Stupid Sam

This is nothing new, I tell you.

I see him, every Sunday morning.

He does this for five, six minutes – comes out bare-chested, donning this same black boxer shorts...meticulously lines up all seven of his schoolteacher-wife Francisca’s multi-colored honeypot-covers while whistling some vaguely-familiar Gospel tune...and then struts back into his downstairs apartment, B9, like nothing has happened.

I see this, and I wonder – someplace inside my usually befogged head because I can’t do it out loud like some mad man – about his sanity. And his utter lack of male-pride.

As far as my tribesmen, the understandably-populous and undeniably-industrious Agĩkũyũ of Central Kenya are concerned, a married man who wilfully handles his wife’s undies, wet or otherwise, in such a public manner is as irresponsible as he is irreverent; a sordid fool who not only invites a curse upon himself and his future descendants, but also openly disgraces his forefathers long-departed. Forever.

Celebrated or not, this shameless Subukia-bred and Harvard-educated man, Professor Sam Mwai, is a screw-up...a total letdown.

A  half-man fully deserving the freshly-kindled wrath – the cruel punishment – that, indubitably, awaits any and all dark, corrupted souls once they cross safely beyond this here realm for that dreaded face-to-face encounter with Mwene Nyaga, our all-seeing, all-knowing awesome Creator.

By Ben Murigo