Read that in reverse.

My landlord and his family have pretty much adopted us as part of the family. So much so that our mzungu tenant assumed I was his juniour wife and bought me a going-away present – a pretty blue khanga. I’m almost offended at the wife part – and I should probably correct her, but it’s a really pretty khanga, and she’s leaving anyway so…

The adoption is palpable though. So much that I get wary of coming home too late [from work!] coz he gets upset. And I’m starting to feel those stares he gives me when I’m dropped home in yet another fly car.

Let me explain. For somebody who never goes out, I have this strange habit of being dropped home at strange hours in stranger cars. Usually, it’s my cousin’s white saloon [toyota primer or sth] with the green plates that just spell money.

That was fine, until the day we had an impromptu slumber party at the said cousin, and when we got home at 9 a.m. in the same clothes, princess blabbed that we had gone to visit Baba Nanii “because his wife is in Nairobi.” Oops! Mind you that was the first time we had slept out, so there was no avoiding ‘the look’.

Recently, the cousin changed his car to a silver rav 4 that is just beautiful, and is fondly referred to as shangingi. Now girls that drive with men in shangingis are…not smiled upon.

Then a few days ago, it was my other cousin, who dropped us in a brown Nissan minivan, complete with the doll-like puppy sticking its head out of the window. And no, I don’t score any points for always having princess with me in these assorted rides. And it doesn’t help that all their windows are tinted.

A few nights ago, it was the blue rav 4 from the office. Which nobody believes is from the office, because the office is five minutes away, so why drive? And the said office car drove me and princess away at 5 p.m. and brought us back well after 9. Office my foot!

Then of course there’s the seven-a-side with the computer logo on it. That one was at my cousin’s birthday party, and dropped us on his way home – at about midnight in a Saturday. Oh dear.

And the white cruiser and the maroon rav and the canter that drop me on ‘work-related errands’ in the middle of the day. Errands which include transportuing matresses and cushions – the receptionist’s husband runs a furniture business.

Oh, and the best part. All those cars that hoot at me as I walk past, and lower their windows and hold animated conversations with me, which always include loud questions like ‘…and you live with who?’

Office mates all. But try telling the landlord that those ten-plus men all work with me. But they do! They’re called marketters. And drivers. And a few managers. The women in our office don’t really drive.

So when I was walking past and heard someone ask ‘huyo ana bwana?’ [is she married], I could almost hear the mental count of my 4 wheeled suitors. But do I say?

Now, the turks and the maths. I met this accountant who doesn’t speak English or Swahili. And his computer got it into it’s head [or processor] that I owe it [and the Turk] money. My maths isn’t very good, and computers never lie, so no matter how hard I gestured, how much I tapped the pencil and how clearly I added up my bills, he just kept saying ‘One million. You pay one million.’ The figure I had in mind was closer to 200 [thousand Tsh]

I tried again, giving him dates and receipt numbers and the like, and then he nodded and smiled and said ‘Oooooh, understand. You pay 2 million.’ Good grief!!

It took about three separate taxis, a polite receptionist, a well kept receipt book [thank heavens for detailmania!] and a tetrapak of mango juice before the Turk realised that I actually owed him ten [thousand. which is like 500 bob kenyan, or ten bucks]. By the time I left, I was grinning and the poor man was confused, amazed, and utterly overwhelmed. How I wish he would look at me like that. Sigh.

On a more serious note, I did something really scary today. I’ve done it before, but today I was so terrified that the nurse had to grip my finger to keep it still. It’s so much easier to take a test when you know what the answer is, and this is the first time when I did it without leakage.

Ignorance is bliss, but knowledge is power. You can’t fix something if you don’t know it’s broken. So hebu tingisha kichwa uone kama kuna kitu ndani. Hear anything? Exactly.

[*M* darling, I will kill that if I transalte it, but I ‘ll explain it in private ;)]

Know your status. The hive isn’t a death sentence, it’s just a confirmed appointment with the after-life. We all have to go sometime, somehow. Knowing your status just is just a receipt for your ticket. And once you have that, you can pack appropriate clothing and plan to enjoy your trip.

Stay safe, stay faithful, and if you can’t chill, belt up. Have a safe weekend all.

Can i get an amen?!

I have a new respect for social people. I do. It’s hard work!! Or maybe it’s just coz I’m such a hermit, but for real !! I used to think the hardest thing in the world is to attend a party. [I’m the type that carries a book, finds a corner and a bright light, and disappears there till hometime] Clearly, I was wrong. Hosting a shindig is waaaaaaaaay worse.

Let me explain. I never, and I mean NEVER visit people. So if I have ever visited you, you have some strong juju. If I have visited you more than once, hebu give back those blackmail photos you’re haunting me with. If I have visted you voluntarily, you are clearly one of my special ten, mnajijua, na kama hamkujua, then now you know ;).

[Note to the ten of you, if I visit you voluntarily, and more than once, then know that I would kill or die for you. That’s how much you mean to me, and that’s how much I hate the whole socializing thing. And this includes online ‘visits’, so Kei, *M* and MFM, you can open the champagne now ;)]

The only other reason I visit anyone is for Princess. She is like the social butterfly. In fact, she makes social butterflies look like caterpillars. The kind of caterpillars that moult into dull homely moths. That’s how social she is.

So I hosted a shindig for her. I invited my cousin, the only person I visit regularly, and I do it strictly for Princess pleasure – the cousin has a child her age and they adore each other. I show up, plunk on a cushion, watch her thrive, and set my stopwatch to hometime.

Anyway, I invited my cousins, both sets. And both had houseguests. So from a possible guestlist of five, I ended up with 21. Now don’t get me wrong – these are all people I adore, and all share my DNA. But this is me – I am such a hermit that mould is afraid of me. My housemates have been known to go for days without seeing me, and it’s not because they were out partying.

