Holy Cow

When I received the email confirming my admission to study at Bossey, I stared at my sink full of dirty dishes and considered throwing them all in the bin. Who has time for dishes when they’re about to travel abroad? Priorities! (Zakayo can stay all he wants! Steal all he wants! I will be far away, lol!)

I immediately forwarded the email to my mother and my to my lady. My lady called first, her voice brimming with excitement. “Babe, we need to pray and thank God!” she declared. She’s the prayerful one in the relationship. If you find a prayerful one, keep her. My mother, on the other hand, took her sweet time, responding later in the evening with her usual pragmatic approach.

“When does the course start?” she texted on WhatsApp. That’s our preferred mode of communication nowadays. No calls unless it’s an emergency. Like when I ask for money and she fails to respond or when she requests me to go home and I act like I have not seen the text.

I was out having a drink. But surely, you are not those people who believe that you shouldn’t talk to parents when having a cold one, are you?

“Orientation starts on Monday!” I replied. That meant I had just six days to prepare.

“Did they say why your visa approval was delayed?” she asked. Mothers and their tough questions. Do they even expect answers or just enjoy watching us squirm? But honestly, all I wanted to think about was how to enjoy my last drinks with friends before my grand departure.

“I didn’t ask,” I said simply.

“When are you coming home?” she pressed.

“Over the weekend,” I replied, because after all, I wasn’t going to sit at home twiddling my thumbs until my departure date was I? I still had unfinished businesses.

“I will book the flight ticket when you get here!” she said. Excuse me, what? Wait a minute! Since when does booking a ticket require my physical presence? Isn’t that the whole point of the internet?

Then came the bombshell: “Have you decided what to do with the house and your things?” Translation—move out, clear the house, and bring everything back home. My younger brother, David, had just moved out of his house the previous weekend and was forced to pay for damages and repainting before he could leave.

“How about my deposit?” he had asked the caretaker.

“Here, deposit is goodwill. It is not refunded,” the caretaker told him, as if he were explaining the laws of gravity.

“But isn’t that money supposed to cover such repairs?” David tried reasoning.

“I don’t know about that. Check your rental contract,” the caretaker said, waving him off.

“Contract? What contract?” David asked, confused.

“Kama uko na shida, call the landlord. Mimi nafuata tu sheria!” the caretaker declared, before locking the gate and all but daring him to argue further.

My mother wasn’t about to let me fall into the same trap. “Clear everything with the house and bring all your things home before the weekend. Then we will book the ticket when you get here,” she said in that motherly tone that meant there was no debate. Poor self had already distributed some items to friends.

Fast forward five months, and here I am, sitting in a coffee restaurant called Holy Cow, devouring a burger with iced tea, reflecting on my return home and, most importantly, the  upcoming trip to Rome. Yes, I am going to Vatican to meet the Holy Pope.

I know what youre thinking. That who eats at Holy Cow before meeting the Holy Pope. Coincidence or divine comedy? You cant make up such things, haha!

Either way, I’m not the same person I was when I first came to Switzerland. I won’t be returning to the same drinking habits, the same old friends or even the same mindset. New year, new me and apparently, new divine appointments! God is opening doors that only he can open and as we settle into njanuary, it already feels like the year for a Holy matrimony! It’s certainly the year to be part of something bigger.

Anyway, lets talk more in the next story.