A man is the head of the house because out of his rib a woman was created according to the holy book which happens to be my favorite book. In other words, God took out one rib from a man and from it he created a loudspeaker without a mute button and from my grandfather’s teachings, ’don’t let a woman sit on your head’. I therefore drafted my own constitution long before I met whisky and one of the sections from this constitution reads that; Don’t ask everything and not all questions are subject to answers. With this in mind and afraid of the example I would make out of her, most of my underground dealings go unquestioned, or at times when they are, Whisky simply says “it’s ok” and I just feel ok because “ok” is ok with me. And if she would dare provoke me to something physical then not even KDF or AMISOM would keep the peace. At least that’s what I have been telling myself until yesterday. I went to grab a few items from the shops and since it was still early for a man to go back to the house, I popped into one of the pubs around to irrigate my esophagus. I just wanted to pass time so I had one Tusker and sipped on it slowly until the time to go home came. The waiter brought me the bill and absent mindedly I shoved the receipt in my pocket without looking at it, paid for the beer and hoped on my motorbike.
It had started to drizzle when I got home so I took off my jacket and hung it behind the door. After a few hours it’s time for bed. Wisky comes from the kitchen to where I am sitting, stands with arms a akimbo and asks in a voice that tells me she is about to cause a third world war; “So this is what you went for? It’s ok”! She throws a piece of paper at me and storms out towards the bedroom. I pick it up and my eyes open wide with shock as I read the contents on the receipt.’4 GK(Guinness kubwa),4 Smirnoff Ice, 1kg Nyam chom,2 packets of Trust condoms……’ My head is now spinning from shock. I was given a wrong receipt at the bar. I walk into the bedroom to find Wisky sitting beside the bed weeping uncontrollably. I try to explain to her that it was a wrong receipt and all she says is; “its ok”, and with that I hop into bed and soon I am in dreamland. Problem solved. I don’t know for how long I have slept and I don’t know either what wakes me up. Somewhere from my guts I feel something is wrong. I turn on the light. Wisky is not in bed. I stealthily walk to the kitchen. She is there, busy going about her business. There’s something boiling on the cooker. I can hear her singing “Kifo hakina huruma”(Death has no mercy).I tell myself that she has at least cheered up if she can sing.
I go back to bed and I am almost falling asleep when I hear the door open. The light is on and I can see Wisky carrying a sufuria. Before I ask her why she brings a sufuria in the bedroom, I see the rage in her eyes and the speed with which she is approaching the bed. I jump out of bed startled like a jaguar in time to narrowly miss a splash of hot water directed at me. As I head for the door I remember the boiling water on the cooker in the kitchen and Wisky singing ‘kifo hakina huruma’. Damn stupid waiter! The things you put me through! The only safe place that can offer me cover right now is the toilet. I dash there and lock the door. This is where I will sleep tonight until tomorrow when I will sort out this mess. I feel tears forming in my eyes but it’s better to cry from the toilet than to laugh from a ward at Nairobi women’s hospital. I have learnt my lessons. That never take lightly from a woman the word ‘ok’ especially when you have violated her constitution and that crying from the toilet is real.
Credit: Featured image: NewVision Ug. used for illustration