Sometime ago, a group of us visited someone, but after the visit, the conclusion was that the host was a mean person.
There is something about us Kenyans and food – food is an integral part of our varied cultures. We lay out a feast to celebrate, and when in mourning, we lay out a feast too – in some cultures, the feast is even bigger and more elaborate during burials than it is during weddings.
And when you, the prodigal son, finally travels up country to visit your parents, your mother is likely to lay out a special meal for you, her way of voicing her unwavering love for you.
And, of course, when you visit a friend or relative, especially if the visit was prearranged, you expect a feast of sorts in your honour, and in some cultures, the part of the chicken you are served will denote how important you are to your guests — where I come from, guests are not served the neck or wings or ribcage because that it where the least meat resides.
Obviously, food is a weighty topic here, and just that single plate you place before your guest is subject to varied interpretations.
In this case, the deciding factor that the host was mean was due to the fact that she served tea in those doll-like cups that big hotels serve their tea in.
You must know them, the ones that you hold with your thumb and fore finger because the space the handle leaves is too little for four fingers to go through. Oh, and one unstructured sip is enough to empty the cup.
If you are a tea lover like me, therefore, it becomes a Herculean task to limit yourself to small, barely three elegant sips to go along with the tempo of the kind of gatherings that take place in such hotels. Trust me, you will come across as gluttonous if you keep getting up to refill those minuscule cups.
Anyway, it was also pointed out that the tea we were served was thin. Ever the diplomatic one, I pointed out that the economy was no longer what it was a few years ago, that the price of milk and other items had gone up, and that most households had been forced to scale down their spending to stay afloat. My explanation, of course, fell on deaf ears, there is nothing that you can say to make a Kenyan who feels he has been short-changed in the food department change his mind.
Are you wondering what the moral of the story is? That if you have those little cups in your house, it is time to replace them with bigger, Kenyan-looking ones, otherwise you will be branded a mean person if you haven’t already been.
Talking of mean people, it is time to stop entertaining those friends who never volunteer to pay the bill or at least contribute towards it, or pay for what they partook whenever you go out for drinks and nyama. Or those that are suddenly in a hurry to visit the washroom when the waiter brings the bill. This is the year to say no to one-sided friendship where you are the only one that keeps giving but never receives.
The writer is Editor, Society & Magazines, Daily Nation.
