What you need to know:
- “Baba, sasa tuko na mbuzi wa maziwa. Maziwa yake ni tamu sana,” said the firstborn son.
- He is Queen’s attack soldier and the family critic. “Zinakaa kama antelope. Ni smart sana,” said the secondborn son, the family ombudsman.
- “Hizi ni antelope za nyumbani,” said the lastborn son, the family joker.
My Queen is untameably and unapologetically ambitious. She looks for the slightest opportunity to make a name in society, socially, religiously, financially and politically. And fate has been very kind to her. As the ‘chair lady of Happy Valley’s giant women’s chama, she is the undisputed opinion shaper of the women of Happy Valley countryside.
In her highly elevated and glorified social status, the women swallow her pieces of advice like medicine. She attracts unwavering and undivided loyalty among the women of Happy Valley. It is this almost blind loyalty to Queen that people with both constructive and destructive intentions use to reach the women of the countryside with the aim of either convincing or confusing them or both.
As you can guess, with the forthcoming 2022 general elections, Queen will become an indispensable cog in the political wheel of anyone who wishes to be on the ballot. Armed with that knowledge, I am psychologically set to start seeing less of my Queen and living with both the envy, nay, jealousy of her being brought home at ungodly hours in black fuel-guzzling monsters.
Now, it is Queen’s influence over women that the governor introduced a dairy goat rearing project for women in Happy Valley in the name of women empowerment. As a payment to Queen and unbeknown to me, my Palace was converted into a demonstration farm. The county government constructed a goat pen in the Palace and gave Queen two goats sagging with milk udders.
So on Saturday, I got the rude shock of the year. I arrived home at around eight in the evening only to be met by a goat pen complete with bleating goats in Concorde’s parking bay. Queen and the future leaders were conveniently waiting for me, perhaps in the fear that I could ram the Concorde into the pen. I knew that there was an elephant in the Palace. The Palace was fully occupied, and there was no alternative parking space.
“Baba, sasa tuko na mbuzi wa maziwa. Maziwa yake ni tamu sana,” said the firstborn son. He is Queen’s attack soldier and the family critic. “Zinakaa kama antelope. Ni smart sana,” said the secondborn son, the family ombudsman. “Hizi ni antelope za nyumbani,” said the lastborn son, the family joker.
“Where do I park my car now?” I asked. In Queen’s signature one-liner, the answer came fast and furious. “That car can ‘sleep’ outside the compound; no one in their normal head can touch it,” Queen said. The way she said it was another way of saying that her goats were more valuable than my car.
Knowing my Queen for who she is, I did not argue with her. The label on the goat pen menacingly shouted. “This diary goat project was initiated, funded and inaugurated by His Excellency the Governor of the County Government of Nyandarua….” I saw darkness. I did not have the energy to read the whole provocative literature. My above-average intelligence told me that the start of the end of my marital nirvana had come.
You see, that writing said it all. My Queen had hosted the governor of my county in my Palace without informing me. That was a clear message that I was irrelevant as far as her political connections were concerned. In other words, I was the head of the Palace only in name, a crown without a head, a king without portfolio. In other words, I was in the Palace to be seen and not heard.
“Baba, gavana alisema tukusalimie,” said the joker. “Alikuwa na gari kubwa!” added the family critic. “Alituletea soda ya plastic na cakes,” said the family ombudsman. I said nothing. I wondered why the future leaders were behaving like the devil had sent them to torment me. I wished they knew how that cold war hurt.
At that juncture, the goats got alarmed and started bleating loudly in protest. The future leaders got excited and started mimicking them. I had no choice but to reluctantly and painfully leave the Concorde at the gate of the Palace.
As our people say, I hope you can now understand why my beloved Concorde has been spending the nights outside the Palace like a lorry. I also hope you now know why the governor was a guest in my Palace. What Queen got financially in exchange for hosting the governor and turning the Palace into a demonstration farm is only known to her, and I shall not endeavour to understand.
And that has been my troubled life for the last one week. But as the survivor that I am, I know that I shall overcome. I have travelled this hilly and winding road in the past and emerged victoriously. Watch this space.