When Nelson Mandéla told me he was more scared of mosquito bites than Akoth’s parents, I knew I’d sweat that night. It was 9 in the night, and I thought it was too early to fish the girl out without being hit by a bible.
I was scared of that shit. It spelled death. Nobody we knew had endured the wrath of 66 books and lived. I was scared.
Rumors had it that the guy who had tried to fish Akoth’s elder sister had been struck by lightning just a few days after the Pastor hit him with the bible. It was a suicide attempt getting those girls.
I was scared but we had Mandela, the antidote to every huddle we had getting ’em girls. Mandela had curious genitals, so he began sexing ’em girls while still in lower primary. By class 7 he was sexing the teachers. A bad bad guy that one.
With Mandela on your side, you were sure to get laid. You had to be ready. If you could meet Mandela, then you’d know how sincere men are when they tell you they tripped and fell in a vagina. Mandela had the charm that swept girls off their feet, swirling them in the air and gently resting them on your genitals.
It was magic.
You never saw it coming. So we’re on our way to get this girl when out of nowhere somebody passing by on a motorbike calls him.
The guy is giving him details on how Belinda and her sister have come back the very evening. I didn’t even know Belinda, nor her sister, but I could hear the yearning in his voice when he interviewed the dude.
So when he said we head to Belinda’s place, I knew things were getting thicker. Maan, it’s only with Mandela’s connection that you can introduce yourself to a chic you’ve never known and 20 minutes later you’re banging pon the sofa. Nelson Mandéla, may God bless you.
And Yo, I’m the first person who evaded the bible and lived to tell the tale.
No woman should ever be judged for her sexual indulgences. Sex is freedom, and orgasms cleanse us in a way that only orgasms can.
She just wanted to live
A beautiful soul with nothing but love
Women strip for fame
But all she wanted was bread
A baby starved in a tin-roofed house
Friends and family weren’t close
As word went round
That gods sent their fire to destroy her
“Who stands in the way of gods?”
“Aren’t they the ones who give leprosy
To those who’ve sinned?”
Life goes on
She wonders what she owes the world
Isn’t it the same world that molested her?
That night darkness loomed
Creatures of the night feasted
On her innocence
And blood flowed
Taking in its wake
Weren’t they the same people who preached love?
Why do they serve hate?
Now she has to raise a child on her own
And still apologize to him for not knowing his father
This baby cries a lot
Where can she get bread?
Women are angels until they fall in love
After that their wings get broken
They become wingless angels
And then they become slaves
And blame it on love
Woman can’t you see?
That he beats you coz he’s afraid
He knows you’re worth more
Than he can ever offer
He knows as soon as your wings grow
Far away you’ll go
So why enslave yourself
And blame it on love?
Love is God
And God is freedom
If truly you know love,
Pack your bags and call the taxi
For you don’t know the hour of his coming
To knock off your remaining set of teeth.
When hormones win
Just flip the cover
It’s lunch time, I am having my plate of Ugali and beef, the soup is as thick as it can possibly be, marinated with coriander among other spices, the aroma can’t get any better. On the floor a paper is spread that captures my attention; it’s the cut-out of the daily nation that Wa Kioi had wrapped my beef in. I’ve got to read it but first it’s time to eat. After reading the article titled: Guys, get a wife if you desire to live longer Published on September 23 in the Daily Nation I am left asking myself; do we marry because we need cooks?
The writer begins with a story about a bachelor who seemingly skipped primary eight science lessons about acids and bases consequentially messing his mixed tea with lemon, as a matter of fact such people exist but it is quite unfair to put the blame on every bachelors shoulder, I mean when will we stop stereotyping? Some bachelors like me are very good cooks. It all depends on how you were brought up. I grew up in the village with my parents, my sisters were in boarding schools and so I did all house chores, today I am the best cook of my siblings, so if people only marry for cooks then I bet I shouldn’t marry.
