THE rest have flown out to the United States (US). That church gang, I mean! My wife, adamant that I needed my peace of mind, which she would rob me of if she had travelled, has stayed behind.
I must confess that for all that bawling and shouting I did as to why she must not travel, unless I was made part of the travelling party, I now feel totally embarrassed, uncomfortable, if not downright foolish.
Not that the foolish feel is any stranger to my life.
I lead a virtually confirmed foolish life. You don’t need any explanation, do you?
You know it as you know the palm of your hand that Mix Njombwinjo is a fool! But I am not drunk so you understand why I feel bad about being foolish.
Amake Pachikani says it is a closed chapter and that we must move on; that it was not God’s will for her to go to America this time around; that life is much more than going to spend some days in America; that marital happiness surpasses everything else; and so that botched American trip is one of those things which do happen and must duly be forgotten.
She tries to smile but I can see through the attempt: she is definitely very unhappy but as has always been the case, she is a woman of substance, one that is determined to keep her marriage.
That’s all. She is not at all pleased.
She has talked that much less to me since the plane with the church gang took off for America via Europe.  The last few days haven’t been her loudest. Not that she is loud. No.
But she is my beautiful wife who within the confines of our house, especially the bedroom, can be very loudly cheerful and playful at times.
She has danced for me in her birthday suit, the kind of dance I never imagined she was capable of, but she assured me afterwards it was especially for me, to show she still appreciated me for all my foibles.
I was her Mr Right forever even when I turned the wrong direction, mostly left, close to the Devil!
So the long moments of silence are stinging me all right.
“Why are you so quiet?” I ask.
“You want me talking when there is nothing to talk about?” she retorts, irritation clear in her voice.
“You want me to start making up stories or insulting kutia Mix Njombwinjo amvweko lizulangu (just so
that Mr Mix Njombwinjo hears my voice)?”
I am a bit desperate so I laugh unnecessarily loud at what is obviously not funny. When she doesn’t laugh, I push my fingers into her left armpit and try tickling her.
She doesn’t laugh but instead reacts violently and shoves me off.
“Iiiimwe! Ala (Pleaaaaase…)! she screams.
“Ngatimwasobavocita nkhoyani mukamwe kamchose (If you have nothing to do, go drink kachasu)!”
This strike, sadly, has been extended to the bedroom. All my amorous suggestive moves have been met with minimal, near zero reaction.
Talk about the kiss I attempted on her lips!  It’s like kissing a thorn tree, I tell you.
She gives me her lips all right but look, you all know what a kiss is all about and what it feels like.
This is no kiss at all.
“Have you refused?” I ask awkwardly.
“Refused what?” she responds dryly.
“Refusing…  I mean… you know what I mean.”
I am getting irritated but I must not. I dare not. This is of my own making.
“Have I touched you? I mean have I stopped you from doing anything?
Have I tied you? Am I wearing a pair of overalls or I have nothing on me?”
She is in some stinking mood. That’s for sure.
“But I want you to be nice to me,” I protest.
“Look at the way you are kissing me…!”
“You are the one kissing me,” she counters.
“Am I kissing you? If there is anything wrong with the kiss, it’s the one who is kissing the other who is not doing it right. It’s you with a problem!”
“Ok, ok I get it,” I say, giving up.
“You are so angry with me for stopping you from going to the US. Although you say all is well, it’s a closed chapter, it’s obviously not ok. It’s not a closed chapter!
You have carried your anger the last few days…you’ve carried it everywhere around this house, and now even into our matrimonial
bed….”
“I told you to do what you want so what are you complaining about?”
she’s almost shouting.
“You are looking for faults in me. You are looking for a fight.  Sorry, you won’t get it from me.  Here I am,
lying on your bed without anything on me so take what you want and stop accusing me falsely.”
Look, there is nothing to take from an angry woman still nursing the huge frustration of being blocked from making a first ever trip to the US by an unduly possessive spouse. Taking anything fromher will amount to nothing.  No joy. No pleasure.
So I turn away and pull my blanket over up to my chest.
“It’s ok babe,” I say consolingly.
“Please don’t get upset. Let’s sleep. We will kiss when you are ina better mood. We can do all we want or have to do in our marriage any other time.  We have each other for life, don’t we?”  She doesn’t answer but instead faces the otherside, away from me, and also pulls the blanket over her body, up to the head.
“Please don’t be angry with me, babe,” I start.  “You know I love you…”
“WHO SAID I AM ANGRYYYYY?” it’s a virtual scream Mrs VainesiMtolilonext door must have heard it, and if she has, we are in trouble!
All Avondale will hear about the quarrel in my bedroom. I shoot up to a sitting position and take one shocked look at her.
She has turned again facing the wall and has covered her head. It’s time to surrender.  This is of my own making, isn’t it?  I re-enter the blankets and start staring into the ceiling!  It will be a long night with little sleep for sure. That’s what happens when I am sober and have upset my wife.
******
If there is any advice I detest in my life, it is the unsolicited counsel of my older sister, Mbikazi.
The woman is a flop in life and the only thing she ever does perfectly well is to unleash unbridled violence against any man that falls for those wide hips of hers and her well done behind.
She is the kind of woman many Zambian men turn to take a second look at and sometimes even sigh in admiration but besides that, she is a carton of trouble.
I mean Mbikazi, like me, has gone through divorce after divorce and in fact, while for the last fifteen or so years I have stuck to Amake Pachikani (not through my own efforts, anyway, but because I landed a perfect lamb, a lady by any standards), Mbika still kicks men out of her life with such ease and regularity I refuse to participate in receiving ‘the plates’ symbolising marriage talks whenever a new idiot shows up thinking he has found a gold mine to exploit.
She might as well just co habit with the men as they come and toss them out when she so desires without any ceremony!
So you understand why I feel incensed each time she shows up in my home to try and give me some of her unwise wisdom about how I should maintain my marriage with AmakePachikani.
“If you lose this angel of a woman, my brother, you are doomed, you are bewitched and will never ever find another like her who can tolerate your behaviour,” that is already a putrid mouthful of an introduction!
And who the hell doesn’t know that she is right, that I don’t deserve my wife. But wait a minute!  I do deserve her.
That’s why God gave her too me. If I didn’t deserve her, she would have left like the others. God knew I was such a nut I needed a patient, caring woman hence Him putting her in my house.  God is good all the time, and all the time God is good, for that is His nature!  He cares even for rotten carcasses like me otherwise He wouldn’t be God.
So this business of Mbikazi calling and saying she is coming because she has heard about the botched American trip, that I totally misconducted myself , that I should have allowed Amakem Pachikani to go etc., etc. and so she is coming to talk about that and give me advice, but uh-uh, I’m not interested.  Do you hear that, Mbikazi?  I am not so get lost Mbika!  I will walk away as soon as I see you arriving.  I
am not interested.
Am I not getting enough punishment already, which punishment has been extended right into my matrimonial bed?