Pudd’ng wants to start cycling to school

I did not want any of my friends to know about my musical bug. They would have laughed at me. Boys did tough stuff, like hunting with slingshots and swimming in abandoned quarries. ILLUSTRATION| JOSEPH BARAZA

What you need to know:

  • Each morning, 30 minutes-or-so after they have left, I call Tenderoni to check on them. “Today, I’m sure she’ll be in a stupendous mood,” I laughed.

  • “I like playing with you!” I mimicked; seeing, in my mind’s eye, mom dishing her daughter a dressing down.

  • Until I saw Barney on Pudd’ng’s top bunker.

Itchy feet. Plus, the itch to be seen. That’s what got our Pudd’ng. When we bought her a bicycle last year, several times she asked whether she could go with it to school. 

I said no, but this did not stop her from asking again. When we do our budget, we put a month’s-worth of (school) bus fare, in coins of tens and twenties, in Pudd’ng’s piggybank. That’s to beat some matatu touts who are wont to overcharge by 10 bob when they see a note.

To convince me to allow her to go with her bike to school, the small cyclist has come up with an austerity measure that can put the Executive’s kneejerk cost-cutting plans to shame...

“If I cycle to school, we can save the bus fare.” 

Little girl, big words

When our daughter stumbles on a hard word, she must ask for its meaning. My phone’s a saviour. It has a dictionary which comes in handy when I know the word’s meaning and can use it in a sentence, but can’t define it.

“What does stupendous mean?” she asked me, after hearing it being repeated nth times.

“Let’s see…”

A trophy moment

In my formative years, I was the conductor of our Sunday school choir. Our Church of Christ in Africa held annual choral competitions at its headquarters in Kisumu. These galas pitted tens of choirs from various pastorates strewn across the country.

The competition was divided into three categories: Sunday school, youth and senior choirs.

One year, under the tutelage of my late elder sister, Beth, I won the Overall Best Conductor trophy. I beat even the more experienced youth and senior conductors. I was living a “double life” though. I did not want any of my boys in school to know about my musical bug. I knew they would laugh me out of the posse. Boys did tough stuff. Like hunting with slingshots and swimming in abandoned quarries.

The trophy was locked in a mabati chest in my parent’s bedroom, but one day I pinched it, took it to school and asked a pal to organise a football competition, putting my cup on the line. 

I knew my folks would lose their religion if they found out about my sin, but I wanted to belong to the boys’ club. The trophy was my door-opener.   

The dear-caught-in-the-headlights moment

One of my duties is picking Pudd’ng from school. For both of us, the return trip is always replete with lessons. The latest is, “Pilfered cats will, no matter how you tighten the mouth, claw their way out of the bag”.

Lately Pudd’ng has become forgetful. Tenderoni thinks it’s too much playing. That’s why I have a new routine: “Do we check or are you sure everything’s in the bag?” I’ll ask, before we walk out of the school gate.

This afternoon, I found her playing with her friends, while huddling over a doodad, which, apparently, had taken their attention captive. As she ran to fetch the jacket she had forgotten in the classroom, the cat dropped from her bag.

That was Pudd’ng’s deer-caught-in-the-headlights moment. She stood there. Awkward. Staring at the long-haired Barbie on the ground. Her friends joined in the stare-fest. I knew it was not okay to dress her down right before her pals, who, at that moment, thought she was the coolest chick.

“Look who we’ve got here,” I said as I picked up Barbie and put her inside baby girl’s bag.

On our way home …

“Never carry anything to school without our permission,” I told Pudd’ng, whose recoiled demeanour told me she was waiting for “it”.

A stupendous moment

Tenderoni bought Pudd’ng a Barney teddy. Pudd’ng’s been having a ball with it. When pressed on the torso, it howls, “Hallo again to all my friends”. Then the monologue starts...

“I like playing with you.”

“You’re stupendous.”

This morning, after Tenderoni and Pudd’ng left for school, I noticed that Barney was not at its usual place; at the head of Pudd’ng’s bed. A little bird told me where it was. Tee-hee. I could see matatu passengers pressing Pudd’ng’s bag and waking up Barney, “Hallo again to all my friends”. I could see Tenderoni losing her darn weave. 

Each morning, 30 minutes-or-so after they have left, I call Tenderoni to check on them. “Today, I’m sure she’ll be in a stupendous mood,” I laughed.

“I like playing with you!” I mimicked; seeing, in my mind’s eye, mom dishing her daughter a dressing down.

Until I saw Barney on Pudd’ng’s top bunker.

 

Saviour: When Pudd’ng stumbles on a difficult word, she must ask for its meaning. My phone comes in handy when I am unable to define a word.