By Tony Mochama
Seldom have I done a quick turn-around in my writing Men Only as I will this week.
A fortnight ago, probably carried away by the heat of Mombasa and my own upcoming first marital anniversary, I happily wrote about the advantages of ‘come we stay relationships’.
Oopsy doopsy! The Kenyan Legislature brought us all back to harsh reality as they will from time to time, by coldly increasing our taxes to pay for their toe massages, but this time it was with a Marriage Bill whose contents include that living together for six months can be considered a presumptive marriage.
I shuddered for all the single men out there who are still testing the waters of fornication without having made the slow, but hard choice of whom to settle down with.
- 1 My confession: My father wanted to marry me off at 11
- 2 When her marriage fell apart, she found solace in music
- 3 Standard six girl rescued from marriage
- 4 I was in custody for two months after my baby dropped into pit latrine
No disrespect to any one, but if that ‘Six Month Law’ would have been in operation, my current wife would be my fourth missus.
If I’d married any of the three previous ‘come we stays’ (okay, so the memoir will be called ‘Confessions of a Serial Monogamist’), we would have either been beaten, stolen from or cheated on… and these were the good lasses.
So, rule number one to avoid the come-we-stay forced marriage. Never let her spend more than 24 hours at your digs.
In the good old days (that is, before last week), you could let her come on Friday evening with her monkey bag, and leave on Monday morning, having done all deeds — dirty and cleaning — for your majesty.
This is how the ladies got a toehold, then a foothold, into your kingdom, and it was fine. The law didn’t make you marry the camel you let into your tent, but now it does, after six months.
So, learn to cook for yourself to avoid getting into territorial cluelessness where you are reliant on the lass, or get used to eating grub like gumbo and boilo, boy.
Get yourself a cleaning woman who comes in twice or thrice a week to keep your cave spick and span.
Never ever let the woman re-arrange your furniture, or worse, buy you even a wall painting or keep a framed picture of herself in your living room, otherwise atasema you were living together, and you’re done.
Mostly, make sure nary a trace of the woman remains in your humble abode. She leaves a toothbrush, throw it out. Bra, burn it! The times are changing. Put down this magazine right now and tell the lady, “Babe, time to do the walk of shame”.