By now, every Kenyan with a gadget is wary of openly speaking their mind or sharing the secrets of their heart with the next person because they cannot tell who is recording them.
We are paranoid that someone will take a video of us or record our conversation and store it, only to retrieve it later when it suits their purpose.
We have seen the trends and, in an age where citizen journalism is gaining traction and accessibility, more than traditional media, capturing everything and anything is the surest bet to get justice, or at least, an audience.
We argued about Hubby’s old sleeping T-shirt, and in that instant, I understood why someone would record conversations.
How I wish I had documented all our conversations with him.
A spouse can make a U-turn on you and deny that they ever said something, which you clearly remember they did.
In our argument, Hubby denied ever saying that I could dispose of his old sleeping T-shirt, yet I remember with crystal clarity how he said it, heck I even recall the colour of socks he had on when he said, “Here, you can dispose of this, si you have always complained about it? You can use it as a rag.”
We were in the bedroom; he arranged his side of the closet and threw the T-shirt down.
This was one of those overused promotional T-shirts that has consistently begged to spend its last days as an honourable rag.
I wrote about it here a while back. It was an eyesore alright, but had always somehow managed to escape its turn in the garbage bin.
“Unbelievable. Even hoarders have a limit!” I had joked, to which had attempted to collect the shirt, but I grabbed it and threw it in the laundry basket. Habit. It was cleaned and folded and once again found its way in the closet, my side.
One evening, the other day, when the Nairobi cold was biting, I decided to wear the oversized but warm T-shirt to bed. Hubby only recognised it the following morning when I opened our bedroom curtains.
“Ala! You are now wearing my T-shirts?” I rubbed my eyes. “I have been looking for it,” he continued as I stared at him, sure that he was the one still groggy with sleep.
“You gave me the T-shirt, to dispose of actually, but I decided to wear it a couple of times…”
“Nooo… I did not, he said, straight-faced and looking longingly at his beloved, washed out and beaten t-shirt that went past my knees in a very unflattering style.
Hence the argument.
There are many other times that I have wished to have recorded a conversation or incident, like when he retells my jokes or stories and is surprised when I tell him that it was me who told him the story.
It sounds petty, I know, but to a woman, nothing is as offensive as perceiving that your man was not listening to you.
How could he forget that I am the one that told him that? Norah tells me that she shared a business idea with her husband a decade ago.
“He just mumbled and later dismissed my idea.” She forgot about it all until he lost his job.
“A month later, he told me about this great business idea that he had in mind and was thinking of investing the payout that his employer had offered after the retrenchment.”
It was her exact business idea, word for word. As you guessed, he was stunned when she claimed that she had floated his idea to him ten years before.
He looked at her as if she had lost her mind.
“I wish I had recorded that conversation!” She let it go and supported him as he implemented her idea. But she could not help but wonder, did he completely forget or was it his ego that could not allow him to recognise that she was the idea's originator? Or are guys just that forgetful? Or does their brain record something even in that instant when they are not listening to us, but somehow, the main points are retained for later retrieval?
I wonder, could it be that when we make that vow of two becoming one, the vow gets manifested in more ways than we are aware?
Karimi is a wife who believes in marriage. [email protected]