Retract the sneer and hear me out. When I met Tommy, my husband and father of my kids, I was 22 and a student at the University of Nairobi, undertaking a Bachelor’s degree in Commerce.
He was tall and dashing, considerate and romantic. He swept me off my feet and as soon as my studies were completed, I was ready to have his babies. And I did. Plus his second name too. I was a wife and a homemaker; everything was fine and dandy, until it wasn’t.
Growing up, I thought I would end up the quintessential ‘sex and the city’ girl. Cushy apartment, throng of suitors, a great wardrobe and self-funded trips to the Bahamas. Instead, I am now battling pans and pots, wiping running noses, doing endless laundry, baking cakes and scheduling school runs.
The most challenging thing I do all day long is figuring out nutritional balance of the week’s meals. Sometimes using my commerce skills, I create a balance sheet of the assets and liabilities we own, a sheet, so impeccable it would impress a CBK auditor, then after perfecting it I throw it in the bin.
And I am bored. Bored to tears. Sometimes I will lash out at Tommy, when he walks in with a warm smile. I want to smack the smile off his face.
Why does he get to be so damn happy? I want him to see my unhappiness. I want him to try make it better. I want him to see my need to be more than just his wife. Why? Because as much as I adore him and our children, why do I have to be the one that puts her life on hold while he goes on to progress?
Today he holds a Master’s degree and a PHD. When we met, we were on equal footing. Today not so much. I too want to be recognised as good for something other than having a clean house and happy children.
I want to be that girl who kisses her children goodbye clad in elegant high heels and skirt suit, then get into my little red Audi and out into the corporate world. I want people looking up to me for what is in my head.
Housework is boring. How many ways can I wash a cup or vacuum the carpet? Or watch Real Housewives of Atlanta? When Tommy and the children are out of the house, all I can do is eat and lie on the couch.
And you wonder why my kilos are piling? Or that we resort to being the biggest gossips in the estate? Standing on my balcony I can see how Mary, the slim pretty girl from block C looks at baba Kyla.
And the way he flirts with her when he doesn’t think anyone is watching. It isn’t the stuff of soap operas, but it keeps me going between the laundry baskets.
Today I will have a conversation with Tommy. I want to use my education. I know he wants a home maker, and I should have seen that when I agreed to marry him. But tough luck, he can try stay home for a week and see how well he does it. I am ready to venture out. He is a good man but I am not a happy wife. So get me out of the house or pay me a salary. Depending on how this conversation goes, I may be a divorced mother of two this time next year.
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