House helps put us through troubles

Now, we all know the important role that is played by the house girl, aka Miss Mboch, aka the deejay who spins plates and related disks in the kitchen.

Life without a domestic DJ would be unimaginable for many city residents, and I have my family in mind when I say this.

That the DJ runs important chores in many homes is not in question, but that is just one side of the coin.

On the flip side, there have been several instances where DJs have successfully staged coup d’états on their mistresses’ marriages.

My neighbourhood is rich with such shenanigans, and the scandals keep coming.

Some marriages have weathered such scandals and moved on, but others have ended in the kind of disaster that is seen when Omsakhulu attempts to drink boiling tea straight from a sufuria.

Thankfully, Mama Jimmy and I have been blessed with a long, blissful marriage free from drama.

She has been a true friend and wonderful mother to my heirs, and I have surrendered myself entirely to her.

Throughout our two-decade marriage, I have shied away from mpango wa kando — those side arrangements that our friend Jimmy Gathu fervently campaigned against a while back.

The said, arrangements have also kept a healthy distance from me, although I cannot quite tell their reasons for avoiding me. As we speak, I am yet to regain my breath after an incident last week that involved my neighbour Baba Deno, his missus and Hanna, the family’s deejay.

As it turned out, Baba Deno and his resident DJ have been engaging in what we shall politely call “extra-curricular activities.” On Tuesday evening, I was minding my business in our living room while watching the tube.

With me were my boys and Little Tiffany, while the comptroller was in the kitchen doing her magic with the mwiko.

Just as we were getting set to watch the evening news, there came this ruckus from Baba Deno’s house, so we all dashed out to see.

A crowd had gathered at the scene, and at the centre of the uproar was Baba Deno, flanked by a visibly shaken Hanna.

Mama Bony was seething with rage.

“When did we agree to share my husband?” she screeched, addressing Hanna who has been the couple’s DJ for two years.

If the local rumour mill is to be believed, Hanna has been entertaining the prospect of becoming Baba Deno’s second wife.

Mama Deno is a no-nonsense, strict woman who runs her home with an iron fist, enforcing the kind of boot-camp discipline that can only be matched by maximum security prisons or schools run by a certain church.

Combine this with the fact that she had caught the two red-handed, and you might understand why the atmosphere at that time seemed to comprise 21 per cent oxygen and 79 per cent tension.

Owing to the nature of her job, Mama Deno is constantly on the road.

This time, she had gone on a weeklong trip out of town.

It turned out that when the cat (Mama Deno) left on this particular trip, the mouse (the mboch) had taken over the bedroom.

Oh, and the couple’s two children were away from home, having travelled upcountry for the April holidays.

Thus, the affair sizzled until some nosy neighbour tipped Mama Deno, who promptly returned and busted the lovebirds.

“I did not mean to hurt you, dear. Hii ni kazi ya yule mwovu,” Baba Deno pleaded. Alas, Mama had revised her marriage vows to read as follows: “to love, to cherish, and to scold.”

War in Baba Deno’s house started right there, and DJ Hanna hit the road that very night.

Those of you who have been around for a while will recall that famous song that went: “majirani huzima redio ili wasikize tunapogombana....”

Local rumour mills have been on overdrive all week, churning out fresh twists on the saga.

Not surprisingly, Baba Deno has since then kept to himself and rarely steps out of his hacienda.