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Attempt to pull a Keter on Michelle nearly has me going to bed hungry

By MAFTAH YUSUF | January 31st 2015

I may not be too digital, especially if they measure progress with the new fad by the name of Share a Coke.

Next time, a private developer by the name of Singh requires that I portray his turban in good light in this column, I might insist we conduct business sipping from personalised Cokes so that I can have a memorabilia to make Michelle jealous.
A soda written “Timbuktu” should taste so much better.

I know she will demand that she too, gets the same treat because ‘soda si ya mama yangu’ or something like that.

Since I refuse to invest in the socialite industry, she will be on her own and I know that one way or another, the woman will try to get me back for the humiliation.

“I told you Timbuktu it is unfair that you leave me here and go raving in town alone,” she often tells me, claiming that I treat her worse than a maid and still expect a lullaby when I get home.

“You are supposed to be a dutiful wife standing by my side and not trying to compete with my authority all the time,” I will warn.

But talking to Michelle is like talking to a spiral tube with openings on both ends. Words go right through her ears.

I remember vividly, the last time she had an attack of stubbornness. The woman refused to serve me food. And it was not one of those lucky days when a chap hobnobbed with mates, one of whom offered to buy matumbo.

So you can imagine a long hard day, in this sunny city of ours on a day when all your deals fail to go through. The last thing a man needs is nagging from his missus during these trying times.

Wise women will take one look at you and assure you that tomorrow will be better so you do not despair. But Michelle and her ilk, failed wannabe socialites who get married just so that they do not starve start acting up right at a time like this.
What you imagine is inopportune to them is the correct moment to strike.

You will limp home beaten and hungry to find the missus waiting to pick a fight over a non-issue. “Timbuktu did you remember to bring the polish remover I have been reminding you for the last month,” she asked on this particular day.

I wanted to tell her I would not even know where to buy the poison but I just kept quiet.

She then decided to teach me a lesson by sending me to bed hungry. Imagine, I have been “jua kallying” for her all day on an empty stomach and she has the audacity to decide that I shall not eat. I could not allow that to happen.

I decided to storm the kitchen and do a Keter classic. “Michelle what is wrong with you? Your mother-in-law called, you refused to pick. My brother came and you could not talk to him. I am standing here hungry as your husband and you are not feeding me. Is this my house ‘ama’ I have stumbled into the neighbours’?” I asked all agitated.

She looked at me like at me like a mouse caught in a trap. For a moment, I knew I had startled her and I decided to make the most of it.

“I hate this marriage and that is why I even forget when we got married.”

Her fake eyelashes went up in alarm and instantly I knew I was in trouble.

She called me a liar since she had been on phone with my mother that evening, of course, to complain about my staying out late.

“I have tried my best to make this marriage work but apparently all you do is whine like a baby. You do not appreciate me and that is why you can’t remember to bring me a cheap thing like nail polish remover,” she then read me the riot act.

She would suspend cooking duties since I had proved that man can live on personalised Coke alone.

“And before I forgive you, I want a full confession before your mother that you lie using her name,” I was told.

Of course, I knew my mother would not be amused, me lying and all at my age. “Michelle, I begged, let this one slide and I will manicure your nails myself,” I offered. A smile started forming and I knew I would survive. 

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