baby bumAfter you did your wedding vows, the patting shot you fondly remember from your mum, was that she was awaiting several grand kids. In hindsight, you thought you were done with pressure. No. After the lobbying from all and sundry, small talks and persistent, ugly questions of “kama ulipata mtu”, you finally surprised them with a wedding. Ooh dear, what a relief, or so you thought! Marriage life is where the rubber meets the road. You realise there are two parties that must be kept happy, even if it means faking it. Both families. It also dawns on you, the need to balance opinions between your mum and your wife. Speaking of your wife, she’ll have convinced you that you need to chill for two, damn, long years for her to complete her Masters class to even contemplate having a baby. You wish she appreciates how long you’ve waited and craved to be a daddy.

Yes, you’ll feel confused because all you care is a son or a daughter. You badly need one like yesterday. Before you know, this will serve as your maiden disagreement which when push comes to shove, then Koffi Annan (read marriage counselor) will have to find his way in this muddy affair. Lest it’ll prolong for months and sometimes choke your chemistry. Close to a year later, she’ll send you a text message on a hot Wednesday afternoon, saying she got some good news. You are the kind of a chap that doesn’t work with suspense. You even warned her of surprises. She’ll throw a hint, that Doctor Alice gave her some very exciting news. You’ll jump on your feet, forgetting you are in this quiet environment (where everybody tends or pretends to be busy). Your colleagues’ necks will wag at you, acclimatising with this unfamiliar face. It’ll be tough to fight back tears of joy! At this point, you’ll not give a damn. It’s been a long time coming. Only God and you can attest to this.

Fast forward several months. Dealing with a pregnant wife, was something you had not waded in. You didn’t portend to be the one holding the short end of the stick. Somebody should have prepared you for this. Isn’t there an Association of Husbands With Pregnant Wives where they perhaps exchange notes and give each other moral support? Or a place where you sit round, like a dozen group of men with a moderator or whatever they are called, and make fun of these weird experiences you’ve gone through as you laugh loudly? This can be very crucial in airing out your bottled-neck anxiety or stress related issues, triggered by your pregnant wife. It works for women, right?

She is 6 months now. As the bulging body makes its presence felt, so do your responsibilities soar. Actually within the first month, she had made enough complains about ironing your clothes. You chose to take on ironing, something you’ve not done for over a year. Then she developed this desire of hovering around your body. She liked you even more and even started calling at 5:30 pm to inquire if you were making your way home. This caught you by surprise but worked anyway as you felt ‘very much needed’. The first trimester was hell on earth as her body was getting acquainted to the changes in her body. Mood swings checked in and swapped at will, even at 12am when she used to wake you up, trading complains of you squeezing her against the wall. Then came in, regular nausea and heightened smell. She would ‘smell’ you a kilometer a way. Your deodorant which you still used even before the two of you first met, became an issue in this period.(1st trimester).

You learnt to adjust very quickly and became open minded going by all these hullabaloos. Her 2nd trimester is almost done, but it has come with its fair share of problems. What scared you most, was her waking you up (she still does) at 3am to warm some food. Hahaha, she feels hungry at 3am, how now? Nature has humour. So, for 3 months now, you’ve been waking up to sit at the couch as she makes her way to the kitchen to warm some food. She’ll then walk to the table room, and insist on sitting on your legs with all her weight. Gai! This clearly hasn’t worked especially going by how she sits down(she falls on the couch like a thunder. I’m sorry…..she’ll strangle you for writing this, hehe). So, as she eats, sitting between your legs, you get lost in the future. Toying with the idea of what type of daddy you’ll be and what your kid will turn out to be. You gaze at the walls, at these quiet times of dead of a night before your eyes stumble at the moving clock’s minute hand. This suddenly reminds you how fast you need to get back to bed to hide from your office in-tray and before the earthlings come to life in a few hours.

By this time too, she has also relinquished most of the cooking to you or the day scholar-house girl depending on her moods. Before she stopped, she used to wash her hands a million times. She became too sensitive to ‘hygiene’ hence the million washings. Her craving for meat has become a daily ritual. She even woke you up at one point demanding some hot soup. You had to wake up early, to book some bones from Mr.Githendu your butcher. There is also this time she cried for a sugarcane. You personally hasn’t eaten a sugarcane for decades. Your teeth are not so strong to rough up a cane. How then did she expect one to be found in the house? This was a long fight.

What has kept you moving is the love you have for this unborn baby and of course your wife. You get goosebumps for being a daddy in waiting. The mild imagination of slamming the door in the morning after kissing this sweet munchkin and walking home to realise how you love him/her, is invaluable. The mere thought of your family and in laws holding her(him) in their arms with sincere joy gives you enough impetus to surpass these pregnancy effects and experiences. It’s worthy it man! Enjoy as it lasts and do it with all your heart and while at it, have fun and show some love. It’s only nine months.


