Part 1 – The Rules Begin
When I first said “yes” to my mubaba, life felt like winning a mini-lottery 🥺. Bills paid on time. Random M-Pesas with a “lunch, baby” note. Surprise deliveries of wine and perfumes. I honestly thought I had cracked the code to soft life 😅.
But slowly… things started changing. Mubaba switched from “soft life provider” to “self-appointed government.”
Yesterday, I wore a short, cute dress — nothing wild, just knee-length. The man looked at me like I’d committed a national crime.
“Hiyo huwezi vaa tena bila kuniuliza. Mimi siwezi sponsor mtu anatembea kama video vixen.”
Excuse me sir… since when did your M-Pesas come bundled with controlling rights? 😩
At first, I laughed, thinking he was joking. But then he added, dead serious:
“From today, your dressing is under my approval.”
That’s when it hit me: I hadn’t signed up for a mubaba; I had joined a one-man parliament.
Part 2 – Phone Monitoring
I always knew mubaba liked attention, but these days he’s acting like Safaricom customer care — calling every five minutes to “check network” 📱😂.
Yesterday, I was in the kitchen, ugali flour all over my hands, phone charging on the other side. By the time I picked up, there were four missed calls and one looooong text:
“Unani-ignore? Sasa uko na nani? Mbona hupick? Au kuna mtu anakufunika hapo?” 😩
Sir… I’m literally fighting lumps in ugali flour, not cuddling Chris Brown in the living room 😭.
Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he video-called. I picked up, face full of sweat and flour, looking like a construction worker. Mubaba squinted through the screen like an FBI agent:
“Hapo nyuma ni wapi? Naskia sauti ya mtu.”
Bruh… it was the sufuria boiling beans. 🤦♀️😂
At that moment, I realized: I don’t just have a mubaba. I have a live-in parole officer.
Part 3 – The Fashion Police
If you think you’ve seen controlling, wait until mubaba becomes the self-appointed “Fashion Police Chief Inspector” 👮♂️👗.
Last weekend, I was excited. I had this cute little dress I’d never worn. I slipped it on, looked in the mirror and whispered: “Today, Nairobi men’s hearts will scatter like confetti.” 💃🏽✨
But alas… my mubaba had other plans. The moment I stepped into the living room, he froze like he’d seen a ghost.
“Wee kuja hapa. Umevaa nini hiyo? Unataka watu waone mapaja yote? Na hii top iko na kazi gani kama haifichi chochote?” 😳
It was just a sundress — even the church choir wouldn’t have complained. But to him, I was basically auditioning for The Real Housewives of Sin City.
He even went ahead to bring one of his baggy t-shirts:
“Wee, vaa hii juu yake. At least watu watajua umeolewa, si single girl.” 😭😭
And the worst part? When I protested, he stood there quoting fake Bible verses like:
“Even Ruth aliambiwa na Boaz avae decently…”
(??! Which version is that, sir? The Mubaba International Version? 😂)
At this point, I realized that in his eyes, every outfit I own is either:
- “Too short”
- “Too tight”
- Or “attracting men from the village” 🤦♀️
So now, before I dress, I whisper a silent prayer: “Lord, let this pass the Mubaba Fashion Inspection today.” 🙏
Part 4 – Friends & Freedom
If controlling had a university, my mubaba would graduate with First Class Honors in “Limiting My Social Life” 🎓😂.
I love my girls. We meet once in a while for lunch, talk nonsense, take selfies, laugh until our ribs hurt. It’s therapy! But to mubaba? 🚫 Friends = “bad influence.”
Last Friday, I told him:
“Babe, I’m going out for lunch with the girls. Just lunch, not a road trip to Uganda.”
He looked at me like I’d confessed to joining Illuminati.
“Lunch? Na mimi? Umeniacha hapa kama orphan? Wewe unajua wanawake wengine wanaharibu ndoa zao juu ya hizo lunches?”
According to him, women only gather for two things:
- Plotting marriages to fail.
- Gossiping about their husbands.
As if we can’t just debate whether KFC chicken is smaller nowadays 🍗😭.
And the worst part? He insists on “supervising” me like I’m in kindergarten. If I insist on going, he’ll say:
“Sawa, lakini ntakupeleka na nitakuchukua. Hizo rafiki zako si lazima wanijue mimi ndio final boss.” 🤦♀️
Imagine rolling up to meet my girls and there’s mubaba outside, arms folded, waiting like an Uber driver on duty but with attitude 🚗😂.
When I get home, cross-examination begins:
“Mlikula nini? Ulilipa ama walilipa? Uliongea na nani sana? Mlisema nini kuhusu mimi?”
At this point, hanging out with my friends feels like applying for a visa. You need to prove you’re coming back.
So nowadays, when I want to see my girls, I have to pretend it’s “Bible study group.” Because apparently, that’s the only gathering mubaba respects 🤣🤣.
Part 5 – The Grand Finale
By now, I’ve realized mubaba doesn’t see me as his woman. Nope. I’m slowly being promoted — or rather, demoted — into the position of his second-born child 🍼😂.
Let me explain.
He doesn’t just advise me; he gives instructions like a headteacher:
“Usikae kwa phone sana, utaharibu macho.”
“Usirudi late, dunia siku hizi si salama.”
“Umecheza TikTok sana, enda lala sasa.”
Excuse me sir, am I your lover or your teenager? 😭😭
Even the money comes “pocket-money style.” Instead of giving me cash freely like “baby girl, enjoy yourself,” he hands it over with rules attached:
“Hii ni ya salon pekee, usinunue pizza na hao maboyfriends wako wa TikTok.” 🤦♀️😂
He calls every hour like my mum back in high school. If I miss one call, he starts his CIA investigation:
“Kwani ulikuwa wapi? Mbona hukupokea? Na ile background ya music nilisikia, uko na nani hapo?”
Ladies, do you know how humiliating it is to be grown, paying bills, paying taxes, yet you’re still reporting your movements like a 16-year-old? 😩
Sometimes I sit and ask myself: “Is this love or am I boarding a nursery school bus?” 🤣
At this rate, I should just call him “Dad” instead of “Babe.”
And the way he’s going, I won’t even be shocked if next week he tells me:
“Wee, toa ndovu, I want to see if umebrush meno.” 🪥😭😭
READ MORE STORIES HERE FOR FREEE iwaythrills.com