Their Headache, Not Mine

They had agreed before the wedding to do this celebration every two years and this year is the fourth time they would be hosting their kindred and family friends. Good it is always during the Christmas vacation period the anniversary falls on. Good to kill two birds with a stone. They, Mr. And Mrs. Johnson sat in their village parlor, a place not sophisticated in electronic gadgets way for no one is sure of security in that village. The tale going on in the village is leaning a lot on the negative side. They have spent three days now in the village going through what they had been talking about for more than a month before today. The 'How' of things after visitors have gone? A talk Mr. Johnson found funny and weakening in all ramifications. 

It seemed funny to Mr. Johnson that for eight years now they had been married, and his wife Gloria had been trying to bring a Western lifestyle into their family. Three kids born and the trend has not changed. “Your beat remains the same. Chairs, canopy, plates, and spoons even opener are still under your care” she said but actually, I want you to focus on looking after those and find a way of making them clean afterward and returning them to where you hired them from in intact. She picked up her pen, opened her note pad and started writing everything down. Her mother was a primary school teacher for a long time but the girl never taught except for a year she did her mandatory national duty. Where she picked up detailing things is surprising a bit. Mr. Johnson has learned to agree with her every suggestion to move things along and maintain peace. You could not believe how easy it is to ignite or cool a family dispute with just a node of the head. Just node along and other things might be added unto you.

Mr. Johnson sees it as laziness A person worrying about how to tidy up what he or she has not littered, or hosted yet is a funny thing to him. A sign that her life isn't all that organized from youth or maybe even not all that healthy. So now they have been a written and unwritten division of labor, focusing on what the reason being agreeing to celebrate the wedding anniversary every two years entails is far better. For three years now, tidying up after each celebration has become some kind of contentious issue, and at times, Mr. Johnson wonders if he is handling his family well. The woman is watching a lot of Nigerian movies and learning too much nonsense from it. Importing white man's way of living into the heart of Africa. I, as wife cook food and you, as husband wash plates way of coexistence. Not in our ways. Here, it is: I, as husband buy food, build house, buy gas and kerosene and water, your, as wife cook and cook it well afterwards, and you wash plates and wash them well. Mr. Johnson knew also that peace doesn’t reign in voicing out such a declaration. Shout outside and keep mute inside does the work better. That is wisdom in African marriage.  

Her father, Mr. Johnson is sure did not for a day do any kitchen-related cleaning or worry about what would be cooked and what it would be cooked with how it would be cooked or, who would wash up afterward. Never for once concerned himself after marriage on how to cook food or how to wash plates later. In Africa, male children don’t even learn how to wash plates, let alone cook food and that kind of things. Mr. Johnson decided that it would be for his peace of mind if the cooking is done by a known chef his company serves everyone around that local government area. Since they wash their plates afterwards too, their services though on the high side will do. He can afford it. He called the wife for another round of meetings and tabled his intention and fake reasons behind his sudden change of direction. 

  “You mean because of washing common plate, you want to spend double the amount that it would cost to host this anniversary?”

“That is secondary, it’s a way of raising our standing with people. The man is the in-thing with the rich and poor now. Their presence lifts any occasion and give it a kind of mature and organized status. Why not us too?” he was observing her, the last sentence seemed to have done the work. She eyed him for long mulling in her mind what Johnson wasn't privileged to know after about three minutes of fixing her gaze on what seemed to be a spot somewhere outside their compound, she returned to the present and agreed. Then, insisted she would do the calling. “I have certain things I would like to know about their functions” Good for her and her knowings. Mr. Johnson has done what culture expects of a man of the house. He thinks that she should be worrying about how to serve the number of guests invited. What would be given to the priest that would officiate in the services and would visit later, then, the gifts that would follow him out of the gate. That is a man's headache, so Mr. Johnson has made provisions for that too. Those that would serve visitors mainly girls if the chef is not contacted, would be a woman's headache and the wife did not raise that concern. Those who would make sure their loo remained clean, that is women work and since Madam did not raise that concern, Mr. Johnson decided to add it to his headache. If the house isn't hygienic, no visitor will mention the wife while narrating the dirty story afterwards, it will be: Mr. Johnson's house. 'No gossip will go away with a gift like that from my house' Mr. Johnson assured himself.

He penciled that part down and smiled, realizing that he had just gone the way of Gloria. “So, forgetfulness is one of the reasons she likes jotting and jotting things all the time?

On D-day, the church service was fixed by 9 am, and before 8:30 am, the chef arrived with his girls and the food to the house. Food is not what you leave with anyhow person. Someone mature and related has to stay behind and watch over them. The type of negative stories you hear from some celebrations is not what Mr. Johnson wants to worry about with this year's anniversary that has disrupted his peace for a month now. Some guests went straight to the church and after the lengthy service, they had pictures taken with the priest and others, then, everyone was told to move to Mr. Johnson's compound for item 7. 

   The semi-big compound was filled to the brim. Sign of a bad economy if you seek opinions. You invited your kindred and the whole village stopped by with kids. After they were through many never came with anything as a gift or something, yet, about fifty-five spoons and seven openers were declared missing in the evening. Whose duty is it to watch over those spoons, plates, and openers? That should be a woman's duty, right? I mean, a man doesn’t share food in public while women are in surplus during any celebrations at least not in the way you are thinking, that is mainly ladies' work. It’s good to be a man in Africa, especially in occasions of this nature. How they missed to include watching the villagers and their slippery fingers, in their note-takings surprises Mr. Johnson a bit. These poor villagers are not people you fuck around with in the name of respect. They are like Nigerian soldiers on african peace keeping. They return home afterward with even charcoal-dented cooking pots, cars, and cables stolen from those that are keeping the peace for. These villagers are the same. You must keep Eagle eyes on them or replace everything you serve them with afterwards. 

The body system of his wife were quick to catch up with the dwindling guest. She would jerk up at times sitting beside him as if some pricking object is being used on her and went inside. After few minutes in there for reason known to her alone, she would return to her seat and kept straight face. Mr. Johnson would later start wondering if she spied on some villagers from her position pocketing the openers and spoons or something? She was certainly behaving like someone with information she wasn’t releasing. To think that she was all laughter while the guest were all around, snapping pictures with some and hugging and shaking hands with many speaks volume of talent in her. Why the switch without a cause?

    Mr. Johnson believe it must be the duty of women. Not the work of any male as far as culture goes. Nature has this way of removing bumps from some people's route. About ten guests were still trickling in and out when the chefs boys descended with news that they came for the plates, spoons and canopies. They have client in neighboring village to serve with them. They skinned the compound within three minutes and counted and tabled their losses to Mr. Johnson and transfer was done and the man's job ended.

Surely tidying the house is a woman's thing, but the kitchen wasn't put to use in any harsh way. Why is his wife still scowling and eyeing him? 

 That should be their headache, not his.