Hi, I’m Dorcas, I had lost my beauty to spare tyres, but only 2 months in this weight loss program, I lost 50 kilos, and I’ve got my beach body back!
Hi, I’m Titus and used to have a lot of belly fat that my doctor said was the sole cause of my erectile dysfunctions but only 2 months in this weight loss program, I lost 30 kilos and I can now hit that thing!
These are the lies they have used to mint billions and leave behind broken people in pursuit of illusionary beauty.
Beauty is a multifaceted phenomenon that can’t be defined by weight alone. In fact, the last time I checked beauty wasn’t synonymous to Slim!
You peg my worth on the sizes of my body parts and expect me to use it as collateral to buy acceptance.
The media is quick to give you statistics of people who die of obesity, but they can’t tell you how many of us die of self-hate because society didn’t accept as the way we are.
They’ll proudly present to you two people who lost weight massively but won’t tell you of the thousands of plus-sized people who’ve committed suicide because of the cyberbullies they paid.
They’ll lie to you that slim people are smarter but won’t tell you that the ‘fat’ kid that came last in class spent half the term at home for fear of being bullied!
Can’t you see, that this weight issue is a propaganda propagated by schemers who want you to make a contribution to the multi-billion weight loss industry they profit from!
And I hear curvy women complain of catcalls, we plus-sized women don’t get catcalled; we get insulted!
We have been called by degrading names; pumpum, momo, superdrum, drumset, I have lost my identity trying to find where I stopped being a human being.
The society with its unrealistic expectations of what a beautiful woman should be has changed me; I’m the master procrastinator. I have a hangman’s noose on my ceiling but every time I climbed the stool, the sun seemed beautiful, I have procrastinated suicide so many times that death itself is procrastinating taking me!
The truth is, I am not fat, I’m well built. I’m not fat, I’m just big in the right places.
I’m not fat; my personality is too big to be constricted in naked bone-frames. I’m not clumsy, I’m not lazy; I’m just too busy living my life to count calories!
The bible says that my body is the temple of God, you think I’m fat? No! I’ve just created more rooms for the angels!
I wasn’t made to impress
I won’t die of stress trying to fit in a cocktail dress, see, I’ve got enough meat for the wedding dress!
Don’t tell me I’m fat when God who owns the world hasn’t complained that I take more space than what he apportioned me.
I’m beautiful the way I am. Period. I don’t even know why I had to write this to prove that to you, when you spend your days on your knees praising how beautiful and wonderful God is! Don’t you know, He’s just like me!
It’s been long since I saw a woman worth putting pens to paper for, a woman worth every stain the pen leaves on a paper as it glides on it in the name of ink. I am talking beauty. Not beauty potentiated by unnecessary meat exposed and lips stained with cheap lipstick. Not beauty achieved by doctored boobs and hips pumped with myriad injections of silicon. Neither Am I talking of beauty sandwiched between multiple clothing of behind nor beauty trapped on ears burdened with heavy metals in the name of jewelry. I am talking raw beauty.
I had just come from a meeting, no a debate that was successful despite disappointing absence of the expected attendees. The dusty road had got the better of me as I had to trek from Kariobangi to roundabout to catch a mathree to my hood. In my hoodie and timberland avunjas the dusty road was the least of my worries. But still that wasn’t what I thought of as cool, the dusty road was not appealing but the constant harassment by the touts who operate Makadara bound matatus was worse. These people have no respect; they are goons to be exact. They are very touchy. They will not only touch you but will literally pull you away in a bid to convince you to board their vehicle. It wasn’t funny seeing a woman old enough to be my grandmother almost getting ripped apart by these nincompoops. They treat people like items of trade; some avocado on a groceries shop and all may get out of hand if the ‘item of trade’ is a young woman laced with ounces of beauty. They love everything sumptuous. such a woman will have to put up with two things, the uncalled for body pressing in the most treasured parts and the sickening sight of chocolate ads in the name of teeth, how they smell mfff! I wonder why they always bring their mouths closer to your nose in conversations.
After few confrontations by the touts I manage to free myself but they are philanthropic enough to lend me mouthfuls of insults as my entourage. The trails of insults kept following me as if they sensed I had insult receptors at my kisogo that they could attach themselves on. At some instant I felt my stomach churn in rage and I was tempted to turn back and glue their lips with one ushi mawash. It’s been long since I did practical martial art lessons. I plan to die with all of me in one piece, having myself castrated in Kamiti maximum prison for killing a mannerless tout is a thought that should never materialize. It would even be worse to be hanged for the same. I want to die of obesity someday. I said obesity and nothing slim. Not even malaria should come between me and that dream. Nyaka atho ka achwe githuon. Donge?
The 15 minute walk left me exhausted but I was just in time to catch a D bound mathree. I got in and secured a seat closer to the window. Just then a woman got in. what a creature! She had it all, a beauty that could not be hidden even by the thick dust that laced her feet. What would such a beautiful lady be doing in rounda? Her eyes were floating on melted vanilla flavored ice cream and for once I thought if she ever cried, her tears would be wild honey. Some people sit and sleep on gold and still mine it in other people’s minefields for meager pay. I bet she can live on her tears alone. I do not know much about fashion but I would tell you that her full dress fitted her perfectly. She was divine. Yes so divine and the calmness that ensued in the matatu after her entry was the silent whispers of her serenity. Wait a minute does she want to sit next to me? Yeah your guess was right!
For the first two minutes I kept silent wondering if I was too brief with my answer when she said hi to me. And the hand why did I let go of it so quick? Such are the hands that every normal man would wish to hold on long enough to emit sweat. Yes sticky sweat of seduction. But I did otherwise something wasn’t just right. I turn to face her only to find her holding a bible, reading something in the book of Ecclesiastes. such a beauty in a matatu reading a bible- the book of Ecclesiastes to be precise is not my definition of mere passenger, Maybe an angel hiding in the beauty of porcelain skin and contrasting dusty feet. Somebody teach me how you tell an angel ‘your beautiful’ without making it sound like a cliché that it has already become to her. Maybe I will find the strength to tell her that next time we meet. She better be reading the Songs of Solomon then, I wouldn’t hesitate to make her my Song. Yeah you heard me right my Song at all costs.