Plus my 10 by 10 foot sitting room can only seat so many. So I divided the guests into three sets and timecoded them in shifts. Round one were mostly teenagers, so I took them first while the energy levels were high. They were easy enough to please – candy, sodas, and a few DVDs and they were good to go. Minimal conversation needed except a few private jokes with the older ones, and some refereeing during present time for the younger ones. So far, so good.

Six o’clock, second round. Out comes the second half of the cake and the second cut-and-candles ceremony. This group consisted of the b…the ladies, an all girl gang.  Now let me say I’m not very good with girls. Coz I’m not good with small-talk, and girly smalltalk can be … painful. At least with guys we can do ball and politics. So when the conversation shifted to pushup bras, stepmothers,  and the benefits of sleeping birthday suits, I promptly shifted my focus to the Tom and Jerry that princess was watching.

I had survived round 1 by playing paparazzi, but my girls promptly nyang’anyad me the camera, so I had to actually host. Did I mention that being DNA-type women, I had to clean up before they came in? Cleaning up after 10 teens and kids is hard. Cleaning up after 10 kids and teens to satisfy mother figures is torturous. Doing the above in under five minutes is pure waterboarding. help!

Anyway, after some cakes, some candy, some requests for [fortunately nonexistent] alcohol and some painful smalltalk, I saw them off. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m glad they came, and it was nice to see them. But for me, the seeing is the fun part. I’m quite content to see my dear ones at a train station, hug, smile, and wave them away. Actually having to sit and converse with anyone outside the ten [whom i shall from now on refer to as kumi kumi (heehee)] is some form of h- no wait, I can’t say that about family. **blushing**

By 8 i figured I was off the hook and had started dozing off when I got the call asking for directions. For a split second I considered ignoring the call, but I adore these people, and I did ask them to come, and princess is already glowing at the thought of one more present.

The last stage is easy. They’ve had a long day too, and we are content to analyse baby pictures. A very interesting comment was made – “You must have had a wonderful childhood – your parents were always there taking pictures…”

I couldn’t think of how to answer that, but I was inexplicably sad for the rest of the night. Of course a few minutes later they were looking at a picture of me and my mum in a kitchen dressed in matching khangas. I must have been like a year or two old, and they said ‘Now that’s just spoiling a child!’

I had to laugh, coz I do that with princess all the time, and coz my mum never tires of telling me how much she spoilt me. I guess life is all about perspective.

At last my day was done and I was left alone with my bed and a sated baby girl. I spent the WHOLE next day in bed, getting over my social, swearing to never ever do that again, and thanking God birthdays come just once a year. Happy birthday princess. **hugs**

PS : the moral of the story is always pay your rent on time and be friends with your landlord. After I told him I had guests, he voluntarily called off the plumbers for me. I didn’t even have to ask. Yay! Plus, since I was too exhausted to do anything the next day, his kids made pilau, fed princess, and brought me some in a casserole, all while I lay lazing in bed, and all without me asking for a single thing! How cool is that!!

Of course now I just got a call that they all want to go to the beach with princess and I can’t refuse. So I’ve sent her a bodyguard and am now biting my nails worrying about all the things that could happen to my baby at the beach without me – including having fun!! I can just hear her reprimand my worrying mind “Mummy! I”m not a baby! I’m six years old!” Thank heavens for little girls 🙂

And boy, have they been strange.

This week has been insane. In good and bad ways. I’m so glad it’s over.

I got a visit from the Ex.  Shidwe kabisa!!

I saw some chick suspended on a gate. I don’t know what she was doing there, or what happened after I left. I mean to my [insert appropriate prefix here]-normal mind, it was strange to see some girl in a striped orange top, fitting blue jeans and no shoes, on a gate.

She wasn’t climbing it, she wasn’t swinging on it, she was just … on it. The gate is pretty tall, and she was somewhere between the ground and the gate crest, clinging like a female spiderman.

I know she wasn’t stealing, coz it was like 3 p.m. She wasn’t peeping inside coz the gate was opaque. And she wasn’t trying to move, coz a few times I saw her jump off the gate, then spring up to the same spot and re-suspend. It could be some new form of gate-aerobics, maybe focussed on the arms and calves.

I tried to figure out what she was doing, but the people around weren’t paying particular attention to her. If anything, they were more disturbed with me, standing in the middle of the road with my head to the side, staring at the suspended girl. Apparently, it’s not a done thing.

Then today, I saw some birds standing on a tree, doing what I could only imagine was sharpening their beaks. They’d rub them against the stalks and then scratch themselves, the way dogs do to get rid of fleas. Do birds get fleas?

One bird did a pretty good Pluto immitation of standing on one leg and scratching itself. My kingdom for a camera – and some camera-using skills!

Today I have house guests. Which is good. I’ve planned for it all year. There’s just one teeny tiny problem. Well, actually, two. One is that my landlord has picked today [of all days!!] to fix the sewer system. Which means I can’t use my bathroom, you know, to get ready and…other things – and neither can my guests. And I don’t even want to think about the smell.

Two is that my house is…cosy. Six seats and lots of cushions. And my guests are…many. My small circle of friends picked this time of year to invite their small circles of friends to Dar. Which means that I now have 21 adorable guests [and one moody dog] to squeeze into 10 cubic feet, with no bathroom facilities and no Air Conditioning.

I’m currently on the phone trying to work a rota system that doesn’t involve throwing anyone out in full view of anyone else. Plus I’ll need some mad camera skills. One-minute-photo-shoots – for-dummy lessons? Anyone?