Baba Jimmi now displaced by ‘kazi funga’

Mama Jimmy’s boss has turned her into a 24-hour workhorse of sorts. Throughout the past week, she has been receiving numerous work-related phone calls, texts and emails outside of regular office hours. In other words, her boss has been mixing business with pressure, and Mama Jimmy is unable to separate her work life from family life.

It all started on Monday evening, when she dragged an industrial-sized heap of files into the house with her. She immediately set to work on this kazi funga. Being a sinfully nosy hubby, I sought to know what it was she was working on so zealously.

“Sorry, dear, but this is confidential,” the comptroller snapped, and promptly went back to her work.

It is not like I was overly interested in her job-related secrets; I was just curious. The only secret I need to know these days is Bill Gates’ ATM Pin. Anyway, long after dinner, she was still working on those ‘top-secret’ reports.

“Won’t you come to sleep?” I bawled from the bedroom.

“Just a minute, Baba Jim; I’m working on some reports,” she screeched back.

Ten O’clock came and she still hadn’t materialised. By now, the atmosphere in my bedroom comprised 78 per cent nitrogen and 21 per cent loneliness. I just could not sleep.

It was midnight when my wife finally wobbled in, looking as tired as a mjengo guy. Tuesday to Thursday turned out to be no different.

“Tangulia ukalale tu… niko na kazi mob sana,” she advised.

On Friday evening, she called to announce that she was held up at work.

“Leo nitatokea job late,” she relayed, effectively leaving me in the bad hands of my mboys.

Before long, the stereo was cranked up to a volume high enough to awaken the dead as the lads listened to Sheng grammar lessons from one Bonoko-deh. Eventually, the room became insufferably chaotic even for my associate couch potato, Tyson the cat.

Seeing that it was getting late, I called the comptroller, seeking to know her transport arrangements.

“Mdosi wangu atanileta nyumbani,” she submitted.

 “Will he take everyone home after work?” I posed.

“No, just me,” she snapped back, and this set my alarm bells ringing.

“Is he… married?” I prodded.

Perhaps the boss was just being a Good Samaritan, but at this rate, he might end up being the ‘saviour’! I would hate to imagine a hot-blooded bachelor cruising along the highways with my comptroller by his side, treating her to all manner of cock and bull stories while changing gears unnecessarily.

At this point, the comptroller dismissed my Nyayo House questions.

“Wacha maswali mengi Baba Jim,” she riposted dryly. “Kwani wewe ni polisi?”

Later that evening, the two drove into the compound in a Land Cruiser VX110, which the boss parked right next to my Toyota Starlet 1300cc 4EFT Intercooler Turbo.

“Habari yako mzee?” he saluted gaily. Mzee? What did I look like — a pensioner? Am I Baba Jimmy or Babu Jimmy?

“Niko poa, boss,” I snapped back while studying him closely, trying to analyse his threat potential.

To his credit, the bloke exuded the airs of a thoroughbred gentleman. And no, he was not just a hustler in an expensive suit — this was Mr Moneybags himself. As to whether he was handsome or not, I will reserve my comments, lest I be accused of hate speech.

Zoomed off

Having safely delivered his passenger, the gentleman begged to leave.

“Tuonane kesho kazini, Beatrice,” he told his employee, before turning to me: “Lala salama, mzee.”

He then hopped into his parliamentary-grade automobile and zoomed off.

Now, the ‘workaholic’ may not be the most romantic word to use in describing one’s wife, perhaps because of the last five letters. Still, I cannot think of a better word to describe Mama Jimmy, who is so hard working she makes bees look lazy.

However, this kazi funga business must stop, ladies and gentlemen. Like I have told you before, I have only one dear wife, and that is the comptroller. At this rate, I might just have to launch ‘Operation Linda Mama Watoto’.