Since When Did You Become My Roomie?

Kenneth Minishi

© Copyright 2024 by Kenneth Minishi

Image by GeorgiaLens from Pixabay
Image by GeorgiaLens from Pixabay

I have nothing against animals. Honest. In fact, why am I even defending myself?

Speaking of defense, this is beginning to get embarrassing. The kind of embarrassing that even I have trouble defending. How do you just keep showing up at someoneís room unannounced? Animal or otherwise, not cool, definitely not cool.

I wish this gentle beast of burden wouldnít burden me with his impromptu visits. And why does he have to be so sneaky about it? Why doesnít he make himself at home during my wistful episodes when I peer through the window pensively? That way I would see him coming. Maybe he has his own version of a Ďtingleí so he sidles in when my focus is diverted elsewhere.

Some might think I bar the windows shut because I am determined to experience near-death through asphyxiation. Nothing could be further from the truth. I do it because itís the only way to keep him out. I canít believe Iím being held hostage in my own room. This room isnít big enough for the both of us Waspinator, do you hear me? By the way, Waspinatorís real name should be Belonogaster Juncea but since thatís quite a mouthful, letís stick with Waspinator.

Too many times, he waltzes in through the window like he owns the place. Iím minding my own business then next thing you know, an interloper, flaunting his lean, shredded, black and brown frame coupled with wings, is shuttling through my roomís airspace brandishing his stinger with murderous intent.

Maybe heís looking for Ant-man and he thinks I am Kang. Waspinator, my name is Ken not Kang, the Ďgí is not silent. Me and Kang may share the same skin complexion but thatís about it. Iím no variant, nor is this room the quantum realm either.

Despite our differences, I do agree that Waspinator comes off as rather friendly. Though Iím not one to take my chances. I have to tread on egg shells with him lest I upset the balance of the eco-system. Pay no notice of him and heíll stay in the room forever. Give him too much attention and his sting will scar me for life if not send me to a hospital and then he can have the room all to himself.

Maybe thatís his genius plan all along. Provoke me to attack him then sting me so that he can have this room for a change. Not a chance, Waspinator. You wonít play me for a fool.

I always wonder what draws Waspinator to my room. I get bees sometimes can fly in because of honey or some sweet fragrance. But a wasp? What possible reason could he have for visiting my room so often?

My sister thought his visits were prompted by some hidden hive somewhere in my room. As far as I can tell none is in sight. Though I must say, a mound of sand above the heading of the window looked dangerously suspicious. It had no business being there. Much as the sand had caked to form this impregnable Ďiglooí, I crushed the life out of it, reducing it to rubble.

Not content with that, I scrubbed off any vestige of that ĎAirbnbí with a sanitizer. Sure, my destructive actions and shortcut-housekeeping would come under stinging criticism. I did what I had to do. No chance Waspinator would come back. But come back he did. Numerous times. That all but ruled out my sisterís theory.

An onlooker lucky to catch a glimpse of us would think we were squaring up to each other in some dance-off. While Waspinator flitted from wall to wall, I pirouetted, trying to keep up with his Ďteleportingí while at the same time trying to Ďdirectí him to the exit by opening most of the windows in my room.

The gusts of wind should be a dead-giveaway but for some reason Waspinator flutters his way from one end of the room to another. Buzzing here and there. Some might think the simplest option would be to kill the bug. After all, Loki posed the question: what quarrel does an ant have with a boot? In my case, what remonstration does a wasp have with a sandal?

A quick search on google has just revealed that a wasp can reach flying speeds of up to 20 miles an hour. Now given my 100% failure rate trying to swat down mosquitoes, a slower insect, such an approach would be anything but wise. Simply put, I would grasp at thin air and Waspinatorís sting would leave its mark on my arm and other members of my body he so wished to put his insignia.

The safer option would be an insecticide spray. Mortein Doom, the insecticide of choice in Kenya, has always been beyond my pocket. After COVID, Russia-Ukraine, Shs 1000 for a 300ml spray is bordering on insane. Thatís almost 1.5 kg of beef. That would have been enough bread for all of Jesusí twelve disciples. Thatís airtime or mobile data for a month. No chance, Iím spending that much on a spray.

These insects have had it rough. The mere sighting of an insect does not warrant sufficient grounds to kill it. Waspinator and many others would chide the human race for their collective failure as stewards of Godís creation.

We have to admit that we have subjected them to frustration. Needlessly they have lost their lives for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Slugs are peppered with salt for the simple reason that they look unsightly.

Iíve always wondered what it must be like for a slug. Slugging away on the floor, minding your own business and then some guy stomps you with his foot simply because you were a trailblazer.

And some of us claim we are not racists? Thatís racism. Racism against those poor molluscs. Slug lives matter. Wasp lives matter. Animal lives matter.

Eventually, Waspinator slips out through one louvre. Phew. I thought heíd never leave. Wasting no time, I bar all the windows shut. Heís not stepping in again any time soon. Let him enjoy the outdoors. One day this world will be big enough not just for the both of us but for man and beasts everywhere.

A world where wolf and lamb feed together, where lions eat straw like an ox. A beautiful world embellished by the harmonious coexistence between man and beast. Until then, weíll wait and make some compromises even if it means putting up with periodical roomies once in a while.


Kenneth is a Jesus-follower, introspective introvert and a vivid raconteur. This self-proclaimed story-teller confesses to having a way with words. His authentic writing style and evocative language are just some of his signature elements. He is hardly an up-start writing-wise and will only get better with time and Godís grace. He also has a soft-spot for Manchester United and would rather not talk about them at present.

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