Mr Survivor: My Queen forced me to get the  Covid-19 vaccine 

Covid vaccination in Nariobi

A nurse prepares a Covid-19 vaccine for administration at the headquarters of the Teachers Service Commission (TSC) in Nairobi on March 11, 2021.

Photo credit: Lucy Wanjiru | Nation Media Group

What you need to know:

  • Now, you will remember that last week she banished me to marital Siberia after I ‘surprised’ Makena, our CPA (Comptroller of Palace affairs), with a trendy dress and a matching poncho imported from Stelley’s Baby and Women Wear in Nairobi.
  • I had inadvertently facilitated Makena to infringe into the Queen’s territorial boundaries, and therefore I received instant justice.
  • If the Queen were to as little as suspect, leave alone know that Stelley is my online wardrobe manager, I would be issued with a divorce without much ado. 

My Queen, as you very well know, is an unapologetic extremist if both her fanatical religious inclinations and unwavering loyalty to the chama are anything to go by. These two highly successful engagements have made her outshine me in fame in Happy Valley countryside to the extent that were it not for her wifely wiles, I would have already declared her ungovernable and taken very big steps out of the Palace, but I digress.

The point is, my Queen is highly vulnerable to new trends, and she most often than not takes stands that make both of us look very awkward in the eyes of the countrysider. At such times, and they are many, I am forced to swallow my pride and prejudice and act the listening, caring and loving partner by following her for the sake of our marital peace.

Marital Siberia

Now, you will remember that last week she banished me to marital Siberia after I ‘surprised’ Makena, our CPA (Comptroller of Palace affairs), with a trendy dress and a matching poncho imported from Stelley’s Baby and Women Wear in Nairobi. I had inadvertently facilitated Makena to infringe into the Queen’s territorial boundaries, and therefore I received instant justice. If the Queen were to as little as suspect, leave alone know that Stelley is my online wardrobe manager, I would be issued with a divorce without much ado. Luckily for me, the Queen is technologically challenged and is yet to acquaint herself with WhatsApp and Facebook.

So, after a week of nil by mouth, she finally broke the ice but in a not so reconciliatory mood, tone or attitude. When she is in a foul mood, her sentences begin with ‘You’ to amplify the physical and emotional distance between us. I call her speech mannerisms the ‘You talk’.

“You will infect us with corona from that evil valley,” she said. “A responsible father should take care of his children even if he does not care about their mother,” she added. At such times, I usually do not mind so much about her ‘You talk’. What matters to me is that we are in talking terms, however toxic such a talk may be. It is better than silence.

“I am washing my hands, wearing masks and sanitising throughout,” I said. “You know corona is in bars. You have to take the corona vaccine to protect us from the disease now that it is obvious you do not care about yourself,” she continued as if I had not spoken. I took some time to think about what she had said. The myths that reign supreme at Happy Valley about the vaccine’s interference with the body system in general and the reproductive system, in particular, were very scary.

“You either get the injection or remain at that evil valley,” she said with finality. Knowing her for what she is, I saw no need of arguing with her. An argument with her would close the door for our talking terms status and lengthen my banishment to marital Siberia.

“No problem, tomorrow we can go and get the injection,” I suggested. “With who? You take the injection. I had better walk than getting into that tortoise. That is for your beautiful ones,” she shouted, looking at me venomously. “We will meet in the evening with letters of vaccination,” she said.

You see, Queen uses the ‘You talk’ to remind me about my failures as the king of the Palace. The tortoise insult was used to serve two purposes. The first one was to remind me about my promise last Christmas to upgrade my vehicle status from a Volkswagen Beetle to a Volkswagen Golf. The second purpose was to rub salt on an injury by reminding me about her recent rides in the Kenya Women Bank’s Toyota Rav 4. In other words, she was telling me to keep to my lane.

Thus cornered, I went to JM Hospital for the corona jab first thing the following day. I had to be armed with a corona clearance certificate to get entry to the Palace, nay, my Palace. Getting the jab was not a long story because people avoid it like the plague. I only found a few sub-chiefs and chiefs who were complaining bitterly that they had been forced to take it.

Kwani maisha yangu ni yao? Wanatulazimisha vile walitulazimisha BBI,” shouted a chief in the queue. I did not want to tell them that they were better off than me because their employer had forced them. My own wife had forced me to choose between the jab and exile. You do not say such things in a gathering of men unless there is a rusty piece of metal lodged in your head.

Against my wish

And that is how my Queen blackmailed me into taking the corona vaccine against my wish. 

I am, however, thrilled that she did it because I am now protected from the marauding killer. My only hope is that the rumours at Happy Valley to the effect that the jab affects a person’s level of performance where it matters most are just that, rumours.




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