Last week, I insinuated that in order for me to return to Kakamega to play my God-given responsibility of being the laugh of my life, Fiolina’s principal consort, I intended to restore bilateral diplomatic channels with Catherine, Branton’s mother.
The main purpose of opening such channels was to establish a framework for facilitating the safe repatriation of Branton from Mwisho wa Lami to his mother’s place, wherever that is.
As you know, until just over a year ago, Catherina and I had cordial diplomatic relations. We were quite amiable despite the fact we were both serving in different embassies. We may not have been laugh-mates, but once in a while we laughed and loved when an opportunity presented itself.
Indeed, my parents still hoped that one day we could upgrade our bilateral diplomatic relationship to the next level, and that I could build an ambassador’s residence for Catherine in Mwisho wa Lami. Such hopes were dashed early last year when it came to my attention that Catherine had initiated diplomatic contact with a guy who works at the county, who I heard was either a chief officer or legal something.
It was no wonder that soon after their initial contact grew to full diplomatic recognition, Catherine was promoted to a HM. A month later, she moved to the man’s home as a Permanent Representative of her village, and severed all diplomatic relations with me.
What all that means in simple English is that to Catherine, I no longer mattered, and I was not surprised when she stopped picking my calls, responding to my SMSs or even late night Whatsapp messages. In fact, she blocked my number. Yet the more she pushed me away, the more my heart grew fonder, and the more I wished we could restore diplomatic relations.
Earlier in the year, I tried to reach her using a different number. She responded: “Do you know my husband is a lawyer?” I did not need a calculator to know that it was her lawyer husband who once wrote me a threatening letter, demanding child support. The response I wrote to him totally silenced him.
Back to my efforts of establishing a framework of repatriating Branton to his mother. My attempts to reach out to Catherine were fruitless as she did not respond.
I thought about asking my sister Caro to host Branton, but I decided against the idea. You all know Caro. As Mwisho wa Lami’s Minister for Communication, Information and Broadcasting, within just two days, the whole world would have known that she was staying with Branton, and all the boy’s bad habits would be public knowledge.
But I realised I could use Caro’s broadcasting skills to sort the small matter of Branton’s repatriation. My instructions to her were simple. To let Catherine know – without personally telling her - that Branton was sick and needed urgent medical attention. It is a job Caro knows well, and in just two days, Catherine called me.
“What is this I am hearing about Branton? That he is sick and you can’t take him to hospital? What kind of a father are you?” She asked.
I told her that indeed Branton was sick. “He will be okay very soon, don’t worry.” She requested to speak with Branton but I said he was asleep and too tired to speak to anyone.
Come Thursday, Fiolina was calling me incessantly, asking to speak to her son. When in the evening I told her that Branton was too weak to speak, she retorted: “What? And you are with him in the house? What kind of a father are you?” She asked. “I will be there tomorrow morning!”
All along Branton was not sick, but as punishment, I had banned him from leaving the house. He was therefore angry and upset. He had refused to eat, to shower or change clothes.
Come Friday morning, a car drove into my compound. It was a big county vehicle, the type that smells of corruption. Seated in front was a driver and a county askari. Catherine and a smartly dressed man sat at the back. The car screeched to a stop and out came the county askari and Catherine.
“Where is my son?” Catherine shouted. Branton came out and they hugged. She was relieved to see him that she did not even notice how smelly the boy was. They boarded the car and sped off. My only regret was that she looked pregnant.
No sooner had the car left than I started preparing to leave for Kakamega. As I was just about to leave, Fiolina called. “Do not leave the house. There is a Kenya Power person coming to see if he can get us stima, wait for him.”
We have always wanted to get connected to electricity so I decided to wait. The person had not arrived by 2pm, and when I called Fiolina, she told me to wait.
He had not arrived by 6.30pm, and Fiolina promised that he would come the next day. I left for Hitler’s. Yesterday, I stayed indoors waiting for the Kenya Power person. I waited and waited and waited, but no one came, despite several assurances that he was on his way. At around 3pm, I called Fiolina.
“He is coming,” she said “If he does not come today, he will come tomorrow. My boss, who introduced us, has just called him and told him that he must connect us to power.” There was some noise in the background and I asked her where she was. “Tuko Golf.”
I felt bad that all the weekends I had been in Kakamega; we had not been to Golf. If by 2pm today the Kenya Power person will not have arrived, I will go to Kakamega, come rain, come sunshine. I also want to enjoy the Golf Hotel!
