After several busy weeks at work and home that were also marked by loneliness due to Fiolina’s absence, I looked forward to the one-week mid-term rest. As you would already know, mid-term, or half term as some non-pedagogical people call it, was to start on Tuesday morning, even for Mwisho wa Lami Primary School.
As we left school on Friday the other week, everyone knew that Monday would be a full working day, after which, we would break for mid-term. I already had plans of giving multiple homework and instructions to teachers and students, until a momentous, earth-shaking event happened on Sunday: Fiolina returned!
Yow will remember that a few weeks ago, Fiolina claimed that I was a mean and cruel man, just because I tried to ensure that as a family, we lived within our means and not borrow – domestically or externally – for recurrent expenditure.
If your memory serves you right, then you will recall when, as head of the family, I had attempted to control the usage of house consumables by setting the time a kilogramme of sugar a gorogoro of flour and edible oil must last. Everyone had thought I was joking. But only I know how our coffers were empty and was going to set austerity measures.
So, when I made noise the time the edible oil lasted a week less, Electina wished it away, casually saying that she would be careful going forward.
“Can we be careful effective immediately?” I shouted at the poor girl. Fiolina calmed me down, saying that Electina was a kid.
“Someone in Form Two is not a kid,” I said, adding that she was old enough to be a wife.
A week later, I complained when the sugar and flour got finished the same day, five days earlier than the set date. Fiolina confronted me.“Which man is so interested in kitchen affairs?” she posed, adding that the kitchen was her responsibility, not mine.
“Is it your responsibility to buy?” I asked her. She had no answer. I told her that this economy called for every man to be interested in the affairs of the kitchen. “It’s me, the wearer of the shoes that knows where they pinch. And I will not borrow carelessly during this bear run…” She asked me what a bear run was. I had forgotten that I was dealing with someone at a lower intellectual level.
“Bear runs are lean times,” I said, but this was still complicated to Fiolina. “They are times of economic difficulties.” I went on: “During a bull run, when there will be plenty, you will not see me in the kitchen, except to deliver more supplies.”
That is the day I banned cooking chapatis and mandazi. I also took additional measures; every morning, I started signing on top of the sugar and flour and would check if the signatures were intact on the flour every evening and on sugar the next morning. I quarrelled the first time I found the signature interfered with. The girls were not around, meaning the culprit was Fiolina.
Fiolina did not apologise or feel remorse despite her actions negatively impacting my supplementary budget. I was angry. The second time it happened, I was livid, and we clashed with Fiolina. I do not remember well what happened, all I remember is her shouting: “Aiyayaya! You have slapped me Dre? You have slapped me?” She then packed her things and left.
While away, although I missed her, and wanted her back, I must say that financially, we were able to manage the macro and microeconomic environment and bring inflation in our house to manageable levels. That said, I was so happy to hear Fiolina would return on Sunday. We were all excited to see her arrive. And all rushed to help her disembark from the bodaboda with a big luggage. She was carrying a banana, flour, two chickens, green maize and ground nuts. She also had something more valuable than gold – sugar. With these, she transformed the fiscal situation and physical environment of our kitchen.
After greeting everyone, together with the girls, they started preparing a feast for supper. Fiolina overdid herself. There was chicken, chapati, ugali and rice. After, we marinated this with African mixed tea, and top-dressed it with expertly prepared ground nuts.
Needless to say, although we went to bed fairly early, for obvious reasons, we slept late, very late. And woke up late last Monday morning, very late. Around 9.00 a.m. obviously, what I mean is that we left bed at 9.00 am, having woken up much earlier! Everyone had left for school.
I had seven missed calls from Alex, who I had appointed as acting deputy after Kuya attempted to interfere with my marriage. “You know we planned for a staff meeting at 9am. but since you are not here, can I move it to the afternoon?” Alex asked when I called back.
I asked what the agenda for the meeting was. “Just the usual: reviewing last week and planning the next,” he said.
I asked him what there was to plan, when the mid-term was nigh. “Not much, but we can discuss how to release the students, I hope you are coming to officially release them,” he said.
I told him that this was not end-term and that there were no academic reports to be given, just like a long weekend; I needed not be there. I asked if all the other teachers were in school, and he told me only three of them were present. “Si mnapenda kazi …” I muttered to myself.
“You are free to close school for mid-term as early as you want, I won’t come,” I told him.
“It is mid-term Alex, it is time to rest,” I hung up, and we went back to bed.
