• Mwendaa was wrong when he warned that loyalties would be tested. Go figure
Taking advice from the village madman is probably not the best thing in the world, but when Mwendaa told me my fiancée was moving back in with me to test my loyalty against the Fifa World Cup, I believed him.
And to that end, I was prepared to be on my best behaviour. Messi, Ronaldo, Aboubakar and all the others can wait. They’ll still be there once I’ve cemented this marriage thing. Well, maybe not the first two, but still...
“Don’t you like football?” Sophie had asked when she realised I was skipping the opening ceremony.
“Only as much as the next guy,” I said. “But your company is way better than watching a group of grown men chase a piece of inflated dead cow.”
“Men who get paid millions of shillings to chase a piece of inflated dead cow, you mean?”
It’s a trap, Mwendaa had said, and Sophia was pushing me right into it.
I kissed her on cheek. “No millions are worth the precious time we spend together. That’s priceless.”
Then she had done probably the best thing she will ever do (not counting having sex with me, of course), and turned on the small 14-inch television.
“We could watch it together,” she had said.
“You like football?”
“Only as much as the next girl.”
And thus started the best World Cup opening ceremony ever. By the time we hit the sack, I was as happy as a dog in a smokie factory.
Things took a drastic turn on Game Day Two.
That Monday, Sophia was busy in our kitchen corner, cutting up tomatoes and onions, which she poured into a large dish almost filled to the brim with avocado.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I thought we might have some snacks to go with the game today.”
Could things get any better?
I was in the process of offering her an appreciative hug when I noticed a large shopping bag stashed in the corner. It had not been there before.
I picked it up. It was heavy. “What’s this?”
“I told you. Snacks for the game.”
Inside the bag were more than 20 bags of premium potato crisps, a similar number of tea biscuits, chevda, peanuts and more.
“There’s enough here to feed a small army,” I said.
“Well, the World Cup lasts a month, doesn’t it?”
It makes sense, right? I mean, the woman is not only the most beautiful of all God’s creatures, she’s also the most considerate. Mwendaa was wrong, and Lord am I glad he was.
Sophia had not asked to move from her father's and in with me to test me; she wished to ascertain that I enjoyed the game! Moreover, she had swapped my small telly for her father’s much larger 32-inch screen. We were practically inside Khalifa stadium.
The dog in the smokie factory had nothing on me as I sat to watch the England versus Iran game. Just before kick-off, a knock came on the door.
“Who the hell could that be?” I said irritably as I got the door.
A throng of overly enthusiastic people almost ripped it off its hinges as they poured into my small room. As they occupied every available space, they went by Sophia and each one handed her money in various denominations.
“Sophia,” I said, “what’s going on?”
“I hope you don’t mind, my love. I invited a few people to watch the game with us.”
“A few people? The entire Jiji Ndogo is here! And what’s with the money?”
“Nothing, really. Just a little friendly betting.”
Oh, Mwendaa. How wrong you were. How so wrong.