SHE can go! Amake Pachikani, my wife who has managed to live with me longer than any of the many other wives I have had, can go to the United State of America.
With her Pastor, they can go! I don’t give a damn any more because this might after all be the beginning of the end of this marriage.
A wife must listen to her husband. If the husband is uncomfortable that she is going to make a long journey with a pastor, she must take his concerns into account and stay home.
That is “for better for worse”. Sacrifice the damn journey into the USA and please your husband.
So fine, go Mrs Njombwinjo and acquire the skills in entrepreneurship.
Who cares? You might as well acquire new, polished skills in fornication and/or adultery with that ka pastor of yours! Or even with strangers (white, black, Hispanic, Chinese or whatever) I no longer give a damn. Run around as you do all day these days, chasing after that visa so that you jump on the plane with the ka pastor, your minds already made up how many times you will forget you are married to your trusted and ever-loving Mix Njombwinjo and disappear from the rest of the team and …and… misbehave! You can stay for as long as you like in America. It’s okay.
I will be alone, you know. And I will be fine. You think I will die just because you are in America doing whatever you will be doing? Go.
One of these days, the truth will come out and if that bastard you call your pastor as good as shakes your hand unnecessarily long, I will shake all his teeth out of their gums when you come back. Warn him. If he as good as looks at you lustfully, keeping his eyes hungrily open and ogling at you while your host, the local Bishop is praying, I will push sewing needles into his eyes and squeeze some of his most delicate body parts he will have little or no choice at all but to scream for mercy.
He will never ever look hungrily at other men’s wives; he will never again take anyone to America without the consent of their husbands, under the pretext that he wants them to gain skills. Who told him to decide for me that my wife requires new skills? If I wanted a wife with entrepreneurial skills, I would have married one with entrepreneurial skills. The qualifications she had when I married her are still the qualifications I want in a wife: Home-based, quiet,
obedient and loving, not one who is all over the shore with her pastor. So, get lost and go! We will see you when you come back.
And you, my wife, I am done with all this quarrelling about you going or not going. Did your pastor have to come with such a large and foolish entourage to convince me to let you go with him? All his elders and deacons and… who was that little bastard? A youth pastor!
Bring along a 21-year-old little bastard to convince me to release my wife to a lecherous pastor to take with him on a sojourn to America on some nondescript mission?
What does that little beast of a youth pastor know about love, marriage and possessiveness to be involved in a matter like this? I am being abusive, you say? Of course I am upset so I can use any words that cross my angry mind. You are all bastards so tuck your tails between your legs, get out of my sight and get lost on your way to America. I will never talk about any of you crocodiles again. Out!!!!
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Now, if by the time my wife returns from the USA I am so mad, such a finished lunatic, a veritable imbecile of no use even to good, worthwhile institutions like Chainama College of Health Sciences or whatever it is called, it will have more to do with the fact that Pachikani and Mpachikeni, the best known twins this side of the world will be home alone with me.
It’s cruel to take away somebody’s wife and leave him alone instead with a set of veritable rascals, incorrigible idiots you can sett them on fire and they will still be misbehaving to the last piece that gets charred. If these people from my wife’s church are real Christians, they would have known that it is cruel and very unfair to take away a woman like Amake Pachikani, who somehow has a way of dealing with her twins, at a time like this. This trip would have been less tortuous if it had occurred when the rascals were still at school not during holidays.
They have given me blisters on the tongue already, talking, shouting or screaming them out of one type of misconduct or another. I often wonder how on earth a quiet and wonderful woman like my wife can bring forth from her womb such a pair of poisonous substances or objects they pollute every space they occupy! I wonder how they even ever manage to get other children to accept to play with them because they are so boisterous, pompous, cantankerous and bombastic in style. It’s fireworks wherever they are! They must boss others around and those averse to being bossed around are taught a lesson in how to get beaten up for disobeying Njombwinjoic orders.
You can get away with it when they fight among themselves for supremacy but if you mess up with one of them, they become one hell of a tug team they set on you in a vicious, nonstop two-pronged attack until you are crying for mercy, running away towards your parents’ home or you are so subdued there is nothing left to beat!
It’s complaint after complaint on a daily basis from exasperated parents, walking in and out of our yard to tell us how Pachikani (Crucify) and Mpachikeni (Crucify Him) have crucified an innocent boy with punches in the abdomen and the ribs. His offence? He refused to knock at the gate of the Professor of Meat Technology from West Africa to try and retrieve the ball which they kicked into that ‘scared’
yard!  The innocent children will refuse to knock at the Professor’s gate because by now they all know about his fiery temper at any manner of disturbance he will do anything to you starting with a
tongue-lashing full of unpalatables and, if you are unlucky, he will even unchain his two vicious dogs you have to scamper down the street like thieves for dear life when all you wanted was to pick the ball from inside his yard!
It’s cruel to have to live with guys who will  ALWAYS exchange blows for simple reasons like one wanting to watch Cartoon Network channel on television while the other wanted to watch Nickelodeon channel.
Whichever the channel, they both like what is on offer but choose to never ever agree. And I must prepare food for a set of twins who always change their preference. You ask what they want to eat at dinner, they tell you T bone or Chicken and Chips but come dinner they have long since changed their minds and now want offals (tripe) or pork trotters and nsima Bastards! I could wring their necks and cook their offals for Mrs Vainesi Mtolilo’s dogs!
Anyway boys, it’s not your fault that I must suffer like this. It’s your mother and the pastor. They are going to enjoy in America while I suffer alone here. Maybe I should ask Deograta Kamugode, who is on vacation leave at the International Institution to come and stay with us for the duration of my wife’s absence. She is such a demon in person she can possibly deal with these little imbeciles.
But … wait a minute! Deograta in my house? With all the talk of adult females defiling boys… you can never trust Deo. She has a peculiar problem: An insatiable appetite for sex! Remember she has stated herself that she is so obsessed with sex and sex with different partners on a DAILY basis these rascals might be taught a few wrong lessons here! No. Let me suffer alone. Two shots of whiskey and Deo can lock up one of the twins and from there on they will never be the same. These clowns are already bad enough as they are without adding new dimensions of incredulous misbehaviour to their already long list.
While I might not have the courage to take Deo to the Police for nesting naked with my underage twins – she has been a great friend all
the years I worked at the International Institution – the parents of the girls my twins might start feasting on after sex tutorials from sex maniac Deograta Kamugode might not be amused and that would lead my boys straight to Katombora Reformatory.
No. Let me suffer alone with my twins. It’s ok.
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