Since one year and six month after my
birth, my mother has been a housekeeper.
What that means is, she is very particular
about neat bed corners, clean water to wash the floor and which colors are
right for a bedroom and which ones aren't.
Many times I think she is British.
It also means that she has 101 hilarious
stories about guests that have passed through her hands.
My favourite is one of the Japanese
expatriate who decided to make a best friend out of my mother.
My mother lived with two of her younger
sisters behind railways, so no matter how many times the Japanese woman tried,
she was never going to be invited home.
One Christmas season, my mother
discovered a bundle of gifts the woman was planning to distribute to people.
'I saw a small basket (kondo) and
prayed to God that she wasn't planning to give that to me.'
When people visit Kenya, they are quite
fascinated by Ciondo. Now, to a daughter of a basket maker, giving her a
kondo is like going to rich people's houses and being served Gĩtheri. Not that there
is something wrong with Gĩtheri, or a small basket. It's just well, if a Japanese
is giving you a gift, a fan or a nice notebook would be more appreciated, coz
that's what they do best. If you go to rich people’s houses, you have your
fingers crossed for lasagna.
So the day came and my mother got her
kondo, and as she swung it around and enabled her to buy. Try sell the bag and get back the 800 bob it was valued at? Who would
buy a tiny sisal basket, while yarn baskets were all the range in 1994?
Her friend Kahĩhia suggested they start
a church and use the basket for collections. Kahĩhia was my aunt's friend, but
when my aunt died she continued being a friend. She has the funniest point of
view for things.
So, a visit from my mother feels like
inspection day in high school. I need to prepare mentally, physically and
emotionally. Though it doesn't mean I still don't remain in a panic one day
before and one day after.
To say the least, my house most times
looks like a public office where files often get lost under the pile of books,
papers and dried flowers.
If my house would be lit, it would burn
in minutes.
Mostly
often
Mondays,
other times
My
preparations started early. On Friday night I folded and hug up clothes by
color scheme and put away my not
high heeled shoes- my mother has something against flat shoes.
On Saturday morning I dusted and wiped
and shone the windows then bleached my cups, cleaned the floor and cereal
containers then left a deo container open somewhere. I then pulled out weeds and
trimmed the grass outside my house.
I put away my novels and other
unpleasant eyesores like my water containers that make my house like a plastic
recycling plant.
Sunday morning I scrubbed the bathroom,
with fragrant soap, ironed my clothes twice, clipped my nails, and then had a
proper bath.
It felt like those Tuesday dormitory
checks in high school. I would wake up with a panic. My mother had bought me a
white towel. It had light blue flower prints but still, the borders were white and
that is what the home science teachers checked.
She arrived at 6:45pm.
I stood aside as she inspected the
room.
-Why don't you have a carpet?-
Then she turned did a walk around, came
back and sat. Then she said why was one of my curtains hanging loose? And your
bed is too close to the window she said.
‘Oh yeah?’
-Yes, and get hooks for your curtain-
I started to fry things
-I will only have tea-
‘But I was going to make food, it won't
take time.’
-I have to leave by 7-
15 minutes inspection, update on the
family, that is, mainly my grandmother, and the cat, then politics
-You should get a TV. You don't get bored?-
‘Hardly.
I read, and watch movies.’
‘And news?’
‘ I listen to radio sometimes.’
-Na Gathimũ?-
‘Yes,
on the phone.’
-It's not a bad place, just too far
from the road. Who are your neighbours?-
‘Families, we don't interact much.’
-No kids visit you?-
‘Just
three teenagers, Mũnyeki and irũngũ's age, nice kids.’