Reading further, the writer mentions she has a house help and she’s married, meaning I can still marry but my meals be cooked by a house help. What difference does that make? As a bachelor I can still have a house help to cook. That aside, in most houses in the well-to-do families there are house helps who do everything and so even the girls are left as clueless about culinary arts as males. Gender has nothing to do with ability to cook.
As the tittle suggests marriage may help you live longer but it’s a matter of debate and the points the writer put across are hypothetical. She says that many fires are caused by bachelors trying to cook! I’m yet to hear of that in my neighborhood. Why not talk of the fires that break when wives and husbands spit venom at each other, that gas leak caused by irate wife burning the whole family after claims of infidelity?
Marriage is a good thing, holy matrimony and a gift from the creator that should not be gauged against basic metrics like ability to cook. I am 24 and I would like to marry someday but I can’t marry coz I need a cook. I cook my own food and I love my food, whenever I feel tired I eat out. I will marry because I need support in every sphere of my life. I need that shoulder I can lean on when life pounds my spine into pulp, and yes I need good and regular sex. Regular sex is good for health because it releases vital hormones like oxytocin that enables you to love and dopamine the smiley hormone among others. I will marry because I need these. I will employ a cook if I need one.
So I am here just doing my stuff. I have no problem with anyone, it’s just me and my computer my only companion that never get bored with my attitude and foul moods. This is my destiny, enslaved to words. You see I live by words , if words ceased to exist today I would die of hunger. Honestly I can’t stomach the arrogance of Bosses and the unrealistic goals they set for you plus waking up in the night just to arrive to the office on time is worse than prison bars to me. I recently got a call center job with one of the biggest digital TV firms in Kenya , the salary was good and I knew I was for it. After attending the training for three days, I still thought it was the best job for me. A chance to practice all I was taught in PR class but all changed the minute I was to press the tip of my pen on the contract. That form just stood there, no glared at me and as I looked keenly at it I realized how useless it was, whatever they used to make that paper could have been used to make a toilet paper coz that’s what I needed. I wanted the quickest point of egress coz I wasn’t going to explain to anybody why I couldn’t sign the paper. Everybody finished and all eyes roved me , I didn’t have to see her face but I knew the HR was burning maybe with fury or loathe whatever it was. Need I care?
I shoved the paper across the table to her, pocketed my pen and picked my file….there was no way I was trading 6/7 days of my week for papers. In plain language I left the job for I knew it was wickedly availed to enslave this son of a peasant.
Now that is that. Like I began I am just here doing my stuff and then this guy initiates a chat on Facebook. He is not strange to me at all but his conversations are. He sent me a friend request last year and since then he had been busying me with uncalled for chats. It’s now months since he last sent me text but today he decided to break the silence. This doesn’t offend me at all, what I find offensive is that this guy is trying to seduce me to be his lover!
Seriously do I bear the slightest resemblance to any female creature in this planet? Or is this guy getting constipated in the mind? I guess he is silently telling me that I should be gay! No. Never. I swear. How can I ever be gay when there are countless beautiful ladies who need men to marry them or at least to make scream when lights dim?
My phone isn’t very good with pictures but I hope you can follow bits of this conversation. If you’re able to get a glimpse of his name, check him on FB and tell him to stop pursuing sexual satisfaction on Facebook. Need I say he is a Ghanaian and I am Kenyan…did he think we’ll be mating on Skype?
Unhealthy relationships have continued to exist despite the fact that we have always tried to avoid the path. Nobody wants an unhealthy relationship and sometimes I find it hard to know why they do exist since nobody has ever willingly decided to be part of an unhealthy relationship.
So what might make a good relationship to go bad? What are the makers of an unhealthy relationship?
To begin with most unhealthy relationships have been fueled by various stereotypes; there are stereotypes that we associate ourselves with that will make it hard for us to view our partners as equals in a relationship. There are patriarchal societies that view women as objects that were meant to be there to serve men, therefore exposing our ladies to inhuman treatment as they are viewed as second class beings. In such a relationship where one partner dominates and the other is the subject of the latter’s decisions it becomes very easy for the seeds of unhealthy relationship to sprout.
