If everything had gone as planned, this year was supposed to be my best Christmas ever. Every ingredient had been put in place to make it a memorable Christmas.
Children had been sent away, we had spent more time with Fiolina, the laugh of my life, bonding, discovering each other, and making memories.
School matters had been delegated to Kuya, meaning there were no interruptions. Unbeknownst to Fiolina, I had already talked to the owner of Roddy's, a 10-star hotel on your way to Luanda, with a plan to surprise Fiolina with a two-day stay there from December 24 evening to December 26. I have already paid the deposit for this, and it is not a little money.
When I visited the hotel, they told me how they would make our room amazing: there would be flowers on the bed, and they were going to give us what they called compulsory red wine. We would have been served breakfast in bed, with everything we needed at our beck and call.
Although we did not know how to swim — I can only swim in raging rivers — a swimming pool had been made available for us 200 meters away, and we could use it anytime we wanted. I did not doubt that Fiolina was going to love the entire experience and love me even more. And we would live happily thereafter.
Just three days to Christmas, the devil had invaded Fiolina, and others not before this court. The devil made her invite her mother without telling me. Fiolina had said that the plan was to help her mum rest, and that was the reason she invited her when the children were away.
In other words, as I was planning a memorable Christmas without Fiolina’s knowledge, she was planning a memorable Christmas for her mother, without putting me in the know.
By now you already know that a day after her mother-in-law arrived, trouble started after I walked into the kitchen in my underwear only to bump into her mother. Being the man I am, I overcame that mishap and continued like nothing had happened.
No sooner had I recovered than Fiolina subjected me to more shame, sending me for mundane things before her mother. Yes, I am a modern man who has no qualms about doing house chores, but this was stretching my patience.
Every bladder has its limit, and I snapped. To avoid further drama, I left our home on the evening of December 23 and went to sleep in my old house at my parents' home.
I returned on Saturday morning, on the eve of Christmas, with one plan: to ensure that my mother-in-law leaves. And that she would leave before 2 pm because I had made special arrangements with Roddy himself to come pick up Fiolina and me at 2pm and take us to Roddy’s for two days of merrymaking.
Fiolina and her mom had not woken up when I arrived. I knocked and knocked, and Fiolina only opened the door half an hour later.
"Madharau gani hii unanionyesha with my mum around? Si ungeenda kwa hao wanawake wako kama mother hayuko. Haujui vile my mother amenidharau."
She then did not speak to me. Both she and her mother did not answer even when I greeted her. They were both singing loud Christian songs as they prepared whatever they were preparing in the kitchen. I sat in the bedroom.
"Enda ukule breakfast hata kama najua Nimo alishakupikia," she told me at around 9am.
A part of me did not want to join them for breakfast, but the aroma of freshly roasted groundnuts and fried eggs was too strong to resist, so I joined them for breakfast.
They chatted as though I was not at the table, as though I did not exist at all; with her mother updating her on many matters happening in their village.
During this time, the owner of Roddy's kept calling me incessantly, but I did not pick up. He sent me a text asking me to tell Fiolina to be ready by 1pm as he had a busy day.
I did not respond, but I was sure that by 1pm, I would have convinced Fiolina’s mum to leave so that Fiolina and I could go for our Xmas treat. Or was it retreat?
"Wacha nipack nirudi kwangu ," the mother said after breakfast. "Akufukuzae hakwambii toka."
"Mummy nani amekufukuza?" I asked her. "I have not sent you away, and you are very welcome."
"Kama unawacha msichana wangu boma kama niko si hiyo ni kutufukuza ," she said.
"Nilitoka kidogo na sio kwa ubaya," I said. "Msichana wako ni mgumu lakini tunaishi kwa neema ya Mungu."
"Mimi niliamua kukulia Christmas huku," Fiolina’s mum told my father, with my father promising to invite her.
Fiolina served my father breakfast. As he took breakfast and talked to my mother-in-law, I tried to speak to Fiolina — in the kitchen.
"Enda uonge na wale umelala nao," she dismissed me.
I joined my father and mother-in-law in the sitting room. They were jovially speaking, with the mum in high spirits, and Fiolina, also in high spirits whenever she occasionally joined.
As soon as my father left, the gloomy environment returned, with my mother-in-law saying she would go pack.
"Nitaenda na wewe, hapa mimi sibaki," said Fiolina. "Hi familia ni nzuri, umeona mzee ni mzuri, shida tu ni kijana na dada yake Caro. Kama si hao mimi sina shida."
They were ready by around 12:30, and Fiolina tried to call a boda boda, but all were busy ferrying Nairobians who had arrived and were splashing the village with money.
"Pea huyu lunch usikufe ukasema ulimnyima chakula," Fiolina’s mum told her, in a polite order.
Fiolina went to the kitchen and quickly made ugali and eggs, which we partook in. No sooner had we done than a vehicle entered the compound. It was a pickup belonging to Roddy’s.
"Is everyone ready?" the driver Roddy had asked, clearly in a hurry. He added that he had another errand to handle.
"We are ready," Fiolina said, and she got out with two bags, one hers and the other her mother's. My mother-in-law asked if they could pray first. I tried talking with the driver but he said he had no time to chat as he had been sent quickly.
"Kama wako tayari twende, nangojewa."
Fiolina's mum started praying. In the prayer, she thanked me for organising transport for them, at a time when getting transport was difficult.
Caro, Mwisho wa Lami’s minister for Misinformation, Miscommunication, and Broadcasting Lies, arrived as Fiolina’s mum was praying.
“Sisi tumeenda, mubaki na huyo ndugu yako,” Fiolina told my sister Caro as the pickup zoomed off.
Caro left as soon as they left as if the story needed to get off her chest as soon as possible - or she would faint.
I tried calling Fiolina, but she did not pick up, nor did the owner of Roddy, who responded that he was busy. Later, at about 5pm, he sent me text saying that though he was busy, he was informed that my guests had arrived.
“We are giving them the best service. Please send the balance,” he wrote.
In the meantime, Caro was doing what she does best — telling everyone she met that I had been abandoned despite cooking and washing utensils for Fiolina.
Thanks to Caro, I couldn’t leave the home that evening, and not even on Christmas day. I couldn’t go to Hitler’s, nor could I go to my parents’ place. I couldn’t even walk in the village because of shame.
On Christmas Day, I spent the whole day in the house brooding, thinking of what could have been. Roddy’s owner kept calling me, but I ignored him. At 2pm, Fiolina sent me a text to thank me for the treat.
“Mum is so happy with the Xmas treatment we are receiving at Roddy’s. Please respond to Roddy; he says you haven’t been responding. See you tomorrow. Xoxo.”
I had no option but to send money after Roddy threatened to kick out my mother-in-law in the deep of the night. That would have been scandalous.
Roddy's pick-up arrived back at 4pm on Boxing Day. Only Fiolina was in as they had dropped my mother-in-law at her place. The driver demanded an additional Sh700 for fuel, stating that dropping my mother-in-law had not been part of the plan.
Fiolina happily entered the house, singing and all. She went to wash the two-day-old utensils and prepared a proper meal for me. Even though I was not in the mood, my appetite was not affected, I ate properly but did not speak to Fiolina. I still haven't spoken to her to date.
