JIJI NDOGO: When the silent treatment backfires

She claims that I snore at night purposely to annoy her.

“Sophie,” I plead, “it’s a medical condition, not a gimmick to rile you.”

“So is farting,” she counters. “But when I eat beans, you don’t see me bombing the sheets all night, do you?”

I’m beginning to concede that men are biologically wired to lose to women in every single argument. It doesn’t matter who is in the wrong. As long as opposite sexes go at it, the man ends up feeling like a total buffoon.

And the fights don’t necessarily have to be verbal. Women are experts at cold war. Sophia knows I’m not fond of ugali. Whenever she is mad at me, she makes the damn meal five days in a row. And because I don’t want to appear trivial or like I can’t handle it, I slog through it and say nothing. Sometimes I’ll pass by Kula Ulipe, our resident hotel, and chow down a boring fatty meal just so I can nibble on the ugali and hit the bed.

The opposite also happens. Since I never win any arguments, there is never a chance for Sophia to apologise for anything. To make up for this loophole, she makes the most delectable chapatis. Since I know that’s how she shows contrition, I pretend not to be too impressed, although I would be dying to jump in and bury my face in the chapos.

“Sasa utakula ama siku hizi hupendi chapo?” she’d ask.

Translated, that means: “I know I was wrong for accusing you of spending too much on groceries the other day. It’s not that I don’t know the price of one nyanya is upwards of Sh20. Truth is, I was madder over how long you lingered at the kibanda.

“You obviously know everyone has noticed how low the necklines of Mama Mboga’s blouses have become lately. It’s like she’s now selling avocadoes with a side of ample cleavage. And the way she ogles you, my handsome husband, any wife would be insanely jealous.

“Anyway, I’m truly sorry for my needless outburst. I trust you with my life and I know you would never cheat on me. In fact, I know you’d rather chop off your makagare rather than offer them to another woman. Do you forgive me?”

Or something like that.

Lately, it’s gotten worse. Every other word is a pointed jab, and it’s worse that we have no choice but to work together. The other day, we had gone to calm a domestic dispute (the man was wrong, obviously) when I noticed her looking into an animal pen filled with goats, sheep and pigs.

“Relatives of yours?” I said.

“Yes.” She nodded. “My in-laws.”

That made things worse. Today, I had to wake up very early for a medical appointment in Kericho. Since we weren’t talking, I wrote a note and left it on the table: Please wake me up at 5am for my hospital visit.

When I woke up, it was already seven in the morning. She was in the shower. I was about to confront her for not waking me up when I saw another note next to me on the bed. “Wake up,” it said. “It’s 5am.”