Thanks to the Valentine's treat, I rekindled my love with Fiolina. Having lived together for over 10 years, life between Fiolina, the lucky laugh of my envious life and I, had reached a place where tumezoeana .
The correct translation of kuzoeana is not having gotten used to each other, but rather taking each other for granted.
Our kind of kuzoeana had reached levels where everyone practically lived their own life even though we stayed in the same house.
For a long time, Fiolina never cared about my clothes; they would be washed by either Electina or Honda or the house girl, whenever we had one.
Fiolina, too, had never served me food. Whenever I arrived and the girls had slept, I had to sort myself in the kitchen and would wake up the next morning to be quarreled for having left the kitchen in a mess.
When it comes to referring to me, I have seen myself move from baby to honey and then to dear. When baby Sospeter arrived, I started being called Baba Sospeter.
But for the last two years or so, whenever she is talking to other women, I am either referred to as Mzee at best and huyo or huyu at worst.
And when it comes to talking, I would be lying to say that we talk about anything serious; we do not, as everyone lives their own lives, and we each day just meet in the house to sleep.
On the bed, we face the opposite directions while everyone's on their phone until sleep overpowers them.
Over time, everyone has come to understand and play their responsibilities. I know I pay school fees and provide money for shopping in the house.
As for Fiolina, her work is to ensure that there is food prepared. I emphasise that her work is to ensure that I have food, not to cook for me. Except for the short time in December last year, when we had a romantic life for two weeks, after that things reverted to default where everyone minds their own business.
So when two weeks ago, I decided to give my wife a Valentine's treat, it was not for anything; I just wanted to not in the future be reminded that I did not do anything for her on Valentine's.
Yet I did nothing extraordinary. I did not take her out for dinner nor did I buy her a gift. I never bought her a red dress. The flowers I bought her were plastic, and the wine I bought was the cheapest from Roddy’s. It tasted like water that has been used to wash utensils.
It turned out that Fiolina had not expected me to do anything. She was used to me, and she knew I would just come back as normal, and if pushed or challenged, the only thing I would have done was to send her a Valentine's message – like it happened last year.
So just seeing the effort I made to get her something for Valentine's impressed her. Things changed immediately after.
Since that night, we no longer sleep with our backs facing one another. We now face each other, talk lots of things, and are always engaged until sleep does us part.
The morning after Valentine's, Fiolina woke up early. I didn't know what she went to do, but I saw the result when I woke up. She came to wake me to tell me that my water for bathing was warm and ready in the bathroom. The bathroom had been cleaned, and everything was placed nicely.
When I came back from the bathroom, I found my clothes for that day – a yellow Komesha Covid-19 t-shirt, green Kaunda suit, socks, and handkerchief – well arranged. Can you imagine even the socks had been ironed?
Just outside the door, my shoes had been polished so well that they could be used as a mirror.
The table was set for breakfast. How Fiolina had managed to prepare such a comprehensive breakfast still astonished me. There was a fruit – banana, tea – both black and white, and bread toasted in eggs.
After breakfast, Fiolina did not just let me leave; she hugged me and wished me a great day ahead.
That day at around noon, Nyayo came to school carrying a package from Fiolina. It was a packed lunch: Hot cooked ugali with freshly cooked kunde. There was also a piece of chicken and a message.
"Dear Dre, hope you had a great day, thought I should do lunch for you. Here is wishing you a great day. Please remember to come back with the utensils."
"What about the ugali? Is it what you prefer, or should we be trying something lighter?"
I told her that I was okay with whatever she brought as she knew exactly what my heart desired. I told her how delicious the meal had been.
"I prepared it myself," she said and cheekily added that she looked forward to serving me more than just food when I got back home.
When I returned home, I found Fiolina waiting for me. She immediately took my school bag and kept it. In the sitting room, black tea and groundnuts were waiting for me.
Sospeter came in, and together with Fiolina, we helped him with the day's homework.
Later, once I was done with Sospeter, dinner was served. She did this together with Honda, although she mentioned that she had personally cooked.
And I call it dinner, not supper. Usually, I find ugali – mostly the previous day's cooking – together with mboga on one plate. The dinner that day was different. There was a fruit, hot and fresh brown ugali and three varieties of vegetables.
You need no calculator to know that I did not go to Hitler's, nor have I been back there ever since. Fiolina has repeated the programme every day. The weekend was just the bomb, for she told me that I needed to rest and that she would do everything to make me rest, which she did.
I did not notice it myself, but last Tuesday, Nzomo mentioned that she had noticed that I was happier, treating people well, smiling a lot, and walking with a bounce while whistling love songs.
So today I give a big shootout to Fiolina, the lucky laugh of my envious life. Please make this the new normal and let us live happily thereafter!
