I know what you’re thinking. “So what if you married a stranger. Don’t we all?” Sure, we all do, otherwise we’d all marry our cousins like royal families do to preserve royal blood. Either that, or they’re just weirdoes who are into unabashed incest. But before we decide to spend “Till death do us part” together, we at least try to be honest with each other so we can make informed decisions.
Of course, some white lies usually slip through the cracks. Like I dare you to show me a man who’s honest about his body count (women he’s slept with) and I’ll show you a bachelor for life. Those with a high count will tamper it down to not seem like the gigolos they are, and those with a low count lie in a misplaced attempt to appear manly.
And as we all know, every woman who gets into a new relationship, no matter how old she is, has had only one man before her new man. A woman will have three kids by three different baby daddies and still look you in the eye and say she’s shagged only one man before you.
But what if the body count has nothing to do with “Bed Olympics” and everything to do with shovels and shallow graves? You would feel cheated, wouldn’t you?
In my case, it’s not quite that bad. Or so I desperately hope. It’s come to a point where I can’t tell my nose from the door knob. I’d have sworn my wife Sgt Sophia is an open book. I’d have gone to the ends of the earth to defend her honour against any accusation that smears her name. Now, I’m floating in a sea of uncertainty like a Titanic survivor riding the sinking ship, cursing whoever originated “Women and children first to the lifeboats”.
According to one Detective Gundua of DCI, Sophia was in a heap of trouble before she joined me at Jiji Ndogo. As I would expect of someone who’s lied to me for going on five years, she denies the implications categorically.
“I’m your wife, Makini,” she throws in, her eyes misting. “How can you think so low of me? We share a pillow every night, for God’s sake.”
“As I do with my girlfriend,” Gundua says. “Yet, she has no idea she’s one of several.”
My mouth falls open. “You have more than one girlfriend? And you’re still alive and breathing?”
“You see?” Sophia says triumphantly. “He’s a barefaced liar and isn’t afraid to admit it.”
Gundua shakes his head. “Why would I come all the way from Nairobi to this godforsaken nowhere just to lie that the DCI is investigating you? We have better use of our scant resources.”
“Detective,” I say, deciding to fill the shoes my wife expects me to, “exactly what is it you’re accusing my colleague of doing?”
Sophia shoots me a look, her eyes popping out like over-inflated balloons. “Is that so?”
Clueless, I say, “Is what so?”
“Suddenly I’m merely your ‘colleague’? Now that I’m being accused of some made-up wrongs, I cease to be your wife?”
I put a reassuring arm over her shoulders. “Honey, I don’t care what you did in the past. You’re my wife, I love you, and I’ll always be on your side no matter what.”
Gundua consults his notes. “In that case, we have reason to believe Sgt Sophia is on the run after killing a family of four around five years ago.”
I pull back my arm. “Say what?”
So, dear reader, do you still think your girlfriend’s body count means diddly squat?
