Fingers crossed

My mum’s favorite dress is designed and tailored by her. She enjoys designing and tailoring dresses just as much as Nancy Bauer enjoys brandishing a pistol. She believes no other person out there can design a dress better than she does. I believe if she had been resolute she might have turned out to be an accomplished fashion designer. Don’t panic, this post is not about my mom’s dressmaking talent.

So the other day momma decides tailoring dresses is not fun enough and decides she wants a laptop. I was ok with that as long as I was not the benefactor. So she gives me the money and I get her a laptop. I teach her how to switch it on and off, how to open a window and what not. She learns fast. Soon her typing improves to three words a minute. It does not take long before she realizes that a laptop is even more fun if there’s internet connection!

I visited my folks early last week and as my dad and I were discussing the weather, my mum interrupts and says she would like to start browsing the internet! I was not in the least bit amused. Why you ask?

99% percent of internet users have a facebook account (ok I might have made up that up but I’m sure I’m close), and I have heard horrifying tales of people who have logged into facebook only to be greeted by friend requests from their mums! I mean at fifty something years old you don’t just decide, over a cup of tea, that you want to start browsing.

It even gets worse for me: You see the only thing that’s worse than seeing a friend request from your mum is seeing a comment on your blog from your mum! Trust me, it would not read “LMFAO”.

You see, my parents are staunch believers. They have been since the Last Supper. And me? Well I’m just a believer. I know a few memory verses here and there and I say a prayer quite often but that’s basically it. You wouldn’t catch me speaking in tongues in a kesha, even on new year’s eve; or among brethren discussing scripture on a loose Friday evening. Ok don’t get me wrong, I’m not that evil but my holiest moment would not match my folks’ weakest moment.

When I’m with my folks I do not talk about the ‘plot’ that went down over the holidays, unless it regards the Syokimau land saga. You are more likely to catch me humming to Rose Muhando’s ‘Nibebe’ rather than Madtraxx’s ‘Ita waiter’ when having dinner with my folks. I never miss church because of a hangover when I visit my parents. I even wonder how these two people fell in love. In fact I will digress and tell you how I think it all came to be.

It was in the late 70s and the Sunday service was in progress (you do not suppose they met on the dance floor of a night club, do you?). My dad had just completed college and times were tough. He was praying for a job. Then as soon as he opened his eyes, Lo and Behold! God had literally dropped him an angel. Not the kind that would get him a job but… you know. On the pew in front of him stood the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid his eyes on. He bit his lip, looked up to the heavens with a huge grin on his face and signaled a thumbs-up. He was distracted for the rest of the service and as the other believers were saying The Grace, he repented.

After service was over, as people were walking out, my dad rubbed his palms against each other thinking it’s now or never. You know how a dude walks up to a girl with a corny pick-up line? My dad walked up to my mum and testified. He walked up to her and was like “Praise the Almighty. You will not believe how great He has been in my life…” After charming her with a touching testimony, he offered to buy her lunch. There’s no way my mum would have turned him down, I’m sure daddy had some swag going. I’ve seen his photos. That Sunday, he was probably in some trendy bell-bottom pants and an afro that simply spelled ‘awesome’.

I can imagine during lunch my dad wanted to tell her how pretty she was, but all my mum wanted to discuss was scripture. My dad did not falter. Naaah. He kept his cool and brought up Songs of Solomon.  My cheekiness must have come from somewhere, so I suppose daddy must have tried to throw in a naughty joke. But my mum remained stern. She gave him a look that said “Say such a thing again and I’ll smack that afro off your head.” Mummy does not seem like the kind that blushed on hearing cheap lines.

And as they were parting that Sunday, I imagine my dad went for a hug but my mum stopped him on his tracks. With a raised finger (index finger people), she told him it is only the man that marries her that will get to do such things to her. And my dad must have shouted “challenge accepted!” You think Barney Stinson came up with that line? Ask my dad.

My mum is a Kao from Kitui while my dad is a Kyuk from Nyeri. So I figure they met once in a blue moon. But they would keep in touch by writing each other letters. I’m sure when my dad wasn’t testifying he would jot down some serious lines that dazzled my mom. He probably didn’t have perfume to spray in the envelope so he dropped in some Nyeri tea leaves for that fresh aroma.

My dad’s game was tight. After a few testimonies my mom was head over heels into him. The rest, as they say, is history. Yap, who’s ya daddy!

Anyway what I’m trying to say is that my extremely born again mum would fall into clinical depression if she stumbled upon this blog. She would be devastated if she got to know what goes on in the mind of her last born. I doubt she would see the humor that some of you see. She would think I am sick in the head. I’m sure according to her if I have to write, I should be expounding on the Ten Commandments. If she came across this blog she would go up Ngong Hills and fast for forty days and nights. And if I do not change, if I do not start writing about ‘The sermon on the mountain’, she will gather three or four strong disciples and they would come for me and take me to a psychiatrist as I kick and scream.

I love my mom to death. But people, if one Monday morning you open this site and see ‘page cannot be displayed’, just know that she caught up with me. Just know that I’m locked up in some institution with a shrink. I would appreciate if one of you would then stand up for me and say “huyo hakuwa chizi,”(bonoko style). In the meantime, I will try to convince her that research has proven that internet makes people age. I hope that scares her. Or does any of you have a better idea?

Toes crossed too.