Dear Friend, (And I call you this in the strictest sense of
the term)
I am in receipt of your well
worded letter and I have to admit that you still have that knack for stinging words.
In your discourse you come out as suave, complicated and feminist. The people
who don’t know you and read your letter can also discern a strong feeling of
awareness of your gender identity, coloured by your professional background,
pedigree breeding and maybe social position.
You blame me for all manner of
ills from my drinking habits, my toilet eccentrics and insinuate strongly that
Iam a useless do nothing not even aware of the schools my daughters attend.
You however conveniently
forget that you indeed have a share of the blame for the path am now taking-
sharing the blame in a big way because in no small measure you have contributed
to it.
You remember when we started,
15 years back, the days when I was young tall and handsome. You were then at
university, fresh from the village, shy unsophisticated, loving and well
...slim? Those
were the good days; you remember
heartily joining me in our Friday evening joists-partaking nyama-choma and enjoying the full support of my three best friends
then Nyundo, Komeo and Kipenga and
still my best friends. You remember how you were so close
to my sister Ruth? You remember the 14 year old Alfasud saloon? The one you had baptised-Mpenzi-The lover? You recall my favourite drink? And my occasional
blackouts?
You accepted all this and wormed your way into this circle of friends,
winning over my relatives –particularly my sister –Ruth- whom you had cunningly
identified to be most important seconder
for your corner.
Out of the goodness of my heart, I accepted you; I could have
left you then as periodically the Jezebel in you sprang out. When I attempted
to walk out, Ruth stopped me with a look, My friends stood up to me for you; I
stood d by you and you took advantage of me-having the predatory instinct of
animals, you had pre- prepared plans to counter my habits and my beloved
relatives and friends.
And you won.
The wedding photos attest to this- You look dashing and happy
– having won the race…I look shell shocked disbelieving-suffering from PTSD- PRE
traumatic stress disorder.
You remember, how through one of my many friends and drinking
partners, I fixed you a job. Coming especially after the many failed ventures
you had attempted in setting up businesses. I stood by you- a permanent safety
net-absorbing your stresses and perennially a ready shoulder to cry on.
And I was still there when you sent the house helps packing
in their Dozens- They could never do anything good to your satisfaction. I
tried reasoning out with you – you turned rabid on me heaping unfounded accusations on my
sexual relations with the maids.
And as your career openings improved , You also opened other war fronts in your social
circles starting against my friends and my
relatives including of all people my
sister Ruth. And you did not even
attempt to be subtle about it, it was double barreled and at point blank
distance and worse in my presence.
The final straw was during
your chama meetings when I came in
late after a breakdown. You literally jumped on to me, with your chama friends
watching. Your lips
were dripping profanity, tearing me to pieces, and lumping my relatives and
friends in the bargain. And you talked, No you shouted. The neighbours merely
watched-No surprise in store, they were used to it. Your Chama friends gawked, our
daughters looked lost. You pursued the slaughterhouse
line, thinking you were winning- well you did but only for an instant in the
sprint. You forgot that Marriage is a marathon and short dashes rarely make a
big change in a marathon race.
The other name for love is sacrifice- I have sacrificed for
you.
You orally castrated your husband and robbed him of solitude
in his own house without providing him with any companionship.
You deem it fit that I walk away…Indeed I will do so …
literally, one foot after another until out of your life but you forget that
institutions outlast individuals and unlike you as a man I remain always an institution...
Maybe mankind should adopt the
sex life of the spiders-they have a tumble -she bites his head off…
Your Friend,
Zack
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