Dear Diary,

If you remember, the other day I had to wash dishes in a restaurant after my wallet was stolen and I had no money on my phone. Turns out hotels have a tonne of dishes. I mean, I don’t know how they do it. It was like the whole of Nairobi suddenly decided to have their collective dirty dishes washed by the doctor who couldn’t pay a Sh10,000 dinner.

Luckily for me, one of the guys working in the kitchen had a very bad cough.

“You should get that checked,” I told him.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s just a cold.”

“Can I feel your temp?” I did. “It’s hot in the kitchen but you, my friend, are burning up. A deep, often productive cough, chest pain and fever? You need to get checked for pneumonia.”

Then they began suspecting I might truly be a real doctor. That’s how they allowed me to borrow a phone and call for help. When Jenny, my saved-by-Christ temporary roommate came, the first thing she produced was a Bible.

“Dr Ojiambo,” she exclaimed. “Stealing food is a sin. Especially from these high-class joints. Now, God might forgive nicking a mango now and then if you’re hungry, but—”

“My wallet was stolen, Jenny,” I scream. “I wasn’t stealing food. Would you please kindly pay these folks so I can get out of here?”

“But that will not be proper penance.” She began rifling through the Bible. “Job 42:6 says, ‘Therefore, I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.’” Then she laughed. “Dust and ashes. That kind of sounds like dishes, doesn’t it?”

“Now you’re taking God’s word in vain, Jenny.”

“Speaking of the Most High, I believe this should be a turning point in your life. God isn’t punishing you for not paying for a meal. I believe your theft story and so will He. But he’s punishing you for all the lives you’ve ruined.”

To me, that came out of nowhere. “What lives have I ruined?”

“Don’t play coy with me, doctor. You’ve left many girls’ hearts in ruins. You date and drop, that’s like your mantra. Date and discard.”

“Wait, Jenny. I never make anyone do anything they don’t want to. They know what they’re getting into when dating me. If anything, I’m the one who needs prayers.”

“Hold on, Tom. What about the girl who thought you’d marry her? The one who set her brothers and dad on you to force you to the altar?”

“Delusional, that’s what she was.”

“Okay, what about the girl now in your house. The pregnant one whose child you are ‘pretending’ not to be the father of?”

I couldn’t believe she brought this up. “I explained it to you, and she did, too. We’re only housing her because her father wants to marry her off by force and she doesn’t want to be married to the loser father of her child.”

“So why is she, as we speak, doing your laundry?”

That took me aback. “She’s doing what?”

“She was boiling peas when I left. Said she wanted to make chapos for when you got home. Seems to me like you’re not so much helping her as you’re getting yourself a free wife.”

“I never told her to do any of that.”

“You didn’t tell her not to either, did you?”

I swore to straighten things out as soon as I got home, but Jenny was not done yet.

“My house is almost done,” she announced. “I can’t wait to get out of your house of sin.”

“A house of… Jenny, I helped you after your house was flooded.”

Then I thought about it. I was getting rid of one problem by inviting another.