Rare sighting of woman in shorts causes a stir at Mwisho wa Lami

Those of you who are so idle on Sundays that they have been following the rumours of Mwisho wa Lami Village as told here must surely know Nimo.

For the forgetful ones, I will remind you. Nimo, born and raised in Gatito village, Murang’a, as Wairimu, is Kizito’s wife.

Kizito is Rasto’s son. Some of you will remember the journey we made to Murang’a for Nimo’s dowry negotiation a few years ago — and the culture shock we encountered.

Well, I am happy to report that despite all, Kizito and Nimo are happily married – I say so because we have never heard that Kizito has beaten Nimo, nor has there been a serious row between them that elders had to be called in.

I must, however, mention that the last time Nimo had been seen in Mwisho wa Lami was just before we travelled to Murang’a for dowry negotiations. Even their child who was born more than two years ago was never brought home to be shaved by Kizito’s mother as tradition demands.

Kizito usually visits home alone and his parents have been calling him a bachelor since every time he visits, his sister or mother have to warm his bathing water and take food to his simba.

GRAND ARRIVAL

That was until last week. For the first time, Kizito visited home with his wife and child. They arrived last Sunday afternoon and as you would expect, such news spread fast in Mwisho wa Lami and its environs.

I was at the market when they disembarked from Msamaria Mwema, and I was honestly surprised to see Nimo wearing trousers — tight jeans for that matter. Not that I have never seen a lady in trousers before.

Even in Mwisho wa Lami I have seen ladies in trousers but these have been spoilt unmarried girls at the market, not people’s wives.
This was the first time I was seeing a wife and a mother that I knew in trousers. As you would expect, this drew a lot of attention and word spread around quickly. By the time they arrived, I understand Rasto and his wife were so angry that Rasto had to disappear from the compound temporarily.

I knew where I would get supper that day. I, therefore, visited Kizito that evening, arriving at around 5 p.m. as I knew we would leave with him for Cosmos. I found them setting up their house.

“Ni vizuri umekuja (its good you've come),” said Kizito when he saw me. He was carrying a bed, a table and chairs from his parents’ house to his simba. I helped him.

As we were setting them up, his wife came from the other room and greeted me cheerfully. “Sasa Mlamwa Dre!” she said as she made to hug me. Not knowing how to react, I stretched my hand to greet her — but deep down I wished there were no people nearby — I would have hugged her.

She was wearing short shorts and a loose, sleeveless T-shirt. I must say I liked what I saw and although it is something I would be happy to see Fiolina in, I would not allow her to get out of the house with it. I expected Nimo to stay indoors too.

I was wrong. Just then, she walked from their simba all the way to her in-laws’ house to collect utensils.

Rasto was returning as Nimo walked back to the simba from the main house, and, on seeing her, Rasto pretended that he was walking to the toilets at the other end, head down in shame — although I could see him steal glances at Nimo.

Shortly after, we headed for Cosmos with Kizito to take one for the path. I almost told him about his wife’s dressing.

“The shorts your wife was wearing...” I started but then remembering that upsetting Kizito would make me miss out on a drink changed the line. “...make her look good.”

“Na bado,” said Kizito. “She likes shorts so much,” he added. After taking three packets of simitis each (some people call it Summit) at Cosmos, we walked to Hitler’s. It was past 9 p.m. when we walked to Kizito’s simba for supper.

I was woken up by some noises from children the next morning. It was Nimo and Kizito who were out jogging.

The whole idea of two adults running away from nothing in the morning seemed to petrify the children, and many of them followed them noisily.

What was striking, however, was how Nimo was dressed. She was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt with “No 69” on it, and tight track suit shorts that reached her ankles. I watched from the window.

Morning jog

They stopped at a field next to Milimani for some exercises. After jumping for about five minutes, what they did next surprised everyone: Press-ups.

The children were quite excited but the scene of Nimo doing press-ups was too shameful that the women in an adjacent farm looked down in embarrassment.

They then jogged home after some sit-ups. I did not get to see Nimo until the next day. I had gone to pick Kizito so that we could go somewhere. Nimo was not there when we left. We, however, saw her by the river.

She had carried all the clothing in Kizito’s household which she was washing at the river. The shorts she was wearing were even shorter than what she had had two days earlier — and needless to say, this caused a stir in Mwisho wa Lami.

I know of people who passed by that road several times just to steal a glance at her.

Rasto had asked me to talk to Kizito about his wife’s dressing but remembering what I risked to lose, I decided to mind my own business.

Later that evening, we went with him to Cosmos and Saphire joined us. Kizito was on phone throughout and appeared disturbed. We asked him what the problem was. “Ni Nimo, sijui anafikiria niko wapi,” he said. “I have asked her to join us.”

Shortly after, Nimo joined us at Cosmos and ordered a soda. She was wearing a tight skirt which became a mini-skirt when she sat down. The blouse was super-tight.

“Kizito, my brother,” Saphire started, “Could you please advise mlamwa on what to wear? Hapa sio Nairobi.”

Nimo did not even wait for her husband to answer.

“Why don’t you tell me directly? Why is my dressing a problem to you, you drunkard?” she shouted.

Kizito tried to calm her down unsuccessfully. “I have heard people here in the village talk quietly about my dressing. How come none of them has faced me directly if at all I am wrong?”

“Baby, there is no problem with your dressing,” said Kizito. “I like it.”

“I wear what I like,” she said.

“I also like what you wear,” I said in support, although I would never allow Fiolina to dress that way. Kizito and Nimo left shortly after.

It looks like people’s eyes at Mwisho will keep feasting for as long as Nimo is around.

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