Nobody catches a cheating woman...NOT even god!
There
was once a woman who was called Wambui, a quintessential African beauty
who lived in a small, rural village in Kenya. Her husband, a typical
traditional man, was called Kamau.
Kamau
was a drunkard. He strayed all over the village during the day leaving
his family unattended as they could have expected from him. He spent
most of his time in brewing joints where he basically took indigenous
aperitifs and home brewed liqueurs that were considered by many locals
as natural family planners. They made a man devoid of libido and
therefore not desire the act that brings forth procreation.
Kamau
left a lot to be desired. Being unromantic, lazy and uninspiring, he
sufficed to be the kind that sleeping pills are made of.
Most
of his evenings ended in trivial conflicts with his wife. All those
were attributed to his drinking and non-contribution to his family’s
upkeep and his wife’s conjugal rights.
Just
like many women in Raha village, Wambui was a chain-monger. She and her
friends spent most of their afternoons talking in cynics about their
husbands and neighbors.
On
one afternoon, after chit-chatting on all the matters that were top in
the village, she started recounting to her women folks the plights of
cohabiting with a ‘non-performing husband’
In
a monologue, she said “I live with a husband whom I consider as a
eunuch; he does not rise to the occasion and do it. I don’t know if his
member has permanently flubbed or whether he has just lost the desire.
He was one man whom I considered as a do-gooder. At the time we got
married, he was an awesome player. Nowadays, he is an aestivated
crocodile”
She
paused for a moment before continuing. In frowns, she said “I even got
the impression that he is a full-time masturbator or a frequent visitor
to those good-for-nothing, husband snatchers [the harlots]. I fail to
understand how a man can leave his wife in frigidity while they are
confined in a pack-down-the-box marriage”
She
vainly chided and nagged him for a long time, until one day when she
decided to acquire a parallel booty-call. The secret lover emancipated
her from a confinement by her own frigid hormones. His name was Munyotu,
a relatively built man who performed beyond comparison. Munyotu
literally meant a thirsty man; and when his parents gave him the name,
they probably predestined that he would someday live up to it.
The
two nymphomaniacs used to meet when the husband went away and make love
all day long. They did that from time to time until such a point when
they were over-exited with sexual satisfaction.
For
months, it went on and on. The quarrels between Wambui and her husband
waned as she and her illicit lover built confidence in what they did.
They no longer had worries of being found out. They had banked on the
experience and they were almost sure that being found out was out of the
question. Their closest threat was either of them giving out of the
liaison, however, that was not probable in the near future.
No
situation lasts forever. Change always comes. With time, the husband
regained his ‘potency’ and started demanding conjugal share. She usually
declined to meets his needs; giving phony excuses that ranged from
tiredness to loss of libido.
The
husband was starved for a long time, so long that he could not take it
anymore. His unwavering patience and humble expectations started running
out. It left him with very incomprehensible feelings of contempt and
indifference. He was in a tight fix, in that; he was battling with his
inner feelings and at the same time trying to please his wife by
agreeing to her pleas.
His
most strong conviction was that she was probably having an
extra-marital affair, perhaps a liaison with those hot-blooded men who
tickles the breasts of deserted wives. He confronted her with it and she
strongly refuted the allegations.
Kamau,
still unsatisfied with her defensive explanations, decided to seek the
guidance of the holy one. He arranged for her to be summoned at the
altar of their god and swear her faithfulness on it. The god’s alter was
a place where people went to attest the truth of the matter. There, she
was supposed to avow that she has only known one man in her life; her
husband Kamau.
When
she consulted with her secret lover on the matter, he became so timid
that he couldn’t even come up with an idea of how to save them from the
wrath of the god. He knew so well what would happen at the sacrosanct
altar. In the event that Wambui lies, she would be struck down
immediately. After that the gods would turn back to him and strike him
down too. To Munyotu, their demise was unavoidable. The rage of the gods
has never failed. He knew it so well.
With
temperance, Wambui implored to Munyotu not to worry. She urged him to
do exactly what she instructed. She came up with a viable plan that was
bound to save them from their own shit.
