Women’s day, home with Yunia

This week came a day again when the world stands still in recognition of the once “marginalized” group and that is our mothers, sisters, grandmothers and those people you night street shop. Like they say mothers are teachers to their children, there is no reason whatsoever as to why the selfish monsters (sorry to my male colleagues) should feel superior and keep our ribs at bay.

This week came a day again when the world stands still in recognition of the once “marginalized” group and that is our mothers, sisters, grandmothers and those people you night street shop.

Like they say mothers are teachers to their children, there is no reason whatsoever as to why the selfish monsters (sorry to my male colleagues) should feel superior and keep our ribs at bay.

Back in old Africa, chicken was a preserve for men and all the other delicious delicacies. So why not call them monsters?

In an attempt to show appreciation to me for being an exemplary husband and of course the most romantic in east and central Africa, Yunia my current wife decided to give me the mother of all surprises on the Women’s Day.

When I met and immediately married this Jamaican in the late 1980s, I was so certain that I would not marry again. She is not this ordinary woman because she rates well above 90 percent when it comes to consummating this institution.

If love is blind, then marriage is an institution of the blind. This used to be my philosophy about this union so I tried not to stay in marriage for long not wanting to stay blind for long but with Yunia she has given back my sight and I remain faithful in matrimony.

A week before the Women’s Day, I started smelling a rat whenever I came home in the evening. So many surprising changes! On my inquiry she would emotionally blackmail me with her smile and peck.

Changes included brand new dinning table in our bedrooms (is it not surprising?) new bathtubs, as well as buying my favourite wine.

But the final surprise that broke the camel’s back was the decision to change residence for my favourite and last grandson Steve whom Yunia sent to her parents in the western part of this country.

On the eve of that romantic day for the old couple, my wife sent the house help on a one week leave leaving the two of us alone at home.

On the morning of 8th March that’s when Yunia broke the news to me that she was intending to hold me a ‘love hostage’ for one week incarcerated in our bedroom never to see the light of day until seven days were over.

Those who were wondering why you never saw the column of yours truly last Sunday wonder no more because I never got the time to put pen to paper as Yunia was devouring me alive.

The last time I spent a week in a similar situation was in 1977 on Malindi Island when on honeymoon for my third marriage. But back then the romance was not tangible as the marriage was on a contractual basis unlike today where Yunia is here for keeps.

7:00 am the doors to love stadium were closed for a week; I found a fridge full of a variety of beers and fruits, just what constitutes my diet. But one day she prepared her best Jamaican cuisine that we consumed under the blanket of course you can imagine our “attire” for the whole week!

At my advanced age, this week of exercising all my body muscles felt refreshing and made me a few years younger thanks to the Jamaican.

I have divorced several times as much as I have married but with Yunia, until death do us apart. But I still have not convinced Steve why he had to be away for a week.

angarambe2@gmail.com  

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