When, over 10 years ago, my sister Caro — Mwisho wa Lami’s CS for Misinformation, Miscommunication, and the Broadcasting of Lies — got married to Maskwembe, I didn’t need a calculator to know trouble lay ahead.
It had nothing to do with Caro herself or the man she chose, a part-time boda boda mechanic/rider, and thug. No. The red flags were in how the “marriage” happened.
It was during the December holidays. Caro, on her way to fetch water from the river, carried a few clothes hidden in the jerrican. She left the jerrican by the river, crossed over, and got married. Just like that.
At the time, we were told Maskwembe was working in Nairobi. He had apparently saved for almost a year, just enough to buy a pair of Savco jeans, a counterfeit cotton Visco shirt, and dusty Reebok shoes. He arrived back home dressed to impress girls – and Caro fell headfirst into marriage.
From the first day, I saw trouble coming like El Niño. And it didn’t take long.
Within weeks, Maskwembe didn’t even have fare to go back to Nairobi. I sorted him. But being broke is not a crime, otherwise I’d be in Kamiti serving a life sentence. Things got serious six months later when he allegedly beat up Caro for not putting enough salt in the omena . She returned home looking like she’d fought a lion. We begged her to stay, but she returned to him within a week. For free.
This became an annual tradition. Just like the wildebeest migration, Caro would return home every year with new scars, only to go back to Maskwembe like it was some twisted holiday routine. I remember the last time she came, we demanded that Maskwembe and his clan come face us and explain why they thought our sister was a drum to be beaten every few days. We also wanted him to pay something.
But Maskwembe, the coward that he is, faked sickness and never showed up. Despite our wisdom and warnings, Caro still returned to him. Free of charge. Again.
You see, Maskwembe has never paid a single thing to our family. Not a cow, not a goat, not even chicken. The only animal he has ever contributed to our homestead was termites he once gave my mum.
But if you listened to Caro — our CS for alternative facts — you’d think he paid bride price in dollars. She’d parade around claiming that a major dowry payment was coming.
“He’s planning something big,” she’d say. “Proper grade cows are on the way.”
Meanwhile, we waited. And waited. And waited.
So, when my own in-laws started making noise about adjusting Fiolina’s dowry upwards, I did my best to keep it quiet. The last person I wanted knowing was Caro. She would twist that story and broadcast it like she was Radio Citizen.
But alas, news leaked. And true to form, she started spreading rumours.
"Surely," she told villagers in hushed tones, "how can my brother, a Headmaster, not want to pay proper cows for his wife, who is also a teacher? He’s just mean.”
She even added — and I quote — “If Dre doesn’t have cows, my husband Maskwembe is ready to bring proper cows so that Dre can go pay dowry.”
Yes, you heard that right. The man who has lived off our sister for over a decade without paying even bus fare wants to donate cows to help me pay dowry!
And Caro wasn’t done. She said although she didn’t believe Fiolina deserved any cows, they were ready to help “so that our family doesn’t carry any shame.”
“Stop spreading lies about me and my wife,” I told her. “If you have nothing sensible to say, please go back to your good-for-nothing husband.”
“You can’t call Maskwembe good-for-nothing,” she snapped. “It’s Fiolina who is good-for-nothing!”
“How dare you?” I barked. “Maskwembe has had you for free for over 10 years! You’re talking about dowry when the only dowry you have received from him are beatings?”
“You’ll see!” she shouted. “Maskwembe is not like you — huyo jamaa amejipanga! He’s now ready to bring proper cows. We’ll bring more and better cows than Mwisho wa Lami has ever seen!”
Of course, she’s been saying this every year since 2013. Nothing has ever happened. But this time, it seems they’re serious. Last week, a bodaboda rider — wearing a faded Arsenal jersey — delivered a letter from Maskwembe’s father to my mzee. The letter didn’t say much (as expected of dowry letters), just that they’d like to visit on Saturday July 12 with some gifts. Normally, Mzee would ask for time to prepare, but Caro insisted it was urgent. Mzee, surprisingly, agreed.
I had my doubts, but I kept quiet and supported him — a decision I would soon regret. Because immediately after, Caro twisted the story again. Now she was telling everyone that they were the ones looking for cows for me, to save my marriage.
“We need to help my brother,” she told anyone willing to listen. “Even though Fiolina doesn’t deserve any cows, for the dignity of our family, we’ll contribute so that my brother doesn’t become a bachelor.”
When I confronted her, she of course denied everything.
“No, I never said that” she claimed. “I only said that if you want to use our cows to pay dowry for Fiolina, that’s your choice. You should know her people are not happy with you.”
Meanwhile, plans for Maskwembe’s dowry visit are in top gear. The last two times he came to “visit”, we spent more than he brought.
In 2018, we hosted him like royalty, spent over Sh15,000, and he left behind an envelope with exactly Sh800. Caro defended him: “He got a small problem, but he’ll send more money next week.”
This time, I refused to contribute anything. But Mzee and my sisters begged me, saying it was different now. "If he brings no money, we’ll sell one of the cows and refund your money," they said.
To silence the noise — and to stop Caro from parading around calling me jealous — I contributed Sh10,000. I have no faith in this whole plan, but now even I am curious. A whole team of wazees, dowry experts, and food tasters have been assembled to host Maskwembe and his people this Saturday.
I still have reservations. But deep down, I too want to witness this miracle. If Maskwembe truly brings cows — actual cows and not cow stories — I will be a beneficiary.
After all, if dowry is finally being paid for Caro, then surely, there is hope for Kenya.
