MY WEEKEND: Like a tradition, habits are difficult to change

A few days ago, a colleague interrupted me as I was typing away and asked me, “Do you use this?”

She held a small container of something yellowish in her hand, and when I took a closer look, it was the smallest bottle of Arimi’s Milking Jelly, complete with that picture of a healthy-looking Friesian cow.

I know it was the smallest bottle because I am a diehard fan of this milking jelly, which I have used for decades. When I do bulk shopping, I normally buy a six pack of the biggest size, and I am pretty sure that the cashiers at the wholesale I patronise believe that I have a farm full of cows.

Clearly, I am such a loyal customer, the people that manufacture Arimi’s should reward me with a cow, then I can actually get to use their jelly for the purpose it was intended for.

But I digress. I told my colleague that yes, I did, that I, in fact, use it every day. She then went on to tell me something that shocked me: that she had heard about it for so long, she had decided to buy a bottle to find out what the hullabaloo was about.

“What do you mean?!” I exclaimed, surprised that there’s a woman in Kenya that has never used this petroleum jelly.

ASTONISHED

Still astonished, I pointed at the window by my desk, which I had propped open using an empty Arimi’s container and pointed out that she was a Johnny-come-lately.

Sometime back, there was a passionate discussion online by Arimi’s “stakeholders” on whether this product should be rebranded to target human beings.

After all, not many cows in Kenya were beneficiaries. I didn’t take part in the discussion, but had I, I would have said, no, leave it as it is — I am a firm believer in that saying, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’

Human beings are creatures of habit. I can’t really tell you why I especially favour this jelly, seeing as it was produced with cows in mind, but what I know for a fact is that I use it because that’s what I used as a child.

There is also a specific toothpaste that I use, and should I go to the supermarket and not find it, I would rather brush my teeth with salt than use a different brand.

REXONA MEMORIES

At home, we used Rexona to bath, which I hated because I didn’t like the smell. But my father loved that soap, and since he was the one that did the buying, the rest of us had no option but to make do with it.

It was either that, or what we call kefade in my mother tongue, what the rest of you call ‘kipande’.

Unfortunately, kipande, was manufactured to strip off stubborn dirt in clothes, and so would leave you looking ashen when you used it. And so we chose my dad’s favourite Rexona.

When we visited my grandmother over the school holidays, we would bath with Imperial Leather, her soap of choice, which thankfully smelt a bit better than the one at home.

My grandmother is 75 years old now, but she is still faithful to this soap. Whenever I visit her, one of the items in my shopping bag is three bars of this soap to last her until the next time I visit.

Old habits do indeed die hard.