Come to think of it, I had never known someone who suffered from kleptomania disease until today. It was startling as much as it was bizarre.
I was almost ready to go and meet with my friends at Zororo Bar. Mai VaMaidei was busy preparing to go to the market. I had just enjoyed my usual porridge which was topped with peanut butter. It was a snack that mattered most to me and would keep me going for the day.
I peered outside through the cracked window. The sky was overcast, which indicated that it could rain anytime. The atmospheric temperature had also dropped slightly. Weather forecast on the news last night predicted a storm.
I decided to put on my black tracksuit top to ward off the cold. As I was putting on the top, Mai VaMaidei, who was watching me out of the corner of her eyes, asked: “Why is it that these days you never show me your affection?”
I stopped in mid-stride.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s been a long time since you told me that you love me,” she said.
I knew where this was leading to.
“You even forgot my birthday only last week and the children had to remind you,” she said.
Sure enough, I had forgotten about her birthday. This could not be a yardstick of love surely. During my upbringing, there was nothing like this. I am failing to adapt as I try to adjust. Back in the village, there were no birthday celebrations and life went on as usual.
I have tried to recall to memory my father and mother celebrating or even mentioning their birthdays in our presence to no avail. Life was ordinary, but equally innocent and fulfilling under the circumstances.
We looked at each other. In the background, I could hear the children playing outside with their friends. I heard raised voices next door. It was our neighbours, Baba and Mai Svinurai having a heated exchange as usual.
I suddenly remembered my grandfather and his attitude towards women. As we sat in his round-thatched hut, with a blazing fire in the fireplace, my grandfather back in those days in the village used to tell us boys never to show too much affection to a woman. It was a sign of weakness. Grandfather, who always had a pipe hanging on his lips, would puff subconsciously as we all watched the cigarette smoke sizzle out in the air.
Times have since changed from yesteryear beliefs.
I took a step forward and hugged her and whispered the magic words of love. I even planted a kiss on her right cheek.
She melted like ice and smiled and in moments like this her dimples became more pronounced.
“Make sure you will be back home early,” said Mai VaMaidei. She was now more relaxed.
“I will be back soon,” I promised.
Zororo Bar was just around the corner at the shopping centre anyway.
Baba VaTata, Rasta and Fatso were already at our usual table and Fatso was at the counter collecting beer.
“The doctor is saying that she is a kleptomaniac,” said Baba VaTata bringing me back to my story.
“Hey, what is that? Who is a kleptomaniac?” I tried to join in the conversation.
“It’s my wife’s sister, you all know her, she has a big problem,” said Baba VaTata.
“What is kleptomania anyway?” I said, as this was my first time to hear of this disease.
“The doctor told us that if someone is a kleptomaniac, that person has a propensity to steal even if there is no need, one can even be a millionaire and still has the urge to steal,” said Baba VaTata. That was weird.
Baba VaTata was not finished. “This is all crap, my wife’s sister is bedeviled by evil spirits, that is all,” he said.
“ The husband now wants to divorce her, he is embarrassed, she has been stealing from friends and relatives,” he said.
“It’s a case of evil spirits,” he said.
Rasta had been listening intently.
“ I have heard about this disease before, it exists, someone just gets a thrill from stealing needlessly, their dopamine level rises after that,” he said.
“All I see is the influence of demons, it’s a demonic attack,” said Fatso.
What Rasta said made sense. Of course I did not want to oppose Baba VaTata. He was our benefactor. It’s foolish to argue with your benefactor who is buying you beer. In the past if Baba VaTata lost an argument, he would just depart. No one wants that.
It is unwise to sound more intelligent than your benefactor. Desmond Tutu once said that don’t raise the sound of your voice in an argument, instead improve the quality of your argument.
*Onie Ndoro
OnieX@90396982