She
asked him to fake as a groom on the d-day and wait for them along the
way to the altar. While there, he was supposed to pretend that he was
tending to his horse’s blinkers that were to be strapped on a woolen
bridle. Despite his minimal knowledge in equestrianism, his lover
expected him to undoubtedly do all that horse-handling in a way that it
won’t raise her husband’s eyebrows.
The
day for the reckoning came. The husband and the wife set out for the
altar in the morning. They walked for miles while having a very scanty
conversation. They slowly trekked over undulating ridges as they
traversed through the valleys that lay between them. Hours passed before
they approached the path that cut through the plain where Munyotu was
waiting.
When
Wambui saw Munyotu from a distance, she pretended to be debilitated and
not able to walk any further. It was time to employ her plan. She had a
gut feeling that the husband would fall for it. Out of his sheer
ignorance, the husband, determined that they must reach the holy place
to perform the mythical ritual, tirelessly urged her to push on with the
journey. Wambui could not bulge; she pretended to be dying beat even
more. The trick was working. The husband could not notice that she was
trying to get out of things by trying to get more and more tired.
In
his perplexed state, Kamau looked over the hill- perhaps in a protest
bid to estimate the distance that they yet had to cover. In his rescue,
he saw the horse-man with his charger by his side. As a culture in the
village, the horseman looked disheveled; more so with his breeched
jodhpurs. His character was that of a sluggish person; that was evident
when he was fastening whoa that was strapped on the steed’s back.
Kamau
waved at him for attention and then beckoned his close. Munyotu walked
slowly, holding his agitated mare by the halter. Kamau implored him to
carry the sickly woman on the back of the horse. They then had to
proceed up to the holy-shrine. Since she was short and wearing a
teeny-weeny, poodle skirt, it was difficult for her to jump onto the
lofty saddle. She was therefore elevated by the willing hands of the
‘jockey’
First,
she stepped on the stir-up, and then put her hands on Munyotu’s
shoulder to get her on a firm grip as she raised her left foot towards
the pannier. He supported her by his left hand as she finally put her
right egg on the other side so as to seat on the leather saddle that had
been leashed on the ponies back. It was simple, yet so technical for a
person like Wambui who was not used to scaling beasts
Before
they proceeded on, Wambui way-laid her husband and asked the horse
rider to give them a moment so as to have a tête-à -tête.
She pulled the husband close and whispered in a monologue
“There
is a problem; you see, when we were about to start our frantic journey,
I was in a hurry to get titivated that I forgot to wear my hosiery”
She paused for a moment and then continued.
“As the horse man was elevating me to seat on this saddle, he accidentally saw my woman-hood”
The husband contemplated about the whole situation before he replied. As he begun to speak his voice was relaxed and suggestive.
“That
is not a big deal; you see, you just have to include both of us when
declaring your fidelity” the husband giggled with extempore.
They
proceeded with their journey in a steady pace with Munyotu leading the
way. He held the horse by the halter. He was filled with fear as he did
not know what was in store for them.
For
the husband, he felt a bigger man for having solved the puzzle that the
idea of the horse begot. At some point, he even thought that it was a
ploy by his wife to avoid going to the shrine. He felt proud for
outplaying her. Poor him; I wish he knew the truth. His wife had out
done him ten fold. Her trick had finally worked. The husband had fallen
into the trap-wholesomely.
They
continued with their pursuit in trio. Nobody was uttering any word.
Wambui kept herself glued onto the halter; thinking of how the future
will be. She felt egotistical as the plan she had conceived days before
was working. She was truly a queen of wits. Not even her husband nor the
secret lover could play her match…..maybe their traditional wizard and
medicine men would; of which I doubt.
Munyotu
kept his cool as he silently felt guilty for all that was happening. He
only imagined how it felt to have another man pinning somebody’s wife.
That even made the guilt to escalate. The pains and worries on the
inside pounded harder as he reminisced how his paramour had catered to
him. He wished that he could undo all that….but it was too late.
