I was at church the other Sunday. I had walked in late, as usual - I still don’t get this though – I always wake up so early, but I always get to church late! I have decided to blame it on the mirror. Somebody has to take the blame, but definitely not yours truly. Anyway, the church was jam packed – again as usual. Us, late comers, the young and the old, always get to enjoy the fresh morning breeze as we sit outside on the garden plastic chairs. Halafu the late comers are the ones who are always reeking of booze.
“Moan … God, do I have to go to church today … I’ll pray in bed … besides I always talk to you when I’m intoxicated …” is it just me or do we all get really religious and one with the Almighty when really sloshed. Once I even saw the pearly heaven’s gates. Kweli tena! So the negotiations with God continue, “… okay, I agree because of you my week was fruitful and beautiful … I agree, without you I wouldn’t be where I am today … “ at this point, your bed is getting cozier and warmer – but He always wins.
So groaning you get up and drag your heavy head to the bathroom. Between negotiating with your eyes to open, your feet to walk and finally arguing with the mirror that the face you are seeing on the mirror is not yours – you find yourself getting to church late again! Anyway, so basi bwana, this heavily pregnant older woman comes in – there is a bunch of kids occupying some of the plastic garden chairs – but they don’t move. Imagine, this heavily pregnant woman walks in and these kids in minis and loose pants just sit there – some of them chewing gum even! Yes, chewing gum kanisani I tell you!!
Anyway, the kids do see the woman, two girls look at her and start giggling. The mothers have also seen the woman. They steal quick glances at their spoilt kids and proceed fanning their heavily made-up faces with the Chinese fans they got from their shopping trips in Dubai.
Ingekuwa enzi yetu, one of the mothers would have given one of her kids that eye, that look – we used to call it the laser beam look as it sliced right through you with no warning at all. Anyway, so if it was our time, one of the mothers would have flashed one of her kids that look that would have made him get up as quickly as a flash and let the older person sit on his chair. Tena if you are late getting up from your chair, she makes you go fetch ten chairs - from God only knows where - of all the other late comers who have just walked in. Halafu lets not forget that you are in church, so no talking - mama wa enzi zetu would remind us with just one look. Without knowing your bearings, you go around like a headless chicken until you find the chairs.
So the poor heavily pregnant woman wobbles to this chair. It was unoccupied at that point. There was a 3-4 year old who seemed to be high on something was using it more as a jumping castle than a chair – one minute he was sitting on it, the next he was running around, chasing his own shadow. Again, his mother did nothing to stop the chaos he was causing.
“Ni mtoto bwana,” she would have said, if she was asked, “mwache acheze.”
Hello!! This is a church! Not a goddamn play ground!! We are here to pray not to play!! Duuh!! Anyway, so the heavily pregnant woman wobbles to the chair. Bwana wee, the baby mama wacha ampe lip! I promise you even the Almighty all the way up there stopped concentrating on the blessing he was showering us with at that moment and stared at the baby mama, bewildered. Quickly I got up – to the rescue – and offered the woman my chair. Manake ilikuwa ni aibu! And the kids, hell, they kept on blowing on their gums and giggling.
What’s happening to the African adabu and heshima, our parents and the parent of our parents and so-forth have been instilled in us for years? Why have we failed to do the same with our kids? Yaani their morals have gone out the windows kabisa! Haya basi, this other day I went to visit an old friend. Well, she is more of a dada than anything. You know, those older girls you grew up with whom always whacked your ass, just to prove that they were older than you so they knew better. Anyway, dada’s house was packed to the brim – with her daughters’ friends enjoying a sleep over. Getting a ‘shikamoo’ from them was an issue. Simply because they were as tall as I am - and ‘hi’ is the order of the day – or simply just a nod. And what did the mother do? Nothing. She just smiled and said the same annoying thing - which is about to turn into a national anthem soon, if we don’t start discipling our kids. “Waache watoto,” grr, I’m so getting tired of that sentence, “ndio wakati wao.”
The table then got laid … there was enough food to feed the whole Africa - halafu vikibaki they go to the dogs, no viporo in the fridge, all in the name of Uzungu. I think dada saw the surprised look on my face. There was savoury rice, chips, pizza, pasta, mash – there was even pilau and biriani - not to mention the poultry, seafood, meat dishes and salads. There were six girls and each had her own special dish. Haya bwana wee.
“We are having the savoury rice, but the girls don’t feel like rice today,” she explained. The little guys in my head and I all went ‘huh?’ in unison. I mean, whatever happened to ‘y’all going to eat what I have cooked!’
Halafu have you noticed that these kind of kids always sport those creatively-spelt black American names – such as LaQuanna, Zhan’nee, T’Keyah, LaShonda, Tyrone, YaSheema … and then there are the Precious, Ebony, Candy – these names are so creatively spelt that you have to go to school so as to learn to pronounce. Don’t the mothers who give their daughters such names know that the Moneeshas, Queetas and Shone’etas of this world can cook a storm as well as they can dance to a Beyonce video?
“I have taught them to speak their minds.” Okay, hold on there, dada. I don’t think this is what they mean by speaking one’s mind. This is called – having it their way and being spoilt. So there is dada Mary, the kids’ nanny, busy laying the table while the girls are dancing to Beyonce’s video. I call two of the girls and asked them if they would help dada Mary.
Dada quickly jumped in, “waache tu watoto wacheze.”
Lunch was delicious - yaani it was finger licking good - and loud. We could hardly hear each other with the girls jumping into our conversations. Again, if it was enzi zetu, duuuh! Tena a separate table ya mbali would have been set for us kids, lest we made noise and interrupted the elders.
So when we were done, I expected, well, I thought the girls would clear the table. Again I asked – okay, don’t go groaning on me now! I’m not blonde for nothing – jamani, I am sometimes slow. I just never learn fast enough.
This time the girls replied me from the lounge - while gyrating their teenage hips to a Shakira video - in unison, “dada atasafisha. Kwani kazi yake ni nini?”
“Can they cook?”
“Ooh no! What for? Heaven forbid, no! Si dada wapo?”
“How do they manage at school?” I just had to ask – my lower lip was hanging on the floor, I promise you. The girls then went to a boarding school you see.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean when it comes to washing and cleaning?”
“Oh sometimes they pay other kids to wash for them. Sometimes when we go visit we take the dirty laundry with us,” she explained proudly, “unajua I’m teaching them to be Westernized. Besides apart from wadada, we have washing maching, microwaves, blenders … blah blah blah ….”
I swear I never knew microwaves could cook! I was too flabbergasted that day to remember to ask dada to show me this miracle microwave. Next time I will sure remember - for I really could do with one!
Anyway, sasa huu uzungu utatupeleka pabaya! Maybe our parents were right when they insisted that ‘children are meant to be seen and not heard?’ They have been given the chance to be heard, now look at what is happening. They were so right to teach us the value of money and hard work. Huu sasa ni uzungu au ujinga? Ulimbukeni?!
From: Sahara SoulFood
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