By Joseph Maina

On Sunday afternoon, Mama Jimmy decided to go shopping in town, and she asked for my advice on what to wear.

“Nataka kuvaa kitu smart na sexy,” she said. At first, she had planned to do a kitenge, but I strongly opposed this idea.

“Ah, a kitenge isn’t sexy,” I said dryly. I could be wrong, but there is something about a kitenge that seems to add years to its wearer, giving you that classic “mathe” look.

You could be a young college girl aged 19, but the minute you step out of the house wearing a kitenge, people will start calling you mathe.

Out of respect, people might even offer you a seat in the matatu!

She then suggested jeans, but I booed them down. At last, she came up with something more agreeable:

“How about a skirt?” she asked, to which I said yes. A skirt would be okay, I said, provided it wasn’t too short. You see, makangas in my neighbourhood have very strict guidelines on the length of a skirt. According to their rules, the distance between a skirt’s hemline and the knees must not exceed five centimeters.

 Failing which the wearer risks being subjected to the Makanga Action Plan (Map), meaning one might end up with an even shorter skirt – or no skirt at all!

So we agreed on a skirt, and off she went to prepare

 The moment she came out, my heart almost performed a somersault. She was a kaleidoscope of beauty and creative wonderment. She had on a pair of high-calf boots and a dazzling array of jewels — with a sleeveless, figure-flattering mini dress to boot!

What’s more, she had just been at Irene’s saloon to have her hair cooked. I took one look at her hair and liked it immediately.

“Wow! You look hot!” I harped.

“Oh, thanks, Baba Jim,” she swooned. My mboys were equally impressed, and so was our househelp Maggy, a.k.a Miss Mboch, a.k.a the Deejay who spins our plates and related disks in the kitchen.

Miss Mboch was practically drooling all over the carpet.

“Haiya! Mama Jimmy umegeuka under 18!” she hooted, and Mama Jimmy chewed the compliment with zeal. She wanted me to accompany her to town, but I had my reservations. For starters, I badly needed a rest, and the TV would not watch itself.

Great smell

Again, she was smart and I was not. She smelled great with her Venus de Milo, while I smelled like “Venus de Dandora Dumpsite.” But upon further insistence, I finally gave in, and we stepped out of the house.

Outside, Murage the charcoal guy stood staring at us, his eyes popped out like the headlights on a Peugeot 404. I’d be lying if I told you that he was paying attention to Mama Jimmy’s handbag. To put it bluntly, he was having a visual feast.

“Kung’ara nayo? Unakaa kama mshii wa chuo!” he piped. He was speaking in parables, and this left me officially confused. As you all know, Baba Jimmy is not a vitendawili person.

“What is he saying?” I wondered.

“Er... he says I look younger,” she said with a blush. We then trotted off, accompanied by his admiring stare.

I wish the ogling had ended there, but how wrong I was! Down at the mbus stop, the makangas were deeply impressed, and they gawped at her from head to toe.

Ok, I’ll admit that a part of me was proud to see this attention. However, somewhere in the sewers of my mind, I felt like spraying their eyes with pepper spray.

Sometimes, too much attention is worse than no attention at all!

One of them was actually bold enough to make a move, but his fellow goons cautioned him against such foolish actions:

“Chunga boss... huyu auntie ana mwenyewe,” I overheard one of them whispering. “Amekuja na hii burukenge,” he went on, and I could tell they were seething with envy.

Too bad for them, I have no apologies to make. If having a lovely, charcoal-hot, neck turning, traffic-stopping wife is what makes me burukenge, then I’m officially a burukenge – and a very proud one at that.

“Madam ingia twende,” the makanga said at last.

He acted like nothing happened, but his eyes stuck to Mama Jimmy even as she stepped into the mbus. Thankfully, the mbus drove off without further drama, and I turned to my comptroller:

“Uendelee na style hiyo hiyo,” I said, and I almost choked with pride as I uttered these words.

With this look, she had brought traffic to a halt, and she had impressed the hell out of the makangas in that mbus. She was once, twice, three times a lady, and I felt monumentally proud of her.