KenyanMusings
**Breathes in, breathes out** I need to get this outta my system.
So, yesterday was the chap’s birthday.
He hates birthdays, and all celebrations centred around him etc. Now meeee, being the nice girlfriend, I decide to throw him a treat before his party on Sato which is happening whether he wants it or not. The treat? Me!!!
I weighed all my options, and long after I had eliminated jumping out of a lifesize cake with poms poms and kicking my feet all over, clumsily so, dare I add, and doing the “give me an S- give me a W-, give me an E-…. Goooooo Sweetie!!”, I settled for dinner and a vision of me in lingerie.
For real, I mean that would be a refreshing change from my standard gear. Scorching Yellow Tshirt, with holes on the saggy neckline boldly emblazoned “Pamoja tuangamize Ukimwi” .
That by all means, is a mood Killa! Not so much the colour, the huuuuge fit, but by the time you get past the Abstain, Be faithful, Use a Condom flashing neon warning, you might to wrap somene in cellophane just because they are male and you are female/ or bothe of you are male. Or both of you are female.....you gerrit.
Then again, when we say jumping out of cake, where will my ass which is unrelenting in its outward protrusion going to be stashed? Too messy.
So, I had a plan;
-leave work early
-yoga class
-make dinner
-Pick dude up
-show him good time
I have to tell you, my Yoga instructor is this tiny, little lady who looks like she is going to eat me. I’m making, (rather more trying and erring) a perfect circle and ‘feeling the anger leave me” and she keeps staring at my errant behind like a piece of steak.
Of course she wants to eat me. One side of my ass could feed here and her 'little people' family for months!! All I’m saying…don’t marinate me in honey. I’m allergic.
Dinner was going to be Ugali, perfectly marinated (not in honey) beef, a nice salad, a good bottle of wine….
So I get home, my ass intact, No, she did not eat me, she is fattening me up…I take about an hour to cook and get ready. The ugali, I was going to cook when I got back so it does not get cold.
Then, I dash out to pick him up. He went to the coast in the morning, he is coming back in the evening.
He does.
Buuut! I noticed as he approached me…the man is sweating like a wild hog!!!! Ngutness.
Now, me, the thought crossed my mind to ignore the fact that he looks not so good, assume he is hyperventilating, I mean, lets face it, he’s 34, his life is over, then proceed with my plan undeterred.
So, I hug him, do my happy birythday thing. “yaay! Happy Birthaday!.
His response was well….out of the norm.
CHAP: “KM, I’m dying”
LOOOOL. Okay, not a good way to start the birthday is it?
KM: what’s wrong?
CHAP: I’m dying. I feel so sick.
KM: If you are doing this to get out of your birthday, that’s really lame, I haven’t planned anything.
CHAP: KM, I’m dying, I need to lie down”
Soooo, my sweaty sweetie decides ok, maybe if he chatters (is that the word?) his teeth, I’ll get the gravity of it.
Which he does, which I chose to not acknowledge primarily because, this is the one time I am seeing him this unwell and I’m racking my brain for what to do. Usually, he will drink water to cure headaches, a shot of tequila for a cold etc. And also because what would I say
Dude? Are your teeth chattering? . How ingenous!
Eventually, I toss my shawl around him, which he wraps around his diseased self…but the teeth gnashing/chattering soldiers on.
All this time, pardon my vanity, I’m thinking “shoot! I should have made this beef on Sunday". Ala! It’s a waste.
So I sit next to him and ask
KM: How are you feeling?
Chap: **groaan** I’m sick. Turn on the AC, are you not feeling cold? Do you think I’ll die?
(I know, from my little knowledge, that sometimes rhetorical questions like these are a plea for re-assurance. I don’t give that, I go for the jugular)
KM: Of course you are going to die. OMG, is that blood oozing form your ears?
**he shoots me a I cant believe you are joking about this look**
All my feeble attempts to cheer him up were well…feeble.
KM: How are you feeling?
CHAP: Like I will die
KM: As in exactly how?
CHAP: ***grooooaaan** What do you mean how? I dunno. I have never died before!
(LOL, he is sick, and funny...what a keeper)
I turn up the music a little bit
CHAP: **Reaches out and puts it down to a whisper** KM my head is aching!
(And cranky too)
THIS IS GOING TO BE A LONG EVENING
SO I do the logical thing. Take him to hospital.
I do not consult him because he wil say "NO, I’ll be fine, I just need a nap".
Here’s the thing with chaps. When they are ill, they will crawl into bed, REFUSE TO TAKE MEDICINE and claim over n over that their life is over. Women? We will cook, clean and find your other sock while the other hand is cutting the umbilical chord.
At the hospital…..(He did not object to it when he found out about the detour).
You should have seen how he crawled into the doctors room! Some chaps really thrive on exaggeration.
Halafu I could have sworn he was scribbling down a will while we waited. Leaving me nothing! Thats for sure considering “she does not believe I’m dying. Why is she so calm? Or did she poison me?” even after I have exemplified awesomeness all these years!
