wanted to slap the smirk off Tony Robbins's generously-botoxed mug since I was 13. Probably not the sort of giant he wanted to awake within.

Moving on to more important matters, this is a wedding I would pay to attend. Don't make me beg. I mean, I'll do it if you want me to. Just that I'd rather not. I need to meet this Monique woman. Or see her from afar and gasp appreciatively when she comes in. Perhaps coordinate a cheer composed of both your names as she walks up the aisle followed by a crowd wave to spice up things. Whichever pleases the groom's fancy.

Mama, I take it you'll need a date? :)

p.s. You did say yes, didn't you? She has friends that make you a hearty breakfast and walk around in their skivvies. Sounds like a keeper.

gladys said...

So... ''will you marry me?''
And you said???!
Pia mimi hio wedding i'll gate crash if i have to

I never read any self help books more so the ones with all the plastic smile covers
As for the birthday...that was probably her way of testing whether you'd be any good with kids....

swahili princess said...

Just found the blog... I'll gatecrash be a bridesmaid or even be the caterer just to be there. Marcus was to see your fathering potential.Sounds like it's time.

So will you? Marry her I mean.

Our Kid said...

@ Maya... They also call them Self Help books? Lawdy! And they always have like the magic 7 number. 7 Ways To Be happy. 7 Things To Bo Before You Buy This Book etc etc

Talking to book covers is just sooooo cooool!

@ Kellie... I haven't read the damn book yet. One look at the cover and I almost threw up.

It rally is pineapple tea. That is what the tea bag says. She got them from Ethiopia during a recent visit. Tastes like poison.

@ Mama... I used to think food was eaten between the kitchen and the couch before Monique set down some rules.

Believe it or not, i got a post card from Sr. Bernadette two weeks ago. Jolly lady is now settled in the Netherlands. No way she is going to read this.

@ Mo... Ditto. Makes me feel quite normal that everybody seems to have issues with those books!

Monique has been modelling some bridal gowns with Samantha. If you attend those shows, you may already have seen her in a gown. So no need to hold your breath.

I see Mama already has a date? He he.

@ Gladys... Why would someone want to test me on how I will relate to kids. Surely this whole 'Spend A Day With Marcus' and 'Attend Prince Birthday' thing wasn't planed all along. If it was, oh lawdy, then women are really smart beings.

@ Swahili Princess... Karibu, as they say in Swahili to Princesses.

You don't happen to be related to Prince, do you?

If Marcus was a test, maybe I passed eh?

gladys said...

You have managed to dodge THE question lol!I should start taking notes from Monique,maybe even shop around for a ring
And yes,all that was planned maybe even weeks in advance

joyunspeakable said...

Lol Our Kid hilarious as ever, i like ur originality. It makes the pieces you plagiarise elsewhere seem like stale stuff....hehehehe

Now how does a divorce lawyer get hitched? Must be some fantastic kind of thing....but i think monique knows how to manipulate a guy....hehehehe

Mama said...

Our Kid, I am doing well I tell you. Just give us the date and Mo and I will be there. I echo gladys in saying you've not answered the question.

Mo, its a date, I'll even carry for you that biriani of ours:-).

Our Kid said...

@ Gladys... Looks that way. She must have a diary that she ticks Mission Accomplished after every day with me.

@ Joyunspeakable... 'What The Cell' was a masterpiece. Even I can't be that original.

I agree. Divorce lawyer getting hitched? Talk about contradictions, really.

@ Mama... I thought there is a saying about silence. Anyways, I can tell you this. Patience, patience. I may just tell you what happened after that question in a future blog.

Shiko-Msa said...

Pineapple tea. Has she tried Hibiscus tea also? And any other wild flowers from the fields of wherever? Would you know?

savvy said...

I need a date for the wedding, any takers?

And you haven't answered the question yet.

I must add that I detest self-help or motivational books too.

Mo said...

(Our Kid) Yeah, never attended those shows. Even more reason to attend your wedding. Hehe

(Mama) It's a date!

As for that biriani, weka kando. I strive to maximise opportunities hence will have Bert's wedding lunch that day (presumptous much. lol) and opt for your scrumptious Biriani later.

(Savvy) I would have said that I was man enough to handle two women but I'm afraid my date may take offence. It's the 21st century, one doesn't have to wait for a MAN to ask them out (if you get my drift). ;)

SupremeGREAM said...

when and where are the committee meetings? LOL

Our Kid said...

@ Shiko... Hibiscus Tea? You are such a wildfower! I have to look at that condiments tray.

