Bad lads in my home

As the saying goes, an idle mind is the devil’s workshop. Now that schools have closed, my boys are home, and peace has literally been defenestrated.

Thanks to those lads, my head has lately been on fire, and silence has become an endangered species in my hacienda.

The stereo is always at full volume, and no snack or drink is safe if left in the fridge when the boys are around. At this rate, I will probably be the first parent in Nairobi to lock my fridge. As if that is not enough, they have adopted a new hobby — girls.

Yep, despite their tender age, they have developed an interest in members of the opposition sex, as I learnt on Thursday evening.

I was having a jolly time in my living room with my comptroller, Little Tiffany and Tyson the family cat, who was snoring the evening away. Jimmy was hanging out with a bunch of neighbourhood boys in his bedroom, ostensibly playing computer games.

Moments later, the boys took a break from the games and engaged in a sizzling discussion revolving around teenage damsels in our neighbourhood. Apparently, Jimmy has bagged a flame.

“Boss, njaro yako na Shiro iliendaje?” a boy named Boi asked Jimmy, who did not waste a moment. “Manze kaliingia box!” he crowed out with raw delight.

“Heh! Manze how did you manage that?” a boy named Chalo wondered, his voice bristling with admiration.

“Ah, it was easy. Nilikashtua kwa WhatsApp kakaingia box mara that!” boasted the young man, who has lately morphed into a full-time WhatsApp correspondent.

A couple of skeptics raised their voices at this point: “Ah, stop kidding,” Giddy challenged.

“It is true,” Jimmy said, leaving the boys thoroughly impressed.

“Heh! Lakini mbona ulisare story za Sharon?” Giddy asked.

New term for friend

A number of the boys lashed out at Jimmy, saying he had blundered for dropping Sharon in favour of Shiro. I heard one boy heaping praises on Shiro, saying she is the prettiest lass in our part of the county.

“With her weight, Shiro would find it hard to float on the moon,” I heard him croak, and before you knew it, the debate degenerated into a shouting match.

“Yeah, dog. Manze Shiro ako juu kushinda Sharon,” Jemo remarked as the gang hooted and ululated. Back in the living room, the comptroller and I followed these proceedings with a mixture of parental interest and rising horror.

“Did Mato just call our son a dog?” I asked Mama Jimmy. At first, she gawked at me like I had suddenly grown another head, before relaying that “dog” is the new term for friend among boys in my neighbourhood.Giddy spoke next: “Lakini ujichunge sana Jimmy. Nilisikia buda ya Shiro ni mtiaji sana!” he cautioned.

“Okay, my dog. Hapo hakuna mbrrrrcha,” Jimmy conceded at last, leaving me confused.

You know you are growing old when you do not understand a word from your children, and it gets worse when you are dealing with the breakfast cereals generation. Happily, the raunchy discussion eventually ground to a halt, and time came for Jimmy’s so-called “dogs” to leave, and they trooped out with Jimmy in tow.

“Tuchekiane baadaye, Baba Jim,” Giddy said as the gang filed out, in pretty much the same tone you would use in addressing your drinking buddy.

“These boys are very idle, dear, especially our son,” I observed after the lads had filed out. “Just enroll him for holiday tuition. Ama umpeleke kwa nyanyake akakae huko mpaka wafungue shule,” the comptroller suggested, knowing well that her suggestions were impractical.

As you know, tuition and similar academic acrobatics will not work, given that Jimmy treats his books like holy items that should not be touched. Let us not even discuss the ushago bit.

At least, Jimmy and company will have other preoccupations besides shattering our eardrums with loud music, emptying their parents’ fridges, lazing around and calling each other dogs.

However, I need to sit him down for a long fatherly chat, specifically focusing on the dangers of risque sexual behaviour.

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