A goat, a kid and some chaos

They come in all shapes and sizes, oh and ages too. They are all diversified, a smorgasbord of personalities and different backgrounds. Am talking about the nannies, and no not the nanny goat but the people we entrust to take care of our kids, or most peoples kids, and again with emphasis I do not mean a goats kid. I have a feeling this article will have plenty of these creatures. I cannot believe how much we share in terms of names with goats. An interesting discovery that I must admit has no value addition whatsoever.

Over the last few months

I have seen them come and go that I lost count. The turnover rate I have experienced is petrifying.

I will go to the genesis of all this, the Neil Armstrong of them all, the first to land in our house. She was an elderly woman, backed by a wealth of testimonies of how good she is with kids. She and the baby clicked on sight making her plausible chest thumping seem somehow believable.

All was going well until the mum had to go back to her job. Waking up early for this lady turned out to be a big hustle and I quote not part of what she had signed up for. I recall too vividly the events of that morning; I was at the breakfast table taking some tea when she was woken up. My sister walked up to her door, knocked and called out her name. I could hear some groaning behind the door, a short scuffle then a complaining voice "ndigehota", which translates to I cannot handle this task. She went on lamenting about the job and how we should find another person to give this cup of suffering. I understand how serious the situation was but I almost burst out a spray of tea from my mouth in laughter. She took her time and when she finally made up her mind to get up, she was like a rattled snake waiting for the slightest provocation to throw her venomous utterances. Reading her mood too well, we denied her that satisfaction and kept out of her way. She adjusted her waking up time and could now manage to get up on her own, a resolve she made I presumed. Trouble started when she went home for the weekend and did not return until Monday morning. Eventually we had to cut her lose.

Enter patient B, a modest lady in her late forties. She was meticulous in her tasks and had chemistry with the baby. And how can I forget her cooking, she threw my stomach into a fiesta. My stomach really warmed up to her, after her meals I couldn’t even feel my stomach (I forgot I had one till the next meal), it was in a perfect bliss. She was also neat and organised. She was like a mother to us that we almost referred to her as mum. So what was her Achilles heel you might ask? Brace yourself for this one; for if I weren’t there to witness it I would say that we were just out there to pick on a nice lady. It started on one weekend when her mum got sick; we understood and gave her some sort of leave. After that incident, every time she went on her weekend leave, something had to happen and I can say this with certainty. On one weakened while at home, she tripped and fell injuring her hand. The funny thing was that her fun was off until she managed to come back mid-week. When questioned on why her phone was off, she gave such an explanation that left you squinting in disbelief. Apparently she tripped and fell on her mobile phone damaging it. It was humanly possible and we gave her the benefit of doubt. The next weekend she was on to her habits again, this time her mother was sick again. We were curious and sympathetic until we enquired what she was diagnosed with. She had been diagnosed with some muscle pains after being rammed by a goat while untying it. I kid you not; my imagination does not allow me to come up with such creativity. And this went on, until one weekend she went home and never to return. She just called a month later to asking whether she should resume her job. Unbelievable.

Enter patient 3, aka the biggest mistake. When I say the biggest mistake, I not only imply how big of a mistake this was but also to her colossal size. She had a huge torso that started immediately beneath her head with no sign of a neck at all. Her body was cylindrical and her movements were slow. She had two missing front teeth altering her pronunciation. So instead of calling the baby Vanessa, she called her Vanetha...poor thing. Her cooking was ghastly and her sense of style in terms of how she dressed the baby was worse. For some reason, her hands were always moist passing on this to the baby whose clothes were always soggy. Even the baby protested her presence. She lasted five working days, and when she was being dismissed my sister insisted on the presence of at least three people in case she went rogue and we had to calm her down.

The next to come would have to be an improvement compared to the big mistake. And she really was. She was much younger, in her early thirties I my judgement is anything to go by. She was hardworking and a bit too passionate with the baby but I shall get to that. She was talkative and engaged us in lots of conversations. She narrated her encounters in Saudi Arabia and why she had returned. Her cooking was tolerable and the only complain was how cold it got, but that was a non-issue. As time passed, her true colours began to show from her deep layer of cover up. She started making such comments about taking the baby on long trips that first went unnoticed. Eventually we started taking note of it. She also made her calls far away from the house such that we dint have a clue to whatever she was saying. She would feed the baby in the evening so that she did not breastfeed anymore. She would be full and sleepy by the time her mom got home. She was also a drama queen and her acting skills could have won her an Oscar.

One Monday morning she came knocking at our door at five in the morning after she had gone on her weekend leave and failed to come back on Sunday evening as agreed. She had deep scarlet lipstick and some clinging denim pants and a chiffon top. It was as if she had spent the night in a club. Upon letting her in, she changed and started on the few dirty dishes that were in the sink. At my usual spot at the breakfast table, I witnessed yet another startling incident. My sister asked her where she was coming from, and she started on this horrifying explanation of how her husband had died in an accident and her son was hospitalized. Mid between her story, she broke down weeping. She got overwhelmed and she could no longer contain herself, she raced into her room and closed the door behind her. We could still hear her sobbing behind the shut door. I just sat there trying to comprehend what happened, confused as to how to console her. My siz shared in this confusion, we just stood there fixated, no words coming out of our mouths. That whole week we anticipated for her to ask for a leave and attend the funeral but alas the shock was on us. She had forgotten about the incident. Days passed and she was now telling us that she was disturbed as she dint know where her son was. On enquiry, she revealed that her husband had taken him. We exchanged a glance with my siz, confirming that we had both heard what she had said. Deep inside I was asking myself a rhetorical question, isn’t he supposed to be dead. We let that pass, but she too had to go.

Enter exhibit 4, the petty little thief. She was little as the name suggests. She was short and had had a bob cut trim for her hair that was dyed brown at the top. This gave her a sort of a bad-girl look although she did look like a high school student going by her size. So when she announced she had a child we all gasped in disbelief. That was one evening at our parents’ house when we had gone to visit. She was very good with the baby and that was all that really mattered. Trouble started one Sunday evening while was away on weekend leave. I was just about to drop some coins into my piggy bank when its weight suddenly did not make sense. Upon closer examination, someone had broken into it and taken out my entire coin savings. Its lock was completely destroyed. I raised the issue with my siz and to her surprise someone had broken into hers as well. From that moment we started being keen and noticed some other things that were missing. My memory card from my tablet and one of my favorite watches had gone missing. We asked her if she had anything to do with it and she quickly denied having any connection in it. I would not let the issue of my watch rest, I searched the entire house and even tried to recall he last time I wore it. When she saw I was not relenting, she called my sister into her room where it had suddenly and miraculously appeared on her curtain box.

In the coming weeks stuff that had gone missing and we had enquired about started appearing in weird places. My memory card was not one of them. One last Saturday morning as she had gone to unlock the gate, she left her phone on the table. I did not hesitate to check it; I was not surprised to find my memory card with all my information intact and some few additional poorly taken photographs of her. I was quick to delete them. This had proved that indeed she was the ghost behind the missing stuff. Sadly she also had to go.

As all this drama is happens, my dearest of nieces, Vanessa turns one in this month of love. I'd like to wish her an early happy birthday and tell her to hang in there because I believe the drama with the nannies is far from over. But From the chaos a beautiful thing emerges, happy birthday V.