@ Savvy... You will get a million takers. lol. You guys are crazy! Yaani there are even dates?

@ Mo... Nicely put. Wait, this is the 21st Century? Oh my. No wonder Monique proposed.

@ SG... Uuuiiiii. You used the C word! Gross. Committee is the C word!

gladys said...

Am trying to decide if i should also start looking for a date or wait to meet the guys @ the reception

Mo said...

(SupremeGREAM) Double-Auwiii! I hope you were being facetious. *dies*

Mo said...

(Gladys) Savvy is looking for a date. *hint*hint* :P

Darius Stone said...

Self help books??? The only one I read is the match day programme at the Emirates stadium.
Our Kid - Your story reminds me of the cow from Athi River being led into the slaughter house. You know the one that thinks it's queuing for the dip with the others yet it ends up the garden path to the other side of the farm....LOL!
For her next birthday you should buy her the book 'Men are from mars and women are from venus'. It might provide some plausible explanation to address the accusation that you're emotionally bankrupt.

If it's any consolation, I've normally spectacularly failed to pick the so called signals like knowing what to say when, yet I still live.

Make sure you drop an invite my way, I'd love to spend the day with Rosa.

savvy said...


Will you be my date?

If there is a committee, keep me out of it, please.

Our Kid said...

@ Gladys.. You guys are hilarious! Eish.

@ Mo... That is SG for you.

@ Darius Stone... The Emirates Stadium? Isn't it really just Ashburton Grove or do we have to have product placements when referring to it? UEFA even calls it the Arsenal Stadium.

Men Are From What? Is that really the title of the book? Or is that your review? I may have to get it if it explains my emotional bankruptcy. Who knew a self help book could come in handy!

What next? Men Are Utter Jerks?

You and the annoying Rosa? Oh dear me!

@ Savvy ... Noted.

gladys said...

@ Mo,we're both chics lol!
But i guess there's still time to get a date though ive also heard weddings are a good places to meet guys

Darius Stone said...

Our Kid. Tis the era of the corporate moguls in football. Everyone is trying to sell the naming rights to their stadium. Diehard Arsenalists of yester-year find it hard to utter the word Emirates and would prefer to call it The Grove - but most people who woke up in this century just call it the Emirates. UEFA are retarded anyway and Platini and the punks who run it need to be taken out back and given a good hiding.

The match day programme is still better than any self help book out there - and it has pictures too.

That Mars Venus book should clearly outline to Monique that emotional bankruptcy is a natural preserve of the male species and it provides good coping strategies for both parties.

Mo said...

(Gladys) "Mo,we're both chics"

Aaaand? :P

Our Kid said...

@ Gladys... Yes, two chics on a date. That sounds very exciting.

A nice place to meet guys? What is this? Wedding Crashers?

@ Darius Stone... Full credit to the Arsenal babes. They have been playing some exciting sawker and whoever thinks you can't win anything with kids, is def wrong. 36 goals in 11 matches. I guess they may actually score 100 goals or more this season.

That Mars Venus book, does it also have pictures?

@ Mo... Aaaand lets get a straight answer!

Darius Stone said...

Our Kid - LOL at the Mars Venus pictures. You'll have to settle for the top shelf of the 'Men's sections' magazines for the pictures.

The Arsenal babes are the best in the world - invincible. And to think their coach is the kit man of the main team. What if they had a proper coach?

As for the 'boys' the more scary statistic is that they've scored 55 goals in 19 games in all competitions from 17 different outfield players. I would suspect the goal feast is on its way to well over 100 and a few titles to boot. The most exciting part is the Wengerball (scintalating and sexy football played with panache).

Speaking of which, how are the Green Mosquitos doing? And next time I'm in town, would love to see your boys from the Our Kid project playing some ball.

Anonymous said...

Aaaaaah i take thats confirmation there'll be a wedding
Gate crashers,wedding crashes,same thing were planning to do

But seriously,you need a new post cos comments dont seem like theyre about to end anytime soon

Mo said...

(Our Kid) Aaaand... we're still waiting! lol

Farmgal said...

good read..

Mo you trying to turn these girls into lesbians?

Mo said...

(Farmgal) Turn? Not 'turning' anyone. Merely helping things along. :D

Mwangi said...

Boy can you write, but IO respect you more for keeping off Cilla - that is a bomb that would explode in your face anytime! A good bro knows which ones to hit and which ones to let go!

Anonymous said...

fantastic read...though am just surprised[intrigued maybe?] at how nonchalant yall [u and monique] are about monique's frequent moments of both your to explain this...ahem..arrangement.