KENYA: In 1973 or thereabouts, it came to the old man’s attention that I had this unhealthy habit of hanging around mum’s kitchen.
I was the acting last born then, before that good-for-nothing small sister of mine popped up and spoiled the bash.
That position exposed me to numerous perks, such as licking the ‘milk sufuria’, serving as the official family food taster and, of course, exposing my big brother’s shenanigans.
Fearing these perks, and in particular the habit of hanging around the kitchen, would make me a dunderhead, the old man sat me down for a man-to-man talk.
“Listen, son. A man doesn’t sit in the kitchen — he brings meat home, then sits on the sofa and reads his newspaper…” he taught.
Being a man with tremendous respect for elders, I listened and learned, the consequence of which is that I grew up into a terrible cook, a mean newspaper reader and voracious carnivore.
The old man, by the way, has been reading newspapers since, a ritual that has passed to his grandchildren, who seem poised to grow into lousy cooks, mean newspaper readers (and writers) and voracious carnivores.
But I’m beginning to fear that one day, the old man will read something in the newspaper that will give him a heart attack. For a man who can write a PhD thesis on what it means to be a man, it must be shocking to read stories describing how low manhood has sunk.
Senseless
If we are not getting clobbered senseless by our wives, we are lying in the gutter drunk like skunks.
If we are not hiding under beds when gangsters strike, we are debating in Parliament whether to share chicken 50:50 with madam when mpango wa kando does us asunder.
And what is this nonsense of slitting women’s throats, strangling the tots, and then hanging ourselves on the pit latrine door?