Unhealthy relationships are characterized by abuse. The victims suffer lose of morale and self esteem, they may also find it very difficult to initiate another relationship in case they eventually break off the chain.
It would be a lie if I said that women are the only victims of unhealthy relationships, Men have also got much more than their fair share of unhealthy relationships. To make a relationship work you need no muscles unfortunately that’s what most men bring to the game. Husband battery is a proof that men are also victimized in relationships. Some women also lack respect and fail to treat their men with dignity therefore provoking their ego; this is very common in families where women are the breadwinners.
Poor communication between partners also creates unhealthy relationship. So understanding between the partners is paramount for healthy relationships to thrive between partners.
No double coincidence
I was having a conversation with a friend of mine, we were trying to find some valid reasons why relationships are becoming quite impossible these days, I love the way her mind works she has a hundred and one reasons to why these days spouses are not glued to each other as it used to be in the past, funnily of all her 101 suggestions only one was valid, at least according to me. she opined that these days women are empowered beings who cannot afford to serve men with such loyalty as our grandmothers did to our grandfathers, they are not as submissive as our mothers were and that is not very healthy to a man’s ego. Provoking a man’s ego is much worse than killing a mosquito that has landed on his balls and therefore he will look for another woman who hopefully will be more ‘caring’ and that woman will be a bond breaker. I believe the biggest problem is that there is rarely a double coincidence, where you love someone and she loves you equally, in most cases one partner will love the other so much to an extent of giving up their carrier for the sake of their lovers but the other party may not even be concerned about matters relationship.
There are some issues that I do not even feel comfortable writing about, I mean how do I begin writing about nudity? To be honest I have always thought of nudity as a synonym to bedroom. Yeah, it’s synonymous to bedroom or so it ought to be. Women have taken their right to dress what they want too far: exposing as much as they can get away with which has rubbed our touts the wrong way.
There is something that every woman should keep in her mind whenever she is choosing what to dress lest the hashtag #Mydressmychoice will become too harsh on them. Men have testosterone hormones that will surge whenever too much is exposed by women and that has contributed to a number of rape cases in our countries. In Kenyan Schools they never teach life skills like how to suppress testosterone in case a woman exposes too much and so most of them have developed very crude ways of dealing with ‘indecently’ dressed women: stripping them naked. The touts are the champions of this movement and the whole country is now busy debating on whether what Embassava touts did is worth it, is it the best remedy? I don’t think so.
I am not in support of #Mydressmychoice thing but I know that stripping a woman naked because she has dressed in a sexually stimulating manner is not the best option. It should not even be thought of as an option because honestly it will never work. Why are we so concerned about small things that affect us the least? And why are we using double standards in our bid to uphold African culture and restore decency in our dressing styles? I am an artist and I tell you that most of our top male artists shag their trousers until their bruised buttocks are exposed and nobody cares, why can’t they be stripped? Why do we strip women only? I know the answer, this is simply because they are defenseless and will only rely on sympathy of the touts unlike men who can through blows and kicks in defense.
Secondly, Nairobi is a place where a robber will order you to give him your phone Maliza ulete so they say, you will give him the phone and walk away in broad day light under the very eyes of the self-proclaimed African culture loyalists in the name of touts-Some of them are thieves, they nearly robbed me at Machakos buspark. Why can’t they deal with the robbers the same way they deal with our ‘indecently’ dressed ladies? To make matters worse there is no set standard of dressing in Kenya therefore what I might term as indecent may not be indecent to you.
#Nudityisntmychoice but we need to appreciate that we have different tastes in everything we do and like some wise men once said, a one man’s meat may be another man’s poison. We should find other avenues of dealing with this problem since when you strip a woman naked, you are not only encroaching her rights but also stripping her dignity and ripping her individuality apart. keep in mind we have sisters and mothers who dress the same way and we will be least pleased to have them accorded the same treatment.
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.