My lover and my fiancé have just become best friends; should I marry both of them?

"And who are you to ask who I am?” Wambui asks dropping the plate on the tiled floor.

"Jeez! You dare ask", Suzie says and holds her hands akimbo.

To be honest, I did not see this coming. It came as an element of surprise and equally too fast, more than the speed of light. I need to make things right, sooner rather than later. We always find ways to make things right.

As they exchange words, I am lost in thoughts. I don’t even hear what they are saying. I am wishing that they do not exchange blows. I have never written a police statement and I don’t wish to break my long period of innocence in this manner.

I was a boy scout and an altar boy too. Although, my scouting career did not last for more than two weeks. I was fired from the scouting club when I had started marching with the left leg instead the right leg.

As for Mteule, the altar boy, it is a story for another day. A faint hint is that, the catechist threw me out of the Sunday school class accusing me of asking too much. And I had only asked what the meaning of Virgin Mary was? To this day, at this age and in this level of maturity, I sincerely and humbly don't believe that it was a bad question. Now you know why I spent most of my Sundays herding cattle in the Mau Forest. Forget that. As the drama unfolds, my phone rings and it is my mama calling. I hesitate to pick the call. If she hears any feminine voice as we speak, she will be so happy. She will demand to talk to the girl who is at my place at such a time.

If that happens, whom do I give the phone? I cannot afford to give her false hope and so I decide to move out. Susanna pulls me back but since I was a boxer, like Muhammad Ali, I find my way out. I know I am doing the wrong thing but I did not take myself to this situation. It found me, A humble small tax payer, A tenant of a hot bedsitter, A big brother to Ciku, and Above all, I am an african-african.

"Hello, mama”, I say. "You have been silent for a long time", she says.

After the formalities, we turn into serious business.

Mama says my sister is crying while holding one of my three lambs. That she wants it slaughtered. The phone exchanges hands and the flawless soft voice of my little sister comes along. When I ask why she is tormenting my hard earned wealth, Ciku says that their Social Studies teacher told them to do some homework on types of meat and other animal products.

“She meant by naming them”, I tell her.

“No Mteule, Madam Chepkirui said by tasting the meat and other animal products”, she says.

Chepkirui. I had a friend by such a name. Chepkirui. Chep…maybe she is the one. I may go to the village this weekend. Maybe my dove has flown back….a moment of silent lapses and my sister continues.

She says she has already taken an M for milk, an E for Egg and now she wants an M for Mutton.

This academy thing!

My sister adds, "I want chicken too", she says.

"Which hen Ciku?” I ask her.

"This one with forty eggs", she answers.

She is actually stepping on the brooding hen. And she has the lamb in her hands. I visualize the picture and take a deep breath.

This is such a time I feel being tossed. I am in between a rock and hard place. The thing is I want to be rich, and be rich quickly. This is the reason I had decided to buy all the eggs in the entire large village.

Unfortunately, I managed to get fifty but my sister demanded to eat three, take two to their teacher. She had said that they have a makeshift market at the back of the class. And the cat got away with five. As I remember this in a moment, my phone hangs up. I try calling back ten times but all is in vain.

I sit on the mtungi outside. It stings. I stand and stretch my hands. I hit some guy who asks, “Are you alright?" I answer “Yes very much fine under the circumstances".

As I get inside the bedsitter, I see a miracle. Wonders shall never cease. I find my Susan and Wambui smiling at each other. They are actually seated on the same sofa. I am more frightened than perplexed....and they are finishing the last tots of my Fanta Bamboocha....I giggle at both of them. They behave like I am the newest animal they have seen from Mars to land on earth.

"What’s going on here?" I ask.

No one cares to answer me.

They share a high five salaam as I resort to sit on one of the twin sofas.