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The annoying extents women go to mark their territories

Relationships
 Photo; Courtesy

In your bedroom there is a table that holds some of your most prized possessions. Trophies you won in school and college playing football and basketball. A large picture of your graduating class.

A picture you look at often to appreciate the passage of time. It reminds you of how life has panned out for some of your classmates; marriages, parenthood, divorces, deaths, quick promotions for some, stagnating careers for others and some you never quite knew their name or wherever the hell they ended up. May be as Equity Bank tellers in some shady town like Kitale.

On the same table there are two precious things that hold dearest and nearest to your heart. One is a picture of you and your campus love, Priscilla.

The second is a large Valentine’s Day card that she sent you ahead of what was supposed to be your first Valentine Day together. She was the only woman you ever loved. You were 22, idealistic and romantic, and nuts over her. But that card turned out to be the last thing you will receive from her.

That Valentine week, she died out of an infection. Pneumonia, or something in her respiratory tract, the doctor said. And with that your sunshine went away. It has taken you nearly nine years to recover.

So when you arrive in the evening and you can’t see her picture and the card, you unconsciously summon Carol to the bedroom and ask her where they are.

“I shredded them, kwani who is she?” she sneers in that dismissively feminine way.

You want to slap her really bad, strangle her. You are besides yourself with anger. You can’t even begin to explain to her how precious the two things were.

You have held onto them close to ten years. And with one reckless decision, Carol, has attempted erasing Priscilla from your memory.

 You have no other thing to remind you of Priscilla. She died shortly before Facebook came to Kenya. So she has no digital footprint. Carol tries to play it down, but she notices you are raving mad.

You leave the house to go cool your nerves. You can murder a beer. The sense of loss is tangible. The type that needs you to sit at the counter for three hours contemplating on it. Why do women do it. Why do they ensure that only their stuff is on display? They can shred pictures of even your mother from your living room. It is really a childish way of marking one’s territory.

Now you no longer even feel Carol. Ha ha. At least for the moment you are piqued. What she has done is sufficient reason for her to be dumped. You also notice when you go back to the house, she has mounted her picture in the living room, rather shamelessly. The house shamelessly looks like it is hers. You are now a footnote in your own house...

Totally irrelevant. The guts women have though!

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