by Nancy Cherotich.
It’s a week to my birthday and as usual, I am totally excited. Maybe a little too excited, but who cares, it’s my birthday! I can’t wait to see the number of strangers and friends who will go on social media to wish me a happy birthday and send me photos of cakes and gifts that they will never actually buy for me. But more importantly, I have a grand plan for that day. There will be no party or cake; there has never been one. I will go to work, spend my day replying to texts and posts, go home after the day ends, write a long post on how the Lord has been good to me and how wise I have become (sic), shower and go to bed. On the issue of gifts, I have given my friends all the necessary hints that all I want is shoes. If they do not get it and I fail to get any gifts, I will thank God for the gift of life and ask him to remind me to ignore any hints from my friends on their birthdays.
In my family, birthdays have never been a priority so I will not be shocked to receive a call two days later and be asked “Cherotich, kwanini haukusema juzi ilikua birthday yako? Si ututumie pesa tununue cake we celebrate”
This has always been the case since I moved from home. You sponsor your own birthday if you want people to celebrate it. I remember when I was young; I used to tell my classmates that I was adopted every time they asked me when my birthday was. I was lucky enough to go to a private school which was a huge sacrifice for my parents. As some parents had enough money to throw huge parties for their kids and feed the whole class with goodies, my parents were looking for school fees. A birthday party to please strangers was never a priority. I knew if I admitted that I actually knew my birth date, my classmates would expect me to hold a party in school and failure to do so would mean I would not be allowed to eat anything on their birthdays. They all bought the adoption story and I was able to safely enjoy the goodies from my classmates.
Earlier this year, I realized that my dad has no idea how old I am. Either that or he has refused to accept that I have grown old. At the time when I was having crazy asthma attacks, he decided that my doctor was not doing enough so he took me to see his own doctor. As I was filling the insurance forms, I started coughing so the secretary took the forms and started to fill them in with my dad’s help.
“Is she married?”
“No, she is still young.”
“How old is she?”
“25 years.”
“Daddy, I am 29 years old”
“Aiiii! Sijazeeka hivyo. Andika 25.”
I did not win that argument despite showing him my national ID. The funniest part was when I was told I can see the doctor. My mum followed me into the doctor’s office. I knew better than to argue with her. When the doctor asked me to explain what my problem was, my mother took over and talked about the asthma. She was so passionate, you would think she was the one who was sick. She was able to explain my pain way better than I could have and even proceeded to answer questions I was best placed to answer.
“Is she allergic to any drugs?”
“No she is not.”
“Nancy, are you on any family planning?”
“No she is not.”
“When did you last have your periods?”
“Ni siku gani hiyo uliniambia uko na cramps? Ni ile siku baba yako alikuja kama amechelewa. Nakumbuka. Last week Thursday, sindio?”
“Mum, can you leave us alone for a few minutes with your daughter?”
“Sawa, but I hope you are not injecting her. Yeye husumbua sana”
The doctor was so amused and went on to share how his wife claims that all their three kids are 16 despite one being married with two kids. I can only imagine what my dad will tell my husband to be, but I do hope that in the manual he prepare on how to handle his precious daughter, there will be an entire chapter dedicated to expensive birthday gifts.
The few boyfriends I have had miraculously all seemed to disappear or make me really mad to the point of dumping them just before my birthday. The most expensive gift I have ever received from a man as a birthday gift is a set of luminarc glasses. This is after he kept insisting for weeks how he has this wonderful surprise that would blow me away. I was totally blown away and so were the glasses.
My new year starts next week. I am now expected to get serious with life; join a lot of chamaas, buy a car, buy a home, get married and stop twerking. Apart from reminding my family members that this year I have rewarded each of them financially on their birthdays and I expect the same, I plan to go have my last twerk even if it will be performed with a limp. From next week it will be a new year & a new me.
My knee is getting better. Thank you so much for the prayers although I really dread getting on the scale bearing in mind that I have been such a couch potato. But I will face the scale soon.
Ps. My shoe size is 39. Just in case someone wants to surprise me. Other gifts like the latest Discovery will not be rejected. My new age dictates that I should be very ambitious. Don’t judge me.