At the beginning of last year, we promised we’d try to deliver article every week for 12 months. Like your New Year resolutions and promising yourself that you’d never contact your ex again, we failed within the first two weeks. But unlike you, it’s not because we have unresolved childhood trauma that draws us to toxic people like moth to light.
We were just whoring our writing elsewhere. It turns out that when people pay you to write, they demand everything of you, including your will to spend the weekends doing the same thing you’ve been doing all week long. We like you guys and love it when you tell us “that was a great piece.”Lakini watu hawakuli mapenzi na compliments hii Nairobi.
We came back again briefly in March, with yet another promise to be consistent going forward. Then Corona happened. We aren’t even sure if this is a valid excuse but we haven’t had the energy to chronicle our pain and daily struggles for your voyeuristic indulgence since Corona happened. And everyone is using the Corona excuse anyway.
By now you should’ve already figured out that our promises mean as much as that of an African parent when they tell you to trust them with the money your uncles gave you for safekeeping and that they’ll give it back when you need it. The only difference between us and politicians at this point is we don’t murder those we deem to be holding our progress. Or visit witchdoctors and the local church on the same day.
You should also have already figured it out that I’m not going to offer anything in the way of an apology. Neither am I to promise to be consistent this year or even to be here next week. I know, I’m really like that ex who resurfaces only when they need sex and someone to talk to and leaves as fast as they came. Pun is intended because I am no coward. I will try to stay though until the end of the year because my friends’ love lives are starting to look interesting again. We could have endless supply of content.
Oh and I have a son now, which is really nice. It really is. He’s a beautiful boy. His skin is the color of a ripened pawpaw and has this shock of hair that his mum wants to knead into dreadlocks. You should see him smile in his sleep. Oh man, that toothless grin makes forget that all he does is eat, shit, terrorize us at night, rinse and repeat. And doesn’t pay rent or help around the house. He has that generous forehead acreage that’s synonymous with my clan and screams like a female dog when he’s not fed or doesn’t get what he wants. I don’t understand what he wants because I don’t understand Babynese, which means he screams like a female dog most of the time. It’s difficult to know what he wants when he’s always screaming. I’ve tried telling him that we need to work on our communication but he doesn’t listen. One day he likes to be cradled and the following he’ll throw fits and fists when you hold him in the same position. Right now he wants to be held diagonally across the chest and it’s only a matter of time before we reach the upside-down position.
I like having him around though. He’s good company. I know it’s a cliché but trying to be a responsible parent forces you to change some things about your life. I can’t go to places or into situations where I am likely to get killed or go to jail. So no physical fights for me ever – I now only use passive-aggression for conflict resolution and it’s going well thus far. The upstairs neighbor who has been driving me to punch him in the face suddenly stopped doing that nonsense I’ve been telling them to stop for months in a civilized way when I left a smokey jiko on my balcony when they had done their laundry.
I’m also not going to north eastern Kenya by road ever. This is because they have tried to kill me there before and I’m yet to forget about it. There’s nothing more humiliating than having unrelenting banter and making bawdy jokes with your friends for a whole week then having to call your woman in whispers while stopping yourself from crying to tell her that you’re under an attack from semi-naked bandits. I also don’t want to be chatting my mother while lying on my stomach in the desert sand as I lie to her that everything is fine and that I’m on my way back yet a cactus is stabbing my belly button.
Actually, this resolution is moot because I’ve already been banned from going back there anyway. Let’s just stick to trying to give you more content this year.