In Summary
  • My food budget has surged. I am buying a new pack of maize flour every day. I cannot keep up.
  • He won’t even let me touch the TV remote. He says I should let him watch whatever he wants as I usually have the TV to myself all year while this is the only opportunity he has to watch.

I have a bunch of lamentations today. My visiting relative is colonising me in my own house.

I know you are like “Come on Phil, how are you allowing that to happen? It’s your house.’’

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I am no weakling. I’ve been going to the gym regularly over the past few months and I think I’ve begun developing abs and muscles like those of a WWE wrestler. The key word here is ‘think’.

However, this relative of mine is huge and intimidating. I wouldn’t confront him even if I wanted to.

His hardened eyes always twinkle with a sharp gleam. They give a stare that has the effect of a six-battery torch’s light right into your face. His voice sounds like Chidi Benz and rolling drums.

When he speaks, he clenches his fists like he’s about to give you a technical knockout. His skin has huge veins popping out; you’d mistake them for the roots of a baobab tree. I literally stand no chance against him.

So now you understand why I am struggling to break free from this colonialism, right?


Before he pitched tent at my place, I had heard rumours of how he uses not less than 10 cups of water to prepare his ugali. I rubbished these rumours as mere exaggerations by village rumour mongers. Now I have seen it for myself. My food budget has surged. I am buying a new pack of maize flour every day. I cannot keep up. 

I even heard that he asked the family next door whether they had any chicken pieces to spare when the aroma wafted out from their house. Come on now. Who does that? 

I thought he was a cool guy, you know. I hadn’t interacted with him that much. I had only brief jibber-jabbers with him during family gatherings and he seemed like a decent person.

So when he said he was in town for a job interview and would like a place to crash, I said it was alright. I knew he’d be in and out quickly like a pressed Kenyan stepping into a choo ya kanjo.

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