When
they reached the holy place, she confidently walked barefoot to the
altar where she was expected to mumble the dreaded declaration. It was
time to know the truth…the stage had been set. It was Wambui to face the
gods. She began her declaration in a confident voice as both Munyotu
and her husband looked on. Several other curious bystanders looked from a
distance. They murmured with each other as Wambui continued to avow her
side of the story. It went something like this.
“I
Celestine Wambui, swear before god that no other man besides my husband
and that man with the horse there, has either seen or eaten from ‘my
garden of fruits’. If I am lying, may you lord release your wrath and
kill me and whoever I may have fornicated with without further ado.”
There
was a sudden silence that gave way for gods poised action. They
earnestly waited for his response without an immediate response. They
waited and waited but nothing came out of the revered god. After enough
time while waiting, it was clear that the wife had made her point as it
was going her way….at least as per their traditions and cultures.
The
husband’s worries settled. He got convinced that he had a faithful wife
and started apologizing to her for his doubts and purporting that she
was cheating on him. He also lauded her for her purity.
By
using her minds, Wambui managed to hold off all allegations that Kamau
had made against her. It gave her more authority and control as Kamau
slowly flunked with inferiority. Kamau apologized again and promised not
to doubt Wambui again.
The
curious onlookers whom had earlier assembled to see god in action
slowly dispersed; perhaps disappointed that they did not witness what
they were hoping for. But, at least they had a story to take home. A
story about the little drama they just witnessed….and a lesson too
unimaginable to learn…. incase any of them was contemplating of
summoning his or her spouse to the altar….they should do better
investigations, lest they end up like Kamau ….in apologies….much worse;
in apologies to the villain and her cohort….the horse man.
Having
accomplished what brought them there, Kamau paid the ‘jockey’
handsomely and they begun hip-hoping back home. Ironically, Wambui’s
fatigue was gone. She seemed energetic as they walked steadily towards
their home. As they say; if it starts well, it will most probably end
well.
They
both reflected the events of the day as they walked abreast. Each one
of them had got what they wanted. They both felt as if a load had been
lifted from their shoulders. They knew it too well; the arguments and
suspicions were over. From that day, they were revamped.
Nothing
compares to what they had been through. Not even jilted lovers come
close. Taking a case of the latter, also called heart-broken lovers;
they feel weighed down by the break up that befell them. It’s like
something disconcerting has been bestowed upon their being. That goes
deeper especially when one looks at photos, letters, gifts and other
memorabilia that reminds them of their ex. It is until one gets rid of
such knick-knacks that one feels better. You need to burn, throw away or
give out such mementos in order for you to be free. Free from your
past. Let go of your past.
The
couple continued walking together in cackles and chuckles. They held
each others hands as they celebrated their marriages’ renewal; a special
kind of renewal in their own rights.
Convinced
that he had a faithful wife, Kamau opened a new page in his life as he
swore to forever trust and believe his wife. Wambui was happy. She knew
that she won’t be under siege anymore as the husband now trusts her. She
also knew that she would continue enjoying her secret lover, unabated.
The
secret lover was all smiles. First he had escaped death and shame.
Secondly, their secret was not unearthed. Thirdly Munyotu knew that he
was in for the plucking for a long time.
Wit
can take a person to unimaginable extents. It’s a diffused reflection
of peoples IQs. You don’t have to be born bright to discover witty ways
of having your way. When you use it appropriately, as Wambui did, it
reverses situations to the unexpected; it transforms a lie into a
hypothetical truth. It creates boundless opportunities as it works the
seemingly unworkable.
For
the husband, as an adage goes, his stupidity was not a crime but, it
somewhat called for a punishment, a background chastisement in the
sharing of the perceived sole eaten
hairy pie with an ever hungry window sneaking beast
People queue outside a Desigual fashion store in central London for the ‘Arrive Half-Naked, Leave Fully Dressed’ offer on June 16, 2011. About two centuries ago, underwear was a luxury item only worn by the
