The Day My Father Ate A Lizard!

This is not my story. The handwriting is however mine! And the words too! This story is also not a once-upon-a-time folklore. This story is a once! It is upon! And it is a time! In case you are wondering what that means, I also don’t know! Let’s just get on with the narrative, shall we?

I must also issue a disclaimer beforehand. The Chinese are legendary for their wild dietary disposition. You would therefore expect a Chinese to dine on the reptilian diet of a lizard. My father however is not Chinese! He may be a little brief vertically speaking; but his eyes are not anywhere near squinted. His eyes are a quarter-to-gololi. And he is dark. Make that charcoal dark. Or dark like Churchill, if you please!

Now you know the origin of my dark skin! Let’s not however get carried away with my silky-smooth, flawless model-like skin tone; this story is not about me! Or my skin! Or its color!

Now! My father has never been scared of chicken, sorry kitchen affairs. Most men his age thonk (past tense of think!) stepping into the food factory would turn them into women (Is being a woman that bad? I don’t know; but I love boobs – and it must feel erotic having them all the time, donge?) Such men dared not turn into women (that’s not venturing into the kitchen). Not my father though. He was brave (he still is)! Brave enough to never mind being turned into my mother by the kitchen! His way of clobbering her with love.

Just so you know; it is from him that my brothers and I inherited this love affair with food and kitchen. Except we don’t keep count of the meat pieces, you know! My elder brother, the first-born – is the master ugali cooker (don’t correct my cooker!). That’s his specialty. His mastery of ugali cooking is so accomplished that you can eat it, alone, unaccompanied by anything and it will still be satisfying! The second-born- is the bakery maestro. Words are never enough to describe his skill in making pancakes or the now extinct soft, multi-layered chapat (pronounce with a Luo accent). I am the third-born; but like I said, this story is not about me! Sorry! I’m not an elephant to blow my own horn. Ask Happiness if you itch to know my culinary prowess.

Once. Upon. A time! When my chest was narrow and my legs spindly (my chest is still narrow and my legs tooth-picky!!), my father was in the kitchen making lunch in our not-permanent-or-semi-permanent hut. I don’t know where my mother was, so don't ask! Back then, gas burners were alien and kerosene stoves were a preserve of teachers – the village well off. My father was not a teacher. He didn’t even know what he was. So the ubiquitous three-stone fireplace at the corner of a house was our thing. Ugali was not cooked in sufuria. Karaya (I don’t know the name in English) was the in thing!

So as usual, karaya was atop the three stones as fire blazed furiously underneath. The water inside begun to boil; he gave it time to boil well well. Then he started the gradual process of adding flour while stirring with oluthkuon (what’s the name in English?) to even the mixture.

Mud-walled and grass-thatched huts are notorious for harboring an assortment of crawling reptiles, including lizards. As the mixture begun to form paste, suddenly one horny and probably sex-starved lizard that was frantically chasing a mate along the wall, slipped. And fell. Right into the hot paste of ugali! Dry-spells are recipes for disaster – as the lizard would find out – albeit rather late! Now you know! Don’t be the cause of dry-spells in your relationship. Otherwise!

My father, being my father – and probably spurred on by the pangs of hunger rumbling in his belly – did the illogical thing. He picked the now dead and scaled reptile from the ugali paste – cursed under his breath and threw it aside while saying "dhina kucho jachien madhako"! (Well he didn’t actually say that. I made it up; it seems fitting). He then removed pieces of the lizard skin that had peeled off and as if nothing had happened, he nonchalantly finished cooking his ugali – ceremoniously served it alongside the traditional aliya and brought it to the table for munching.

At least that’s what he told me! And where were we during this lizard eating saga? Did we eat the ugali? Well, shame on you for thinking such repulsive thoughts!

𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝑻𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝑺𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕

Your fingers on are not the same. They vary in length and size. It would be impractical for you to grip things with both precision and power had they been the same. In other words, they would be extremely clumsy.

Your arms are of the same in length, yet your dominant arm (right or left) is stronger than the other. Together, they work to allow you to perform all sorts of motions and tasks. Without one of your arms, your center of gravity would change dramatically. You would be handicapped!

Now, think of your marriage as your body. Your arms represent you and your significant other. The quantity and quality of the efforts & contributions you both make towards the success of that marriage are not the same. You are both likely to contribute more in certain aspects than the other.

Because the right hand tends to be stronger than the left (for right handers), it invariably does most of the heavy lifting, while the left hand gives support. Because one of you is likely to have more financial power, by default, that partner will do most of the heavy lifting when it comes to family finances.

Intimacy is a crucial ingredient in matrimony. Without it, you would be in a sexless marriage. One of you will be strongly suited at building emotional, intellectual or sexual bond than the other. Such spouse will have to take lead in initiating the sharing of feelings, emotions and ideas or physical intimacy like hugging, holding hands and sexual intercourse.

The same goes for love and commitment, honesty and trust, communication, selflessness or gratitude as well as patience and humility. One partner is likely to have a higher level of love, commitment, selfness, gratitude, patience or humility than the other. In which case such partner is likely to give more of what they have than the other.

No one person can be gifted with every trait desirable in a marriage partner. No single individual is that complete, wholesome or perfect. God, in his infinite wisdom, does not give you everything. To be a complete human being, there must be a balance between your strengths and weaknesses.

Marriage then becomes a mishmash of individual strengths and weakness between two imperfect people, each balancing out the other at the point of weakness.

The success of a marriage depends on a number of things, all of which cannot be spilt 50/50 between couples. For example, a 50/50 split might not work when one partner earns significantly more. It may leave the person who earns less feeling financially strained if they can’t save or allocate enough to pay down debt. Giving oneself wholesomely and with all you’ve got therefore, without holding back, is one of the fundamental keys to making your marriage successful.

But because we are human, the spouse giving more in whichever aspect is likely to feel overwhelmed, alone and frustrated at times. And require a little help from their mate; just like the dominant hand requires help from the weaker hand sometimes.

It is called needing each other.

The weaker hand reciprocates by doing what it can, whenever it can, to make tasks easier to accomplish.

It is called teamwork.