Related imageShe is 21. Beautiful, intelligent, confident, charming and sweet. Her alluring face, skillfully personality and time, has concealed what she has gone through in life. A life summed by four words. Sadness, fear and denied freedom. From a distance, you may be forgiven to assume she’s one of those PYT(Pretty Young Things) from campus who oscillate around married men like they are possessed by an overwhelming evil spirit. She’s that lady who can make your tongue mumble and swallow words just from her sheer looks. She is one that exudes this image that slurs your pick up lines and leaves you at the mercy of her patience. Here’s her story;

To start with, I met her accidentally when I paid a courtesy call to a close friend. We had those shallow conversations of gathering stories here and there, flattering jokes and mild laughter. Before long, I was gone. It’s after then, that the said friend broke out her shell of a life, to me. Brenda* was born from a brewing love of two lover birds in an urban setting. She wouldn’t enjoy the privilege of having two parents for long. When she turned 3, her dear mum passed away after a short illness. That turned around her life, upside down.

Her dad has always been very industrious and an aggressive businessman but also very shrewd. He was and still depicts this no-nonsense demeanor to her family. She grew under this environment for 20 long, eventful years. Her dad would marry another woman, close to a year after Brenda’s mum passed on. Before long the foster mum was pregnant and 6 – 7 years down the line, she had 3 of her own kids. Brenda* was loathed by this mum for obvious reasons. She was not her biological kid.

She had to choose between a rock and a hard place. If it was not her foster mum hurling insults, it was her dad’s daily beatings. I’m made to understand Brenda* has been battered by her dad all her life. From the sheer rumours that she was seen with a boy in the hood or coming home late, that alone qualified for a thorough beating. Her neighbours were all familiar with her usual wails and pleads to her dad, to stop the beating. Her entire body is marked by scars from her dad’s infamous belt or nyahunyo(whip). (Which dad keeps a whip to beat her kids? Slap them or get a small cane if need be but not a whip, for heaven’s sake! That only shows how a miserable dad you are, especially when you purport to discipline selectively).

Over the years, her dad evolved to a total stranger. Daughters have needs and require attention and care than boys (no pun intended). The thing is, she pleaded with her father for money to buy sanitary pads, in vain. Her dad would silence her with the all familiar phrase; “I don’t have money”. Appreciate that the same dad sponsored her cousins to schools and gave money generously to dozens of her relatives who visited their home. Mind you also, Brenda’s* dad bought land at some point, constructed a nice house and even purchased a car. Her foster mum on the other hand was unapproachable, only using Brenda* to relieve accumulated stress from her husband.

When Brenda* was to join high school, her father made it clear that she would have to join a day school so that he would ‘monitor’ her. He was an overprotective dad, who expected her to be within a radius he could trace all her moves. With all the bad things happening to her, she developed a rebellious attitude in school. She didn’t like the school she was in, and while in Form 2, she led a strike that made her be terminated. Your guess is as good as mine, she was very happy to leave that school. Of course she had to pay the price of ‘a shaming’ her dad. That particular time, she was beaten every part of her body.

She was moved to another school and the beatings wouldn’t stop. Every time dad came home stressed, she would be in for the beating, for mistakes committed centuries ago. Her childhood and teenage life was robbed by her parents. Her foster mum made her do all the house chores and take care of her siblings. She had no time to bond with her friends if any. Their house environment was terrifying and this took a toll order on her esteem. Her siblings were not going through the same agony but devoted to be her friend.

After high school, she stayed home for a year or so and was later enrolled to a tourism college. Even at this point in life, she was not expected to be seen with a ‘boy’ anywhere near her vicinity. Otherwise this would qualify to a two day, non-stop beating. Sadly, her dad would not even buy her a phone. What for? He’d ask! Even getting money to go to the salon was still a problem. College life became very distressful for this pretty lady who had bared it all while so young.

Things would twist a bit; her mum came to like her two years ago. She became soft and a reliable friend. This cooled things a little bit. Meanwhile her dad was still the same! Hard, terrible and violent. Come January 2015, she said enough was enough. She gave up on this life and embarked on a journey to Nairobi, having fled home. She didn’t carry her clothes, because her neighbours would suspect and ring her dad. She had no money either, to survive in the city.

She’d live for a short while with a friend before moving on to another, before the first became curious to learn of her guarded story of life. She did this while looking for jobs here and there. Through her small savings and skipping lunch and sometimes sleeping hungry became routine. To calm her stress, she got hooked to smoking and imbibing hard liquor. Days moved to months until she met her (cousin who’s my friend). The friend shared this sad story and implored on me to help. We managed to get her a simple hustle that would pay her bills for the time being.

My point is; count your blessings and be very grateful to God for everything. Some wish to have, half the privileges you savor. Never take anything for granted and help wherever you can. Lastly, guys, promise to be profound daddies. One man, can change the world!

Brenda is not her real name neither is the pic used. This is a very true story.

