A day in the ‘no-go zone’

Hell has no fury like a woman scorned. And Panda being one of them, I expected nothing but the worst form of retribution for my waywardness. As I recounted my unfortunate episode to her, I kept my fingers crossed—watching out for any sign of an advancing flying saucer.

Bad timing is when you confess to your wife over breakfast. Not knowing how to break the news to her had seen a day and a night pass, as I contemplated how to drop the bombshell with minimum negative returns.

Her attention was avid all through the narration: her eyes were fixed to mine, as if searching for any sign of a micro lie. She knew how to unnerve me sometimes. Those looks reminded me of my interrogative mum in a quest to establish the cause of declining levels of sugar in the jar. Her face was devoid of any flicker of emotion. Not even when I described the mushy details in Marilyn’s flat. I was careful not to omit anything. I knew if I did. I would have to retell the true version some day with a higher price (call that a betraying conscience) and I hated the idea.

When I was done, she suddenly burst out laughing hysterically, like the audience of a scintillating comedy. Maybe it was out of relief on hearing my spirited escape at the end of it all. Whatever the reason behind her reaction, this girl must have sensed I was genuinely truthful. But as fast as her laughter had started, it stopped, leaving behind an eerie silence. She gently moved her head so close to mine till our eyes and noses barely touched.

‘Honey.’ she started. ‘It did not feel good listening to all that. But what happened is beyond us now. There is nothing to do about it. Kindly, work on never having a next time. An EX should remain an EX—which means ‘out of’. It is healthy to have our EXs out of our lives. Take good care of yourself for us. (Pause) I would not like this to happen again. Promise?’ I Promise,’ I said from the bottom of my heart, meaning every word. It felt like a new vow of matrimony.

Like a well oiled machine, the laughter button was again pressed and Panda was her old beaming self again, as if nothing had happened. The film industry must be missing one hell of a fine actress. I thought as I ducked at a pillow swipe she had aimed at my belly. I was a free man at last. Thanks to my loving wife, who has always handled complicated matters in subtle yet rare dexterity.

Now, having expected much trouble and getting none, I was obliged to appreciate in style. I suggested that we visit her parents up country the following week so that I could  ‘thank this mother who brought forth my angel of love, goodness and mercy!’ I had told her. Panda knew I had good reasons which dated way back when I went to meet her parents to pay my dowry.

But I regretted immediately the words that came out of my mouth. Panda’s parents lived in the rural settings where traditions still had a huge following. Marriage too. had its own precambrian rituals that can torment a city boy to the last bearable degree. Donning fresh animal regalia was just the first sign that was to see me procrastinate going to my in-laws again and again. I had to wade through a trough filled with fresh dung. According to their proverbial adage, that was meant to rid me of all sort of uncleanliness and ailments that were there at the time.

I stepped out smelling like a skunk! Then for time on end, I had to endure the village headmen’s benedictions. This came in the form of some tuneless native chants loaded with beer breath. The climax was when they sprayed me with traditional beer from their pressurized mouths, the dregs hitting me like tiny ammunition. I felt sick to the gut.

I knew what I wanted though, and so I endured in silence. I acted like a zombie, afraid of upsetting anyone—you know I had to win the girl. My folk could only stare at my ordeal in petrified silence, with no forthcoming assistance whatsoever.

Later on when the celebrations started and food and drink started flowing, not even Panda could persuade me to partake in the merriment. We both knew that setting foot in this homestead again was a fossilized idea.

Fossilized indeed! We shopped for gifts during the week so as to leave very early on Saturday for our parent’s place. This was deliberate. I intended to travel back to Nairobi the same day. I was not in any way going to endure any more post dowry benedictions.

Sensing my uneasiness during the week. Panda must have sent her parents a list of “dos and don’ts” which she insisted were to be followed to the letter as long as I was there. Or else…

We park in a quiet homestead. Unlike my previous visit, there is no sign of welling crowds or abhorable chanting men. I relax a bit. Her folk emerge from various houses within the homestead and greet us warmly. The hand shakes are prolonged, vigorous and accompanied by lots of arm wringing. Gaily, they help us unload our stuff amidst unending appreciation for our showing up. Panda’s mum and sisters fuss over her. not hiding their joy over her protruding belly.

We are whisked into a tastefully furnished house filled with family memorabilia going way down the family tree. Soon we are all buried in chit chat, laughing at the top of our voices. Most of the jokes are centered on my previous visit, and I grab the opportunity to point fingers jokingly at their Jurassic marriage procedure. None of it is taken personally.

It is a time-flow of eats and drinks, and merry making. As evening approaches, gifts are unwrapped and I am touched by the grateful hearts and the blessings henceforth. (This time without the beer sprays). Panda has bought her mum a Swahili Khanga and a purse, while I give my dad-in-law a phone and pair of leather shoes. Watching them appreciating their gifts is flattering and amusing—to say the least.

As Panda starts to explain to our naive mum about the meaning of Mother’s Day, the men file out into a secluded hut where some traditional beer is served. I cannot be convinced that this was the drink the old men spattered on me on my first visit. This time, it tastes so good. As we engage in our jolly banter, my father-in-law lets out an authoritative high pitched, throaty grunt and everyone in the hut goes suddenly quiet. He turns and looks at me.

‘My son,’ he begins, “We are sorry for what we put you through last time you came here. Actually, we are not as deeply rooted in our traditions as we may have portrayed ourselves.’

I buy none of his self justification. I personally saw how my dad-in-law chanted all the songs to the last syllable and intonations by heart. His dance was seasoned, and never did he miss a step. He was the man of the day, and I saw how he walked head held high. He goes on to say. ‘You know when you live among people, you must learn to accommodate them. These are my people, and these are our ways. Rebelling against them at that point would have made you an unwelcome visitor in our land. I wanted everyone to take you as their son, just as I accepted you. despite our cultural differences. It is unfortunate though, that we never informed you earlier. We thought you had an idea. Kindly, bear with us.’

The reason in itself is not so convincing. But I am still reeling from the effects of my wife’s forgiveness. This may be my grand pay back time. We shake hands again and again, all of us. I know from now on, I will be a more regular visitor. If Panda forgave me, I am ready to forgive any of her affiliates.

We walk back to the main house after rigorous and passionate debates on current affairs, and I find two very special people wrapped in a conversation that seems to be hitting its climax. It is my wife’s mother—a major factor to why I am now a happy man. and the mother to my heirs. I don’t want to tamper with the special bond. So I mutter a ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ to myself and recline on the nearest seat waiting to be shown where to sleep.

END: PG22/51-52