JIJI NDOGO: Wife sleeps on the job of paying rent

With the bad economy, the overspending over Christmas and the hectic bustle of kids returning to school, January hits like a runaway 18-wheeler. Today it presents itself as a frustrated man who storms into the police post, looking madder than a man with a boil in his bum.

“Nataka kushtaki bibi yangu,” he says.

“What did your wife do?” Sgt Sophia asks, a doubtful look on her face.

“Amelipa rent.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?” I ask. I’m now baffled, too.

“Or did she steal your money to do it?” Sophia quips. “Which would still not be a crime, you know.”

“That’s the thing.” The man scratches his head. “Sikuwa na pesa ya rent mimi.”

“I don’t get it,” says Sophia. “So… exactly what are you accusing her of?”

Looking even more frustrated, the man says, “Kulipa rent.”

Out of patience herself, Sophia returns to her duties on a file. “If you won’t make it clear what you’re trying to say, I’m afraid we won’t be able to help you.”

“Okay.” The man looks almost embarrassed. “Maybe I should start from the beginning. Kazi yangu imekuwa mbaya. We haven’t been paid since November,” he started.

“The landlord has been patient so far. Until this month. When I left for work yesterday, tulikutana na yeye kwa njia. Said he was headed to my place to lock the door.”

“How late were you on your rent?” I ask.

“Three months. Including January. I begged the landlord to give me until the end of the week but he wouldn’t listen. Finally, he agreed to give me until the end of the day. Which to him meant six o’clock in the evening.”

“And I’m assuming that’s when you came back and found out that your wife had somehow paid the rent?” Sophia asks.

“Not quite. I was a little late coming from work. My boss’s wife needed help moving her bed. Anyway, tuseme I got home past the six o’clock deadline only to find the door locked.”

“By the landlord?” I say.

“No. From the inside. I unlocked it, walked in, and what do I find?”

The man pauses, prompting Sophia to ask, “Are you going to tell us what you found?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” the man bursts. “It’s bad enough that I have to relive it.”

“Unfortunately,” I say, “you do have to spell it out. We aren’t allowed to assume anything.”

He slaps his arms against his sides. “Nyinyi ni polisi. You’re supposed to be better at… what do you call it, powers of deduction?”

Sophia snorts. “Sir, this is a police post at a town called Jiji Ndogo. We’re better at powers of dysfunction.”

In a huff, the man blurts out, “Bibi yangu alikuwa kwa bedroom na landlord, paying the rent. Get it?”

Sophia shakes her head. “And you’re mad why? Because she didn’t conduct the transaction in the living room?”

My partner has a knack for completely ignoring the fine print. I turn to her and say, “He means his wife slept with the landlord to settle the rent.”

Sophia’s eyes grow to the size of saucers. “Oh! That’s not good. I see why you’re angry.”

“No, no, no. that’s not why I’m angry. I’m mad because she did it only for January. Now what do I do for other two months?”