Mr Survivor: Thank the heavens! The rains sweep me back to marital nirvana

When it rains this side of the world, it pours. And when it rains here, the cow tracks that pass for roads become travelling nightmares. At such times, Happy Valley, the Canaan of Nyandarua County, is completely cut off from the rest of civilisation.

For the purpose of those who are new in these missives, it is important at this juncture to orientate you. Now, Happy Valley has a unique geographical and historical setting. Geographically, lying on the western slopes of Aberdare Mountains, it is agriculturally the Canaan of Nyandarua County: the land of milk and potatoes.

But it is the rich but queer historical setting which makes Happy Valley a strategic launching pad for these missives. The white colonial masters, the cream of the British aristocracy who lived here, converted Wanjohi Valley to a drama stage on which they experimented and showcased their debauchery: game meat eating, beer-drinking, smoking, and women and wife chasing and swapping adventures. Let us call it, life in the evil forest. They aptly called it Happy Valley.

Read: Wonders will never cease; Queen has banned me from going home early

I am giving this history not to glorify the “white mischief” but to explain my close relationship with the Happy Valley history. It is from the last lineage of the Happy Valley heritage that I bought my Volkswagen Beetle. This is another way of saying that my Concorde saw and lived it all until independence came and the camaraderie flew back to Britain to further their mischief.

Now, your guess is as good as mine as to the reason why the royal families chose Wanjohi Valley, deep in the heart of darkness of Aberdare mountains, as the centre stage of their queer love life. It was because Happy Valley is an island when it rains and hence there was not the remotest possibility that anyone could have become an impediment to their sweet life. And this is the gist of my story today. As I pen this missive, Happy Valley has been rendered a vehicular no go zone.

Yours truly expectantly looks forward to this season because all other plastic Japanese imitations are declared immobile. This includes the Kenyan Women Financial trust’s RAV 4 that Queen has been ‘ringaring with’. Only my weather and terrain hardened and proven Volkswagen Beetle is left ruling on the roads. Having witnessed the growth of the county from the colonial period, it is the car that says ‘I know Aberdare and Kenyan roads’.

This ‘motorability’ of my Beetle comes with sweeter dividends than my Queen’s chama dividends. Apart from sewing up my financially torn wallets, the Concorde ensures that my marital bonga points are renewed and extended for as long as Queen has another reliable means of transport for the shopping of her Slopes Supermarket.

It is on account of this that although Queen had banished me to marital Siberia because she was swimming in dividends from her chama, she had no choice but to warm her way back to my husbandly fold so that I could help her in ferrying her shopping.

As usual when we are not in talking terms, Queen wrote a SMS on Thursday. It read, “Hi. Willyou help me carry some items for my supermarket? The shelves are almost empty.”  Short and impersonal but I am used to it.

Also read: How I helped Queen to win chama elections with a landslide

The truth of the matter was that I had been looking for the slightest opportunity to sneak myself back to her wifely heart and fold. This is the wrong weather to be in Siberia. I replied immediately, “It is my greatest honour and singular privilege to be at your service my dear Queen. I am all ready to transport whatever you wish at the time of your convenience.  Yours in service forever.”

She was very fast to reply, “Thanks. Tomorrow.”

I am also very sure that Queen was suffering silently without bitterness. Happy Valley is too cold for comfort. From the way she had been behaving since my banishment, she was regretting its wrong timing.

And that is how I spent the whole of my last Friday, transporting Queen’s shopping from Ol’Kalou Town to Happy Valley. For the whole of that day, she kept referring to the Concorde as our family car. She never mentioned anything about the car perfume, compass or coolant—the three car accessories that had led to my banishment.

And, yes, you are very right. I am unconditionally back to marital nirvana. I am actually not surviving but living through the freezing hot weather of Happy Valley. Long live the rains, long live Concorde.

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