The clause fight

Panda, switch off that thing for heaven’s sake,’ I requested for the umpteenth time.
‘But my program is just about to begin,’ she pleaded
‘Your program is half an hour away, baby. You know how sick and tired I am of watching political bigots ignorantly bickering about the proposed constitution…please?’

‘Ok,’ she finally relents but switches to the mutual Family TV channel.

‘I am so paranoid about missing any tiny clip of that soap opera,’ she whines.

‘Be rest assured I will remind you at the right time,’ I said, not really meaning a thing. ‘I’d rather watch your beautifully distended tummy than those…’ I gesticulated furiously, searching for the right belligerent word.

‘Those political bigots,’ she laughs.

‘I wish I had a superlative word,’ I say, meaning it.

The country was awash and chronically infested by a gluttonous constitutional euphoria. In a do-or-die tag of war of whether to adopt or reject the draft document, the politicians, human rights activists, and influential big wigs on either camp were staging scathing attacks on each other. None wanting to be miniaturized, the situation degenerated into a shouting match. Some even hired goons or brainwashed their sycophantic subjects in a bid to help toot their horns. The ensuing melee trickled down to the grassroots, with some misguided minds interpreting this as a good sign to carry out their loathsome atrocities of looting, shooting, and ethnic cleansing. People were coming out and confessing the probability of such macabre atrocities ensuing and Kenyans were a worried lot.

Many lies were being peddled about the document. It was painful to watch how some clauses had been twisted or exaggerated out of context, justified beyond their guilt, or simply omitted altogether. To a layman, the draft document was a myth whose interpretation neither lay here nor there. The government’s attempt to introduce the document in a simplified version was almost thwarted when a sneaky goon secretly inserted an alien word in the bill of rights, triggering much distrust and public outcry. The culmination of sorry tales was when some terrorists lobbed grenades at a religious crusade rally, killing and maiming many faithful. This atrocity was internationally condemned to the chagrin of the two coalition principals.

Initially, Panda and I found immense entertainment from the Yes and No showdowns. It provided an endless string of non-stop political theatricals that left us baffled and blaming Bollywood of Nigeria, for their lack of raw talent. Many times we stayed awake till the ungodly hours of the night talking especially; about the buffoonery as portrayed by those who had barely read the document yet were blessed with big running mouths. Discussing this draft constitution seemed to foster the family glue, enhancing dialogue. That was made even better by the fact that Panda and I were in agreement on all the clauses we had ever discussed.

Our synchronized approval or rejection of clauses in the draft somehow lulled me into believing that we were wired like a pair of Siamese. We both liked the clauses on clipping of executive powers, decentralization of governance and resources, dual citizenship, and land. We were also unanimously repelled by the high number of representatives there are in the new proposed government. ‘Whose tax will pay all those fat salaries?’ we moaned.

‘Baby,’ Panda started gently as I patted her belly, ‘What is your honest take on this abortion issue in the draft constitution?’

‘Pregnancy and abortion?’ I repeated.
I instantly knew that this was going to be a pet subject until the kingdom come. ‘Definitely, the draft expressly outlaws abortion,’ I said emphatically.

‘But what about the wordings?’ She added even before I could savor my own answer.’ Don’t they provide an avenue for the vile at heart to just abort and get away?’

‘Huh?’ I inquired, not actually knowing where she was headed.

‘See? For example, the word qualified ‘medical practitioner’ is not really defined. One is left guessing if a psychiatrist or other quacks can craftily include themselves in that category.’

‘And vets,’ I added helpfully.

‘Then…’ she went on, ignoring me, ‘Taking into account the WHO definition of health, social and emotional well-being are included as part of wholesomeness.’

‘Hmm…?’

‘The document out rightly outlaw’s abortion. But they are loopholes an abortion criminal can use to get away. Under social health, someone can site reasons like family or friend’s rejection as ill health and of prime relevance to procure abortion; or let’s talk about emotional health. In this current world, who isn’t under mental duress?’ and Panda rest her case.

‘Panda,’ I started slowly, knowing very well that my answer better quenches this lady who by now I considered well schooled in this particular clause.’ Abortion is purely a moral issue. No amount of legislation will ever tame or fluctuate its perpetration. It is a choice and those who want to do it will do it at will whether bound under the threat of repercussions or not. It is like a smoking habit to me. Turning down this document based on this demeanor is quite harsh honey, don’t you think?’

‘Look at You! How dare you think like that?’ She fumed disappointedly, suddenly withdrawing from my lap, tucking on the farthest corner of the couch. For a moment, I honestly thought I was wielding talons from the angel of death.

‘The fact that people do it shouldn’t expressly ‘green light’ it to our new constitution. Making it an option whether by commission or omission is a God-cursed abomination!’

I had never seen such a fighting spirit in her. My efforts to pacify her with the promise of amendments after the referendum fell on rocky ground.

‘There is still hope that such anomalies will be nipped in the bud as they amend it in parliament,’ I added.

Suddenly she was sitting upright and staring into my eyeballs. The question she asked tipped the scales.

‘In parliament? Do you still trust politicians to do it?’

Her eyes were sparkling clear, glazed by a teary film. Big, Black, round eyes, filled with so much innocence and gentleness. I found it hard to relate them with the unrelenting draft scholar that had just challenged me with such furry.

Saying I trusted politicians was shooting me in the foot. Lately, I had been using unpleasantly exaggerated words on them, the next being worse than the previous. I was definitely not to side with that very camp.

I took my time before I answered. I was blinking rapidly in unbelief; like a wizard under a blanket of flood lights.

‘No’ on the other hand would have given my wife an outright win. And I would be thumped and my balloon popped. I was between a suicide bomber and his way to Afghanistan.

Generally, men cherish the aura of being on top. Whether smarter, stronger, tougher… name it. In a domesticated setting, such sensations are derived unconsciously from such small victories. They do help a lot. Not that Panda wrestled me for it; in fact, she was so polite, and selfless and would have lost all the arguments if that made me feel better. And I loved her dearly for that. She knew I was the outspoken one and her cool attitude did magic in taming rogue domestic conversations and irate scenarios.

Then how comes that day she was bullying me like that? I wondered. At first, I was tempted to pursue the subject and argue it out, in the process flooring her in a one-sided bout.

But as my eyes swept down towards her hips, I was reminded of how pregnant she had become. There was life inside of her, so innocent and vulnerable.

Her eyes told it all. She was speaking for herself and our baby. Any idea to make light of the abortion issue was preposterous to her. And she was determined to go all the nine yards as the guardian of the golden rule. Winning mattered so much to her now. Suddenly it was no longer about me and my machoness. It had to be about her for all to be well. She had this conviction I could not supersede. She is pregnant, and that was her clause.

‘Honey I am not about to start trusting politicians now,’ I answer with new understanding. ‘They have a lot to do for my trust.’My answer sees a flood of relief sweep through her like a high voltage current. A lot of pent-up emotions are expelled in one heave of a sigh. I wonder what would have happened had I answered in the affirmative.

Making up for lost time takes a microsecond between my wife and me. We have excelled in quickly burying hatchets. Soon we are back to our normal chitchat and snuggling like 5-year-olds. Now my hands are allowed to touch the abode of our baby to come.

Deep inside me though, I furiously congratulate the government for adopting the secret ballot system. I would dread the ensuing horror had Kenyans been voting as households!

END: BL35/22-23