What you need to know:
- To ensure that my past real and imagined sins of omission and commission are forgiven and forgotten, I surprised the Queen with a trendy dress imported from Stelley’s Baby and Women Wear in Nairobi.
- The future leaders got a pair of jeans suit each. For the sake of peace and harmony at the Palace, I deliberately left Makena out of the treat.
By David Wainaina
The rains are here with us with a vengeance once again. As it is usual every other year in the past, Happy Valley countryside has been completely cut off from the rest of civilisation. The cow tracks that pass for roads in this government-forsaken wilderness have turned into water pans. However, to my entrepreneurial brains, this is a godsent opportunity to make a financial killing.
You see, all the imitations of vehicles in Happy Valley have been grounded. Only Concorde, now named Mau Mau, my weather-beaten and time tested and proven Volkswagen Beetle can move from one point to another without being ‘carried’ by a battalion of the village jeshi. To digress a little, since a fella called Carl Tundo won the recent Naivasha Safari Rally with his Volkswagen Polo, my Beetle has earned a place in the treasured list of honours of worthy cars, but that is a story for another day.
I have therefore been running all the errands requiring a car in the entire countryside. Those who have been taunting me as an owner of a tortoise, including Queen, have been forced to swallow their misplaced pride. For those who have expressed their malicious feelings in public and now require my services, it is my time to revisit.
As our people say, an antelope hates least the one who sees it fast than the one who shouts at it. For the unlucky victims of my revisiting, the rates are double the normal, where normal during this period is double the usual rates in the dry spell. This is due to both the unmotorable imitations of roads and the fact that there is no other vehicle available. This is the economics of absolute monopoly.
To cut the long story short, I am swimming in plenty of honestly earned money. And with enough money to feed my family and surplus for domestic extravagance, I have reinstated Queen’s weekly ration of one-litre packet of Del Monte Mango juice, which she takes with a relish, and quarter-litre packets of the same for the future leaders and their auntie Makena, our long serving family C.P.A- Comptroller of Palace Affairs.
To ensure that my past real and imagined sins of omission and commission are forgiven and forgotten, I surprised the Queen with a trendy dress imported from Stelley’s Baby and Women Wear in Nairobi. The future leaders got a pair of jeans suit each. For the sake of peace and harmony at the Palace, I deliberately left Makena out of the treat. As you most likely remember, it is my recent treat to her that earned me instant banishment to marital Siberia.
And since last Saturday evening when I spoiled the family with the treat, things have not been the same again for me at the Palace. “There is whiff of money in this house,” Queen said in her signature one-liner. “Umesikia wapi mum,” said the first born future leader, the family critic and Queen’s attack soldier.
“Kuna watu wengine najua ambao inaonekana wameomoka,” Queen said , stealing a friendly, nay, lovely glance at me. At that juncture, I could not turn down her invitation to a good talk. As I have told you in past missives, Queen’s wifely wiles are too strong for me to resist. “Why do you say so?” I asked. “It must be a whole year since the last time juice was taken in this house,” she answered.
“You know how things have been because of corona. And you also know that I do my best when I have money,” I explained. “Anyway, thank you,” Queen said, looking straight at my face with a smile that said I had been accepted back to her wifely fold. “You are most welcome my dear,” I said.
Now, it was the first time since the last time, which is certainly in a distant past, I heard the word thank you from Queen. Whenever she has made use of that rare word from her granary of vocabularies, things have always turned out very good for me. And true to my suspicions, either because of the mango juice and dress or because of the cold weather in the countryside or a combination of both, I was immediately reinstated to my rightful position as the one and only king of the Palace.
Consequently, I was recalled from marital Siberia and readmitted to marital nirvana with all the rightful husbandly entitlements and their free, no expiry lavishments and nyongeza bonga points. As my moniker, Mr Survivor, suggests, that is how I am surviving the freezing hot weather of Happy Valley. I hope the marital nirvana I am living in now lasts forever.