JIJI NDOGO: I’ve made my bed, now I have to lay in it

It’s ironic how we are able to see specks in other people’s eyes through the logs in our own eyes. Now I know that’s not an idle idiom.

While my partner Sgt Sophia and I had been to a hotel to separate groups fighting over who to support in the ongoing World Cup (those who supported non-African teams were dubbed traitors), I had not known just how messed up my own situation was.

It all started with something I never thought would come to affect me.

Remember back in school when we were told about time difference? That England is two hours behind us, the US eight hours behind and so on? All that time, the geography teacher was going on about it, I was asking myself, “What do I need to know this for? If I ever travel abroad, I’ll ask what time it is, reset my watch and go on with life.” Turns out, time has an impact on all of us.

I came to learn this when they announced the schedule of the games at the World Cup. Since they are played on American time, we get to watch them at very odd Kenyan times. Some games are in the middle of the night, others in the wee hours of the morning. Being a huge football fan, I am determined to watch as many games as I can, no matter what teams are playing. Well, this has not gone down too well in my household.

“You’ll be watching a football match at 1am?” Sophia, who also happens to be my wife, asked the other day.

“Yes,” I said enthusiastically, looking forward to a clash of two of the world’s best. “You want to stay up and watch with me?”

She made a face that suggested I was mad enough for a stint at Mathari Mental Hospital. “Seriously?”

“It’s okay for girls to watch football, you know. It’s a whole new millennium.”

“I know that, Makini. I also know that girls can fly airplanes and become plumbers or police officers.”

Her sarcastic tone made me realise the conversation was not as light-hearted as I thought it to be. And when this sort of thing happened, I usually ended up in big, big trouble.

“Is something the matter?” I asked, and immediately regretted doing so. But it was too late.

“Of course not, Makini. Why would anything be wrong? Everything is fine. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a husband staying up all night to watch 22 grown men like himself chasing an inflated leather ball around a pitch for a couple hours. Right?”

“You don’t have to exaggerate. It’s only one hour and a half.”

Being a smart-mouth is also another way to get me into the doghouse.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, arms akimbo. “You don’t think there are other things a man could be doing at one in the morning?”

“You’re right, dear. I could be asleep, but I’m sacrificing it for the love of the game.”

“Sleeping? That’s all you could be doing at that time while your wife is in bed alone?”

“To my defence, I did ask you to watch with me.”

And then, something incredible happened. Sophia softened up. She even smiled. “What team do you support to win the World Cup?”

“Argentina, of course.”

“And how long will the games take?”

“One month.”

She patted me on the head. “It’s okay, dear. You go right ahead and enjoy your games. Once they’re over, I’ll give you another two months to either enjoy Argentina’s victory or mourn their loss. But you’ll have to do it right there on that couch.”

That’s when it hit home. “You’re banning me from the bedroom?”

She smiled. “You chose the wrong team, dear.”