When my Queen wrongly concluded that I was celebrating her recent demarcation of our marital bed, she decided to further escalate her maandamano against me by inciting our boys to 'torture' me. This is an art of cold war that she has perfected over time.
You will obviously remember how on Monday evening, Queen divided our marital bed in two unequal parts with each of us having our set of beddings. And because I usually arrive home late, tired, tipsy and sleepy, I have been finding Queen sleeping virtually across the two thirds of the bed and I end up crouching on the remaining one third.
In other words, I have been hanging precariously on our marital bed. But for the sake of peace, I have been suffering silently since Monday.
It was this silence, a survival tactic I have perfected over time, which infuriated Queen to push her maandamano further.
On Wednesday night, I was surprised to find the boys still watching TV in the living room when I came home. Queen was strategically listening from the kitchen. “Baba , teacher said that a good father loves his children,” said the firstborn, the older of our twins, and the family critic.
“Yes, yes. Teacher said that a good father loves his wife and children,” agreed the younger of the twins, the family ombudsman.
“Let me tell you baba , mum said that a good father loves his children,” said our lastborn son, the family comedian. He had certainly forgotten to properly memorise his lines in the Palace drama. And although no one takes him seriously, this time his comment helped me know on whose payroll the boys were on. And just then, we heard Queen’s loud and derisive coughs coming from the kitchen.
“That is very good of your mother and teacher. They must have told you that I love you so much. You can see how late I work to make you comfortable,” I said.
“Teacher said that a loving father helps his children with their homework,” said the firstborn.
“Mum said…eeeeh …teacher said that a loving father helps his children with homework,” said the comedian.
“Now my boys, it is true that I do not assist you with your homework but I am busy at that time ‘looking’ for money for your school fees,” I pleaded.
We again heard Queen’s coughs, this time louder and robotic; more of a cross between coughs and laughter.
“The teacher said that some fathers are visitors to their children. They leave home before the children wake up and come back when the children have slept. Sasa , how can such fathers say that they love their children?” asked the critic.
“You can come home early and help us write our homework then go back to work,” said the Ombudsman.
I reasoned with the boys and convinced them that we had divided our roles as parents so that their mother assisted them with the easier part—homework, while I was working on the heavier part—their school fees.
That was not in the script that Queen had given them and so they got confused. But the lastborn remembered the epilogue of the play. “But baba , you buy other people good things and you do not take us for outing on Sunday,” said the lastborn.
“Kwani you have forgotten how many times I have been taking you for outings? I will even take you out this coming Sunday,” I said.
“But mother said that you take us to small and cheap hotels but take other people to big and expensive hotels,” the comedian said.
Before I could respond, Queen recalled her troops. “You boys, why are you trying to draw water from a stone? Tomorrow is a school day. Go to bed,” Queen said.
And because the boys were sleepy, they left. They looked unconvinced because we had not finished the issue of the Sunday outing, something that is very close to their hearts.
I am now in the process of coming up with a RRP (Rapid Recovery Programme) to employ, to regain the confidence and trust of the boys before I completely lose them to Queen. If anyone of you has a manual on the same, kindly share it with me via this gracious medium. I am expectantly waiting for a way forward. Thank you in advance.
