3 wives, 7 kids: No walk in the park

I went for a massage at this hotel because my neck was stiff and my lower back hurt a good one.

After the massage, I headed for the steam room. Sunday afternoon means little traffic in the steam room. Outside the sauna, I found a man seated on the bench, naked, with his legs crossed. He had a large belly and small legs and salt and pepper chest hair. He looked like he was in his 60s and very tired and contemplative. He sat there, one leg over the other, staring at a spot on the floor. He was the saddest man I had seen the whole week. A sad man with small legs.

Anyway, when I stepped out of the steam room later, I found him still sitting in the same spot, glass of water by his side. I showered, fetched more water and I asked him, “Do you find yourself doing a lot of serious thinking here?” Then just like that, we started talking. I’m not bragging but people seem to open up to me when I prod lightly. Maybe it’s my forehead. Maybe I ask the right questions. But no matter; people just tell me things and I think it’s because I ask intrusive questions without even meaning to and people are usually shocked at it. Like I said, no bragging. I asked him if he was sad that afternoon and he laughed and looked at me closely, as if all this time we had been standing in darkness and suddenly the lights came on and he needed to see who he was speaking to.

He didn’t say he was sad; he said he had weighty things on his mind. “Business?” I asked. “Family,” he said. I kept quiet for a while because family is heavy, but then he said, “I have seven children and three wives and when you have so many children and so many wives it wears you down and even when you are at a place like this where you are supposed to relax, they come into the room and you never have peace.”

I nodded like I understood. He asked, me if I had kids and I said two. He said I don’t look like I have kids and I laughed and said, “It’s the steaming.” I asked him how old his youngest was. “Five years.” I felt sorry for him. I wondered how he deals with three wives. I mean, I suspect it must take a lot of energy to keep three wives happy.

BOLD MAN

I wondered how he told the first wife that he was getting a second wife and most importantly, how he survived bodily harm or accidental death from falling on a sharp object like a knife. Or how he avoided a meteor falling on the windscreen of his car. I wondered how long it took him to weather that storm (while constantly looking over his shoulder for more flying objects... like insults) and how he came to a point in his life where he decided that he wanted to do it all over again by telling the first wife and the second wife that he wanted a third wife! Maybe by then he had grown thick-skinned and learnt the art of avoiding decapitation.

Then there was the matter of seven children. That’s going to the labour ward seven times. That’s a hell lot of diapers, leave days, school fees, toys, formula, visits to the hospital, education cover every month, medical cover, noise, oh God, the noise and ruckus of who is fighting whom...

Seven kids from three different wives is the easiest way to run mad. Actually, I was surprised he was still on his feet. I was surprised he hadn’t been committed to a mental institution. Perhaps he has crazy ulcers as a result and can’t even have a drink to take him away from it all. I was surprised he could even find time and money to come sit in a steam room.

I realised that what I was feeling for him wasn’t sympathy. It was admiration. Not the type of admiration that makes me want to be him, but the type that makes me wonder how God creates such bold men. Or such men with such little love for themselves. I imagine him picking three different calls after the steam session, all of them asking him where he is, or if he’s coming home, or if he remembers to bring a packet of milk, or reminding him about pending bills.

When he leaves the office, does he toss a coin to decide where he will spend the night? Wait, he can’t toss a coin because a coin only has two sides. What about his birthday? Who does he spend time with? What about all their birthdays? It’s hard enough remembering one birthday, how about three birthdays for the wives and another seven birthdays for the kids? Then gifts. This guy is a superhero of sorts.

I left him seated there, staring at the wall, his forehead dripping with perspiration. I wanted to tell him, “Good luck,” but I realised his luck had long ran out.