It’s not that I’m not spontaneous…it’s just that the activities need to be worthwhile. Otherwise, I get bored, then exhausted, then uncomfortable, then irritable, and then…boom. I’m “acting crazy.” Crazy as in leaving without saying a word.
My mum knows this about me, yet still: “Bondi, we’re just going to the supermarket. Just to grab a few things, then straight home. I promise.”
Maandishi Haya Sio Mageni Jijini…
We get to the supermarket, pick up those “few things,” and then, Rose, my mum’s ever-chatty friend, appears. “We’ll just drop Rose home. It won’t take long,” Mum reassures me. But no sooner am I in the car, sinking into false hope, than we take that dreaded Impala Road turn. The one that leads straight to Rose’s house.
“Let’s pass by Rose’s place. Just for a quick hello to the husband.”
A quick hello. The same quick hello that always spirals into hours of gossip. Hours of me sitting there, uncomfortable. I lose it. “Mum, stop the car. I’m going home.”
“Bondi, I can’t stop the car. We’re almost there,” she replies. I don’t wait for “almost there.” I open the door and threaten to jump out of the moving car. My mum slams the brakes…she knows I’m not bluffing. I hop out and start walking, consequences be damned. I know there’s a thorough beating waiting for me later, but in that moment? Freedom.
“You can’t just leave me here! This is so embarrassing!” Mum yells. “That sounds like a you problem,” I reply, flag down a boda boda, and off I go.
Rose: “Nyathini wiye rach.” (This child is mad.)
Fast forward many years later…
My mum decides to invite guests, her clique of friends, and yes, her friend Rose will be present. Guests known for their invasive questions and endless small talk. I’m not in the mood. I’ve made it clear.
“Mum, if you’re having guests, just tell them I’m not in.”
Does she listen? Of course not.
By noon, the house is buzzing with chatter. Rose is already in her element, dissecting who married whom and critiquing poorly planned weddings. Then it happens: “Bondi! Come and greet Rose and the guests!” my mum shouts from downstairs. I ignore her. Stay glued to my bed, watching Kill Me, Heal Me. “Bondi, stop embarrassing me! Come out now!” she yells again. Still, I don’t budge. A minute later, my younger brother Toto appears at the door. “Eh, unaitwa. Acha kujifanya huskii.” “Toto, go tell her I’m not in,” I reply.
Five minutes later, the shouting resumes. “Tell her I said COME OUT!” Now it’s a full blown operation. My mum dispatches a squad to retrieve me…the house help included. “Bondi, unaitwa…unaitwa…unaitwa, toka tu kidogo.”
Nope. Not moving. Let them sip their tea awkwardly downstairs. This was a mountain I was fully prepared to die on. “Mum,” I thought to myself, “you brought this on yourself. Simple instruction, just tell them I’m not in.”
Later, I heard that Rose had commented, “Eeh, nyathini pod wiye rach. So her madness continues.”
Eventually, the guests leave, and I’m officially the villain. My mum storms into my room and tells me, “One day, you’ll have children who will embarrass you in front of your guests. Then you’ll understand.” She storms off, vowing never to speak to me again.
By day three, she breaks the silence😂😂, but not without guilt trips.
I’d love to say I’ve outgrown this behavior, but sadly, I haven’t. My mum, on the other hand, seems to have outgrown the drama, or so it seems…
PIECESBYRUTH 