JIJI NDOGO: Why I never win an argument with wife

The same woman occasionally visits Kericho town, where another woman, probably a sadist by all means, pours hot wax on my wife’s nether regions and then yanks out the hair by the roots. Yet, Sophia is deathly afraid of spiders.

This wife of mine also knows I, too, legally own a lethal weapon, and will still lie to my face. Last week, she suggested that we should go to the coast to work on our flailing relationship.

She even goes a step further to suggest the exact date we should do this, which is in about a month’s time. I’m all excited until I see an official memo from the higher-ups announcing a police retraining seminar in Mombasa. Guess when that is happening? You’re right. In a month’s time!

“Is what you meant by us taking a holiday to work on our marriage?” I ask, waving the memo in her face.

“What’s that?” She takes the sheet and scans through it. From the look on her face, she might be reading a brand-new release from John Kiriamiti. “I hadn’t seen this. When did it come?”

“When did… What do you mean when did it come? Your signature is on it, meaning you received it.”

She shrugs.

“You know how it is with paperwork. I probably didn’t even read it.” She beams. “Quite an auspicious coincidence, isn’t it? Now the state gets to recompense for our holiday.”

Auspicious recompense, my backside! She likes using big words, especially when she’s trying to put one over me. Or when she’s mad at me and can’t explain exactly why.

She knows I’m too proud to ask for the meaning of a term in the moment, and I’d have to rely on Google later. By then, it’s too late for any reasonable comeback.

“Forget about not telling me about it now,” I push on. “What would you have said come the day we have to leave? When I would know we’re going for a conference?”

Her eyes narrow to slits. I’m about to be accused of something.

“Have you thought that maybe that’s my way of saying I’m willing to work on our marriage? It doesn’t matter if we do it at a conference or at a hajji to Mecca. I don’t know about you, but when I am willing to solve an issue, I’d do anywhere. I would learn how to ride a unicycle at the top of Mt Everest if that’s what it took.”

Like I said, I don’t think I’ll ever understand women. Even before launching this latest argument with her, I knew she would win, like she always does.

I remember one day we were arguing about who should make coffee in the morning.

“You should do it,” she said. “You always get up before me.”

“Nope,” I hit back. “I’m the husband and you’re the wife. It’s your job to cook and so you should make the coffee.”

She shook her head.

“Not coffee. It’s even in the bible.”

She must be lying. Nowhere in the good book does the word “coffee” appear. At least I didn’t think so.

“You want to bet?” she asked. “If I’m right, you make coffee from now on.”

“Deal,” I said.

She opens the bible, flips to the New Testament and points to the top of the page. Sure enough, there it was — HEBREWS.

And that’s how I ended up making breakfast every morning.