The Weekend of Things: The Comedy of Home

Kenya, Opinion, Weekend of Things

Life. Seasoned with perspective.

“A lighthearted look at family life during the holidays, where parenting, discipline, travel plans, and sibling drama collide in the most unexpected ways. Through humour and reflection, it captures how small domestic moments reveal love, growth, and the beautiful chaos of raising children.”

It is the holiday season, and if you have children, you already know what that means. Noise. Laughter. Chaos. And endless investigations over missing items.

“Who has seen my key?” I ask.

“Sio mimi!” comes the response, almost in perfect harmony.

Parents, do you feel me? This mysterious character called Sio Mimi (not me) lives in every Kenyan household. They show up whenever something disappears. The remote. The charger. The money. The key.

This particular day, I was not convinced. I had a strong feeling the spare key had been borrowed without permission. The previous day, I had withdrawn gadgets after one of our mutually agreed-upon rules was flouted. Being away from work had probably felt like an opportunity to sneak into my room, retrieve gadgets, and return everything before I noticed.

Unfortunately for them, I had hidden the gadgets very well. Somewhere along the mission, someone got careless and forgot to return the key to its usual hiding spot.

So I issued a simple decree.

“The gadgets ban continues until my key is found.”

You should have seen their faces. Mortification. Panic. Silent calculations. What is it about gadgets that drains the life out of our children? I get it. Technology is the world we live in. But whatever happened to conversation? Eye contact? Stories?

Am I old-fashioned? Maybe.

When I got back home later that evening, the key was exactly where it should be. Lesson learned. At least I hope so.

But that was just the warm up.

The real highlight of this holiday happened this past week. I made a quick dash upcountry to attend an event where, to my own surprise, I was seated among elders. Talk of age catching up. But that is not even the interesting part. The real drama unfolded before I even left Nairobi.

My firstborn had just returned from a one-week camp. Somewhere between the campfire stories and fresh air, she developed a strong conviction that we should get her a cat. To support her argument, she wrote us a beautifully worded official letter. Polite. Persuasive. Strategic. But that is a story for another day.

In an effort to balance things out, I decided to take my second-born along for the trip. You always hear that second-born children feel neglected. This felt like a good bonding opportunity.

The night before travel, I quietly whispered to her to pack her things. Then I called my firstborn and explained that since she had just been away for camp, it was her sister’s turn to travel. She agreed without protest. I went to bed thinking the matter was settled.

Morning came.

I walked into the living room and found my firstborn and my lastborn sitting there, clearly confused, clearly plotting, clearly wondering why their sister was packing.

I explained again.

The mood shifted.

Then came the line that completely disarmed me.

My four-year-old lastborn looked at her sister and asked, “Why are they leaving us? Kwani, we are not their children?”

I froze.

I did not know whether to laugh or panic. The seriousness of the statement collided with its pure innocence. My firstborn burst into uncontrollable laughter, which immediately annoyed the youngest. I reassured her that she was loved, that she mattered, and that the next trip would definitely be hers.

She thawed. Peace was restored.

The trip itself deserves its own episode. Road drama. Laughter. Serious conversations with elders about life, marriage, and happiness. Sitting quietly in the middle of people whose wisdom is earned, not Googled.

This has been the busiest holiday I have had in a long time. The festivities are here, and honestly, I do not know how we got here so fast. I had postponed some things, but looking at what the new year promises, I had to step up and face them head-on.

My kids are my world. We have tried movie nights, but the schedules have been unforgiving. I will admit, I have not fully checked the homework and projects they carried home. Between you and me, I am not too worried about my first and lastborn. My secondborn, on the other hand, finishes first but does not always give it maximum attention. We are working on that.

Life is like that. Messy. Loud. Unpredictable.

But I love my story. The highs and the lows together. Because it is the lows that shape character, teach resilience, and remind us that growth rarely happens in comfort.

And sometimes, all it takes is a missing key, a road trip, and a child asking a hard question to remind you what really matters.

About the author:
Kibisu Mulanda is a media executive and strategic communicator with over 20 years of experience in television, NGO storytelling, and youth-focused content. He is the Acting Head of Switch Media Ltd and teaches media at the Kenya Institute of Mass Communication (KIMC). A Certified SIYB Trainer, he blends storytelling with strategy to drive social impact.