He lit a cigarette with a matchstick like an antagonist. “I don’t know what to do with my mother-in-law.” He sighed and blew a stream of smoke at the same time.
We were at the Wine Shop in Loresho, Nairobi because it was a halfway point to meet and he wanted to talk and drink his wine.
The issue with the mother-in-law, he explained, was that “she is intrusive and she wants to control everything in my house. Everything!” He moaned.
He wanted my wise counsel. (I know.) I sipped my whisky and creased my brows with Solomonic wisdom. Then.
“Get another wife,” I told him. “A new wife comes with a new mother-in-law. Problem solved. ”His shoulders shook with laughter. “Yes,” I said. “I believe in throwing the baby out with the bathwater.”
Befitting to the moment he was drinking something called Flagstone Truth Tree, a Pinotage that was sold elegantly to him by a charming waiter called Kim.
Oh, what a joy to be served by someone who knows and enjoys his job. Kim - a young gung-ho fella - not only knew his wines extensively, but he also enjoyed talking about them.
And I enjoyed talking to him, because of his enthusiasm but also because he didn’t have mother-in-law problems.
I learnt that Pinotage, exclusive to only South Africa, was the hardest grape to grow. That he rode a small TVS motorbike to work.
That he only carried his girlfriend at the back over the weekends. Her hanging onto him tightly, her right hand grabbing his heart.
I also learnt that in some cultures it is okay for your mother-in-law to spend the night, or even live, under the same roof as you. [Gulp] Where I come from, it’s an abomination. Unheard of. Sacrilegious.
“Anyway,” I told him, “This is not a mother-in-law problem, this is a wife problem. She should have a word with her mom because you can’t; respect and protocol.”
“How amazing to be young and ride your small motorbike,” he said mournfully, “no existential problems to deal with.”
