But my wife is submissive

I wait at the village junction for a person to accompany me to the nearby shopping center. There, I shall be paid less than a dollar in Kenyan money. It is not much because several of it shall be taken to the motorbike owner and less left for me. It is not easy to pay mdosi daily and have something for you worth affording necessities. My jacket is sunburnt, the collar in tatters. You can see the trouser is dusty and untidy. But after all this, I shall be welcomed home, a happy man for my wife is submissive.

There was an added task in office, too much paperwork. I wish the world was a fair place. The pay is far less what I do. There was a change in the management and the new manager sounds cheaply tough. There is no point in complaining much when I could not pass my secondary exams. When they want reports, I’ll write. When they want to add me more, I shall be willing. But when the clock will strike 5pm, not even a job promotion can stop my yearning for home. My wife is submissive.

Nairobi is a farm of rocks. Those who try to scoop some soil to gather are not as those who give up soon. The conditions are terrible. The walk to work is longer than a visit to a distant relative while at rural. I could not afford a house anywhere near. I belong to the slums. I know of all friends’ stamina that cycle and trek to work in the morning and return at evening. One of the things I do once I receive monthly pay is to steal myself from the upheavals of the city. I travel home on Friday evening immediately I leave work. For my wife is submissive, every first Saturday and Sunday of the month, I spend with her. On Sunday evening, I travel back.

I own a retail shop at the market. This is my tenth year in the business. I have seen sugar rise from forty shillings a kilogram to one hundred and sixty. Things shall keep getting harder and I am afraid of the next generation. The success in the business has not been a one person’s hand. There is a person whom I’d give high credit to the establishment of the two rooms that people come for household shopping. There are three children in school and we have been saving ever since for that. The needs have increased for the children are now demanding. But I have a submissive wife to see the family through.

It is true that hustles and its related hurdles keep men away from their lovers. The rich man calls all the time. My wife is soft skinned, gentle and less of words. It is midmorning and she knows what I shall eat at the end of the day. Her hair curves back on her head in a simple manner. She knows how to hold a banana plant by the bulb when she fells one for lunch. Her food is a cautious mixture of local vegetables and fresh spices. She does not ask you to serve self for her courtesy is beyond measure. When she sits, her legs stick together by the door that leads to the kitchen. And when she says something, I forget all that I know. Our people say that good plans begin from ivwasi, a room ruled by a woman. I have taken a voyage away in search of a job. My submissive wife shall be knitting and unknotting her fabrics till the day I return.