Check out my Facebook Page; for regular, half serious stuff that will help you unwind and recover from a day’s harsh torrents.


fw“……..Take me on a date; I deserve it, babe; And don’t forget the flowers every anniversary
‘Cause if you’ll treat me right; I’ll be the perfect wife; Buying groceries; Buy-buying what you need
You got that 9 to 5; But, baby, so do I; So don’t be thinking I’ll be home and baking apple pies
I never learned to cook; But I can write a hook; Sing along with me; Sing-sing along with me (hey)….”

You are familiar to the lyrics of Future Husband by Meghan Trainor. An awesome song it is. It played randomly one of my indoors days and my spirits came alive. And I was like, wait! Future husband…mmmh I should pen about Future Wife. An idea was born. Here it is.

To start with, Future Wife, time is of the essence. Your indecision is costing me, big time. It’s making me feel stagnant and impatient. Its creating a hearth of quiet pressure, disseminating from likely and unlikely quarters. This stalemate I hate to be in, has ushered unwelcomed ‘advisors’ with no legacy to hold on. I’m tired of playing all nice & merry, and smiling like a bride to hide my uneasy heart. (Brides smile for 8 straight hours, gosh!) Your decision holds my fate. Make it pretty fast.

Let’s compare notes and see if you meet this criteria of the so called envisions of my life. Fast and foremost; I’m a sucker for big personalities. You better be a walking brand that brings warmth and colour to life. You can’t afford to be a humble wife. I’ll hate it when you are afraid of disagreeing with me. Arguments and disagreements keep couples on check. Constructive criticism comes from people who have a whole bank of wisdom and an invaluable personality. Please be that woman, who will call me for a cease fire and be like; “Babe you are drinking too much” or “I’m dragging you to church today, no excuses”. Now that’s my woman. Who never shies from saying, “Hun whatever you’re doing is wrong!”

Future Wife, promise you’ll give me two sweet daughters, namely Annabelle and Abigail. And together, will invest time and prayers to see them grow to beautiful, confident and ambitious women who’ll settle for nothing less. That you’ll join me in creating a beautiful world around them that will bore great dreams to these sweet things. So big and intimidating. Promise; you’ll make me loathe being away from home after 7pm. Missing that tea just meant for me, served when dinner is just about to be prepared, will leave me guilty and unbecoming. Kindly see to it, it becomes that bad. I pray your meals will heal a day’s wound and tribulations. Its needless to allude that you need to be an awesome cook. You’ll raise the bar so high that I’ll be lost in guessing what you’ll cook in a given day. I foolishly harbour thoughts of literally running from the bedroom to find out what’s cooking in the kitchen, having been triggered by aromatic smells.

I pray that your wisdom will be pegged from the bible and more importantly that you’ll instill to our two daughters the habit of reading and reflecting on bible teachings. All men desire such women. Praying together as we gather at the dinner table will become our untold ritual. I hope you’ll join my church’s Young Mothers Association soon after our first kid comes to life. And from there your wisdom will be sharpened further apart from developing new friendships that will mould you and our family holistically. I hope you’ll watch over your weight as time passes by. Fit women are precious. I know you get the drift. I’m also scared of spending years watching over your calories and ‘portions’ (God knows what’s that) and calling for a party, when you lose 1 kg. I’m not ready for that kind of torture.

In case you turn out to be a literature freak or something like an art enthusiast; I’ll be so overburdened to be grateful to your family and to God. Realising that you read widely, wildly and sometimes do a bit of writing, will literally make me fall for you every day of our marriage. Delegating some of my projects to you will be my joy. I’m talking of you editing my work for a book that will have drained every part of me and taken years to compile. That will be so sweet.

Assure me that we’ll have the same taste of music. Music is so huge in my life that its the first thing  I crave for at 6:35am. I ceased being a morning person, I enjoy sleeping late. I know by the time I wake up some of you will have spent 30 minutes on traffic pulling those lost faces, that make you think of your poor state of life, your boss’s demands and unrealised family expectations. Future Wife, finding you singing my favourite song will shred my age, stop my receding hairline and make me 2 years younger.

Bonding with your mother in law which in this case will be my mum, is an experience I hope to witness. My mum is very social and breaks ice very fast. Expect to hold a 3 hour conversation with her after 9pm as you sip tea and occasionally attending to the jiko. Upcountry (Note I didn’t refer home as shags. Shags means remote and undeveloped) is very cold at night. Thank me later for the heads up.

Being an art person, I’m sure you’ll adore photography and get fond of this Canon camera similar to that of my buddy, Paul of the (He’s a professional photographer), which arguably will be the best gift I’ll have ever surprised you with. You’ll stop me in the middle of the road while we embark on a road trip, to capture this photogenic piece of God’s creation somewhere in Samburu.  I have a soft spot for art, forgive me. Science detested me, no hard feelings though.

Ambushing me for wearing the wrong tie for the right suit will do a lot of justice. Please promise to critic my dressing and expect the same from me. I don’t want to delve on the ‘intellectual’ aspect. I’m yet to know or care whether am an intellect.

Future Wife; I hope i didn’t maim or kill a piece of you. See you sooner.

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