Like seriously, Winnie Mandela? 27 years, Go figure.
So she assaulted, murdered, kidnapped, pilfered, was professionally incompetent and then there was the serial infidelity. Surely 27 years! Should that not be atonement?
Mandiba, Baba, I love you, applaud you and admire you. You know how people hyperventilate at the “if you had to ask Mandela 1 question what would it be?" And they are coming up with huge words like ‘detractors’, humanity, patriotism, bla…me, simple “Daddi, ala! What went down with you and Winnie?”
Anwyay, back home in Nairobi, A teeth chattering-shivering boyfriend was with the doctor.
He comes back with this chit, lab test, I mean, he is just going, in the most pitiful way that “he told me to wait for the results”
So I look at him like he who?
He gives me a “he the doctor, my friend, the one who will save my life not you who does not care”
Shoot! This is criminal haki. Throwing yourself a pity party of this magnitude surely is criminal!!!
The test came out….he has more malaria than a little village in Kilifi combined.
Mwehehe, to be totally honest, I knew it was, but I did not want to tell him that cos he might bite my head off and go “Boohoooo. you are not the expert okay! That’s why you are a struggling **insert mundane proffesion** and NOT A DOCTOR**. Plus yes. I'm not a doctor. I comment on matters about whichI posses expert opinion. Few if any.
How I knew, is that the last time we traveled to the Coast, I took my meds while incredible hulk over there a.k.a “looks whose teeth are chattering now” refused to because he is invincible and mayhaps invisible to bugs while, I? .....I’m just your regular control freak.
On the drive back home;
CHAP: KM, I’m gonna die
KM: Not on your birthday. Happy birthday
CHAP: Shit I’m sooo oooold!
The pity party is obviously unrelenting.
Surely, does this guy? This one, this guy, chair Board meetings without breaking into a “awww shott! We are fugged. We are going Under. OMG we will be all over the news” panic attack? How now?
We get home. I was tired. The doctor said the meds are strong, so he needs to eat well before he takes them.
So much for a night of showing him a good time “I charge you good price for you my friend, sucky, sucky, mmmmm Ming Lee do it very nice but only for you”.
Its bad enough that the damn man does not want to eat cos “Juice is fine, I had lunch”, but to have to eat KM’s dinner? Punishment is what.
So I go rattle pots and pans, comes out with something at the end of it, and I even make him some chicken soup.
While I’m in the kitchen, I keep checking on him, he was really silent and considering how many times he floated the dying theme around, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. He kept drifting in and out fo sleep, hallucinating random crap like “No, please don’t kill me” “KM, how could you! You said you loved me!” and lifting his head from the pillow when he saw me hovering around to ask “KM is the food ready or should I take the meds now because I feel like I’m dying” UGHHHHHH!
At 10 oclock, I emerged from the torture chamber i.e kitchen with a half bent nail **grits teeth** with something(s) for him to eat.
The poor pooor thing was so feverish, all the duvets, still sweating and you- know- what- he- was- doing -with- his -teeth.
He took one look at the food and goes
“I can’t eat. I will throw up. Please give me juice KM. I’m parched".
**makes an up-down motion to his throat as if, duh kwani what else does parched mean?**
It could mean that he was settled on a tree like a bird, but, that’s with an “e”, plus it would be sooo out of context.
I ignored his pleas for a drop of water Lazarus, and about half an hour later, KP and Gabi had nothing on me! There was war!!! and after a myriad of puke threats,I won, he was fed, took his meds and I gave him some lucozade. He was incensed at my nerve. Negro please!
He made a point to let his sister and brothers know that “he was dying” when all they did was innocently call to wish him a happy birthday. Sigh.
My lingerie and I crawled into bed. Exhausted. He still wanted to get down. More of ego really than anything else. “look at me, I can do it on my death bed” The nerve! Him and his sweaty self now how? I don’t mind sweat, but I prefer activity sweat to illness sweat! Eeeewwww
So, I did not grant his deathwish, because also, a little part of me felt like I was taking advantage of him.
I get into the bed. K.A.L.A.H.A.R.I heloooo!!! 900 degrees, I’m looking for cool corners of the bed and I can feel waves of his fever coming at me. Sighhh!!!
His teeth would stop chattering, then he would remember and start all over lest I forget the recurring evening theme….”dying”
Eventually, he slept. Like a baby, his body cooled down and I just looked at his sleeping self and almost shed a tear vile, that’s a hard way to have a birthday.
He was up and well this morning, still has some meds to go, which I know will be a battle to finish but I hope he knows he will finish those things even if I have to mix them in his food cos, hell no! I cannot have too much of him when he is like that.
I was late for work, Drat! This is why career women who hold their families intact are the 8th wonder of the world. He said a mortified “thanks. I’m sorry. We’ll do it right next year”.
At some point I thought, you know he really hates attention and would much rather the birthday went unnoticed so he feigned the illness….the fever? I dunno how he did that!
Music Video Codes
Robin Thicke - Lost Without You