Men should choose the mother of their children wisely.
The evening was flat. K— calls me and says, “Let’s go to Ukambani.” I say, “No. I have plans.” I don’t have plans. But he doesn’t need to know that. He says, to hell with your plans. I’ll buy dinner, he says. I say, “say less.” If I ever betray the movement and sell out my revolutionary comrades to Sugoi’s Subarus, just know they’ll have got me with food. That’s just the way I am.
It’s 7pm when he picks me up at Mountain Mall. In the car are K—’s two cousins, but really they are just his brothers. You know how it is in African homes.
Like you, I also don’t know why we are going to Machakos, but don’t worry, because K— is about to tell me. Apparently, K—’s cousin/brother, is going to pick up his son. The son is four years old, a Covid baby by my calculations. I say, “okay. Let’s go.” I need a break from Nairobi anyway, especially since the other day I bought mutura worth Sh80 and ended up spending Sh3,000 to treat the salmonella or cucurella or whatever --ella the doctor said I had.
But that’s just another regular Kanairo day. Do you really think the chicken we eat in the Central Business District (CBD) for Sh200 is actual chicken? Or do you think the marabou storks just left Uhuru Park because they needed better trees? Buda. Hii ni town. Uko kadi kweli?
We stop by a supermarket in Machakos town. It’s what? 8pm? The town is littered with men and women pottering about, talking in high-pitched voices, and, judge me all you want, I am scanning tree posters from Mganga Kutoka Ukambani, and there is nothing.
K—’s cousin does proper shopping: rice, sugar, a carton of milk, washing powders, bar soaps, all that shebang, he even throws in chocolates for the mum. I am thinking, ‘What a good man.’ It’s a pity their relationship fizzled out. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe they are still dating or copulating chini ya maji. You never know with these things.
I throw in a FA deodorant that smells of the ocean and which guarantees me “72 hours of freshness and No White marks.” I also get an Arimis jelly, kubwa, and my boys look at me like I was going to sprout fangs or something, and I want to tell them it’s not what you think, but who has time to explain that in Nairobi the deo and Arimis kubwa set me back Sh500, but here it’s on offer for Sh250, both! Have you seen the economy? I am nothing if not a dealmaker; I belong in government finance committees.
Not his type
Speaking of, here we are. I don’t know what I was expecting, but my expectations were not met. K—’s cousin/brother’s ex/girlfriend/baby mama (sorry) was there in flesh. Her hair was cut short and natural, and she looked like how God made us as Africans; how we are meant to be. Clearly, there was no love left between her and K—’s cousin/brother; they didn’t even hug, just a curt ‘Niaje?” and that was that. As for the rest of us, she filtered out a squeal of Karibuni and shook our hand as if it was something she’d found in the street. She didn’t look like K—’s cousin/brother’s type, I know this because I now know his current girlfriend, one of them anyway.
We eat, say the usual smatterings of how we’d never had food like this before, and Mpishi aoelewe, although come to think of it, based on what transpired next, that was a terrible joke. We get ready to leave and ask Baby mama to pack clothes for K—’s cousin/brother’s son, who, you’d never believe what they named him. He’s called…Jayden. Wallahi. Jayden. Yaani.
Baby mama says, “I don’t think Jayden will go tonight. He is sick.” I am like, what? Everyone is like Haha! Good joke. The baby mama insists. And the only way she says she will allow Jayden to leave that house is if she goes with him too. That means she rides with us. Where will she sleep? Where Jayden sleeps. Where will Jayden sleep? In his father’s house, of course. Buda.
The plan was to go with Jayden for the Easter holiday to his father’s ancestral land, to show Jayden that he is more than Ukambani, show him all the land not yet under Sugoi. Every child of that home will be there, including K— and all his cousin-brothers. But baby mama wants to be part of this, too. She wants to be recognised, and acknowledged, but K—’s cousin/brother has moved on to another woman. It is messy, it is scandalous, it is 11pm, and I am sleepy and irritated. So this is how it felt to be Kibaki announcing that you have only one wife…
Also Read: Mantalk: Why Kenyans love a man that can lie
We tell K—’s cousin/brother to sort it out, we will be in the car. We give him 20 minutes, but can stretch it to 30. This was supposed to be a quick job: get in, get the baby, get out. Without going into detail, he pays the fees for the baby (and mother too!), has the kid on life insurance, pays rent for the baby mama, and monthly shopping…say what you want about his morals, but he handles his business. And still we left without Jayden. Baby mama insisted she is part of the package. And I think she’ll be part of the package for a long time.
We dip into the silence on our drive back. It felt like we had learned an important lesson in life: the mother of your child is the most important decision you will ever make. Other than naming your child Jayden.
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