If Jesus was born in Manzese, there would be no Christmas

CHRISTMAS is over, now most of us are waiting eagerly for the New Year so that we can have new chaos.

For me, the day passed quietly like any other day, and this is because after I returned home after a self-inflicted exile, my whole family led by my wife decided to treat me like the fellow who betrayed Jesus.

My wife can now look at me without seeing me, while my children, apart from the domestic thug, have decided to communicate with me through short messages.

Just the other day I was sitting in the living room watching a comedy show on TV, when suddenly my phone beeped to indicate that there was a new message.

I picked the phone to see who had texted me, and I saw a message from my last born daughter, the Baby Boom, reading “please change the channel to Telenovela, we want to watch our series.”

There is nothing wrong with such a message, apart from the fact that Baby Boom was seated right across from me, where I could have heard her even if she decided to whisper.

I went to the reply setting and typed “I will not change the channel, if you want to watch your series you can buy your own TV” and pressed send.

I watched as her face changed when she read the message, and she looked at her mother who was sitting next to her, and I chuckled as I saw her showing the message.

My domestic thug on the other hand is still confused and he doesn’t know whether to side with his mother and sisters or side with a fellow man who happens to be his father.

A few hours after the cold war started I bumped into him along the corridor and he looked at me as if I was a cop who was about to arrest him, before his fogy brain alerted him that I was his father. He placed his left hand on my shoulder the way a priest does on a sinner who has just shocked him with his confession, and told me “Be strong” before he walked out.

Anyway, I thank God that with all the cold vibes going through my humble abode in Manzese, we managed to see Christmas off.

That is why the other day I was seating outside swallowing a very cold frothy liquid from Ilala, when as usual my mind imagined what would have happened if Jesus Christ was born in Manzese instead of Bethlehem.

Definitely Joseph, the father of Jesus, would be a resident of Manzese, where he has his carpentry shop, and probably Mary, his betrothed, would be living not far from where he stays.

I imagined Joseph, after saving enough money from selling school desks to the government, goes to Mary’s place and face her father, and duly informs him that he is planning to marry his daughter, because they are madly in love.

“If you allow me in one week’s time I will come with my ‘washenga’ to complete the process, and I am sure my lead mshenga, Baba Boyi, will not disappoint you,” says Joseph to the soon to be father in law.

After exactly one week, I imagined the determined carpenter heading to Mary’s home with several Manzese elders led by yours truly, and he is uncomfortable because he is not sure whether the dowry price money was going to be enough.

With the economic situation at a critical state, the ‘wakwe’ accept the gifts, and a wedding date is set, and we all head back home, but not before we decide to pass at Zebedayo’s Pub located on Bethlehem/Manzese Boulevard to irrigate our very dry throats (you see, the father of Mary needed a lot of convincing, which took a toll on our poor throats!).

But as we wait for the wedding date, I imagined mama Boyi, wearing flowing robes and carrying olive oil in a skin bottle entering the house in a huff, and tells me that the wedding is off.

“Baba Boyi, wonders will never cease….can you imagine I just bumped into Joseph on 3rd Nazareth Street delivering furniture at the local school, and when he saw me he begged me to spare him a few minutes, guess what he told me….imagine Mary is pregnant!” she announces.

I scratch my bald head and try to imagine why Joseph could not wait until the wedding was over before he decided to become cozy with Mary, but mama Boyi answeres my query.

She tells me that Joseph swore upon his mother’s skirt that he has never touched Mary…….even with a yard stick, she said, and he was still trying to figure out who the responsible wise guy was.

I told mama Boyi to bring my robe so that I can go see Joseph, and if possible talk to Mary too to find out what went wrong. But as I approached his hut, I saw him coming towards me.

He had a strange look on his face, and when I stopped him, it was as if he was seeing me for the first time. I ask him about Mary, and he lifts his eyes towards heaven and mutters some ineligible words to the effect that his great grandfather Bartholomew must be shaking in his tomb.

Finally, he tells me that he was planning to go to Mary’s place and demand for his money because the deal was off. I tried talking to him and find out what had happened, but he left in a hurry, heading back to his hut, whistling one of Moses’s favorite tunes.

Anyway, as the pregnancy develops, the waswahili women continued to have a good time whenever they saw Mary or Joseph, and khangas were printed to that effect.

One kanga on the waist of a stooped woman read ‘akili za kuambiwa changanya na za kwako’ while another khanga on the waist of the local tent maker’s wife screamed ‘man smart but a woman smarter.’

My mind which was getting hot from engaging the overdrive gear made sure that I came across Mary as she went to the market, and she comes across four women who are notorious for being professional wambeya in the estate.

“Shosti congratulation, you are one clever woman, yani you managed to fool that fellow and he swallowed the story that your pregnancy was from the Holy Spirit! Kweli wewe kiboko, we should find some time so that you can show us how you did it!” one of them told Mary.

At the local joints, I could imagine people speaking about Joseph, and how he was taken for a ride by a woman.

“Na ujanja wote ule he fell for that story…I told you, staying around wood most of the time makes your brain to start behaving like a wooden stool, but as they say, love is blind, lakini ni ulofa kweli kweli!!” said a youth who rents donkeys to traders.

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