PLATTE-LAND 017: INTERNSHIP

Related image

3…2…1 mic on, go…on air! Ladies and gentlemen, this is your main girl Sly Wangari and you’re tuned in to the dopest of contemporary radio stations – Syokimau FM where breathtaking music plays round the clock. I will be your host for a couple of months for the Morning Drive show, ensuring I keep you in tabs with the traffic flow and making your experience of reporting to work, worthwhile.

DJ Fresh Boy how’re you doing this morning?

Can’t complain, looking very lovely yourself.

Oooooh, thank you. You’re also dressed like you are heading somewhere fancy after this show?

Not really. Just representing the streets. You know how we do it!

Great, so what’s on your playlist today?

Some great vibes coming up shortly. Kendrick Lemar, Drake, Dj Khalid, and a bunch of East Africa club bangers and all your favourite urban music. We have some new tracks too. I hear you’ve lined up a heated conversation? Trying to stifle a grin.

For sure, don’t you touch that dial. Speaking of heated conversations, dear listeners we wanna hear from you, what’s your take regarding bisexual people? Would you date them? Are you one of them? Is there a big deal to it? Talk to us. By now you know the digits to call us from!….Dj Fresh Boy give us some music.

Just a quick one Sly

Yes, Fresh Boy

Who are bisexuals?

Ooh, sorry. A simple definition of bisexuals are people sexually attracted to both men and women.

Now you know. Great music plays from the background.

*

Caller1: Hello

Sly: Syokimau FM, good morning! Who is on the line?

Caller1: My name is Benjamin calling from Nairobi.

Sly: Yes Benjamin, what’s your take on bisexuals?

Caller1: I would never date a bisexual. It’s ungodly and unAfrican to start with. How’d the relationship work if my woman is charmed by women the same way a man is aroused?

Sly: So your take is a no! no!

Caller 1: Bisexuals have no place in our society. It’s evil.

Caller 2: Good morning I’m loving your show.

Sly: Thank you so much, what’s your name and where are you calling from?

Caller 2: My name is Sheila from Matiba University.

Sly: Shout out to MUST! What’s your take dear, on our topic of discussion.

Caller 2: I was recruited to be a bisexual in high school. Lesbianism was very rampant in our school and since it was a girls’ boarding school, many students naturally got attracted to each other. It was no big deal spotting two girls sharing a bed. Of course, it was such a gross misconduct when one got nabbed, but it still happened. It’s a culture we found in the school and was entrenched in us right from Form 1.

Sly: Sighs! So, Sheila, you saying even after completing your studies you were unable to grow over the habit? And secondly, does your family or close friends know about this?

Caller 2: I was barely 14 and naive. I got so hooked to it until the habit made peace with my life. In fact, sleeping with another lady is so casual to me. Many of my high school friends still do it to date. It starts with kissing then the rest is history. None of my family members are aware of it, neither does my boyfriend. He works in a distant town which makes it easier for me to bring my girlfriends to the house without him smelling trouble.

Sly: Would you wish to go back to your other life?

Caller 2: Of course I wish I’d unlearn this vice but I don’t know how to. My body is so weak for such a brave decision.

Sly: Don’t you think probably when you get married it will just be a matter of time before your hubby suspects you or finds you pants down?

Caller 2: There is that risk, but what to do? I live a day at a time.

*

Summing up on this topic, Fresh Boy let’s hear your opinion.

Sly, where do I begin? Reading comments on our social media pages and listening to many young callers, paint a worrying trend. You realize our generation is headed to the dogs. Bisexual has been made to sound cool and acceptable. Look at what is happening in clubs and house parties nowadays. I hear we have exclusive gay and lesbian clubs. We’ve casualized everything.

Sly…

I hear you, sounding very deep today hahaha! My view would be simple. School authorities should be hands-on in ensuring detrimental habits aren’t encouraged. Take for a case of Sheila who called in alluding she was recruited while in Form 1. Parents too should do more in getting closer to their adolescence kids and befriending them. It’s only through this that some of these habits can be neutralized. To the adults; nothing can’t be unlearned with resolve and support from family and friends.

***

Sly had earned herself a spot at arguably one of the most sort after radio stations by the millennials, Syokimau FM. She took up the challenge to try her luck for the internship position and a month after, her co-host got pouched by a rival media house. Her new bosses well impressed by her radio vocals put her on the hot seat for a couple of days on an acting capacity which ostensibly ran to some weeks before her position got confirmed.

The experience was overwhelming. Who’d have thought that she’d fill the shoes of such a competitive radio show – The Morning Drive. She was now waking up at 4 am to get to the office by 5 am, research on the topic of discussion, meet with her seniors which included the Program Director, Producer, and the Production set. She’d also peruse the papers in search of the trending news relevant to the youths, as well as learning the ropes of working under pressure in such a dynamic industry.

Her show aired for 4 hours every weekday, thereafter, she’d take a 2-hour break before switching roles at midday to fill in the role of an Assistant Sports Editor. In the afternoon, she’d work for two more hours researching on the next day’s morning show. It was such a tight schedule which came with tremendous experience and a handsome pay. She had discontinued her day tutorials and would attend her classes in the evening.

Image credit: durban.getitonline.co.za

Previously on Platte-land series: Tryst

Platte-land continues next Monday…

Advertisements

PLATTE-LAND 016: TRYST

Related image

They had numerously stumbled on each other, with the Dean of Students always imploring on her of their date especially after the incredible idea of the school mag. Speaking of which, the mag had become so popular that the Vice Chancellor of Matiba University requested for an audience with the brains behind it. Sly was taken by surprise besides being overwhelmed by the level of support her idea had gathered. The journalism club had been a buzz of activities ever since the launch, with many products finding their way in to the mag. The uptake had been indeed, fulfilling. The margins had also been growing steadily leaving the future with no choice but to be kinder.

Sly was meeting Mr.Mwangi at the backdrop of a painful break up with her ex – Chris, after she got wind of him cheating on her. It was heartbreaking and unbelievable. She chose to follow the high and unpopular route of not forgiving him and denying him any second chance to redeem himself. She rather chose to forge on, in the uncharted waters of single hood as life unfolded. It could be a blessing in disguise for her to repair the broken pieces in her life.

Mr. Mwangi would pick her at Adams Arcade and they’d settle on a getaway off Ngong road.

It was in one of those scenic hideouts with a flower-littered road tucked in between a forest that also domesticated legions of playful monkeys and chirping birds. Sly had never been to such a private engagement with any of her lecturer(s) before. But unlike her, many campus ladies had found themselves toying with the idea of befriending and firing up affairs with their lecturers all for good grades and enviable lifestyles. Scores of ladies found themselves wadding in love-flings hatched from infamous locations such as this.

So, why would Sly give Mr. Mwangi that kind of privilege to buy her lunch in a getaway frequented by people in three-piece love affairs? Of people shy of basking at the scrutiny of the public eye? Was she naive not even to inform her folks or Njagi that she was off to a lunch date, just in case? You know sh** happens! Had Mr. Mwangi been all innocent or had he mastered the tricks to woe Sly?

***

“Have you been here before?”

“Ooh no. Looks vintage like!”

“Yea, with a heritage to uphold.”

“Seems like it. It’s peaceful and equally captivating.”

“You didn’t seem to be very keen on the date though.”

“Date!!!”

“Yea our lunch date.”

Sly faked a choke from the garlic and lemon fish curry they were having.

“By the way, the meal is too awesome. I’m impressed by how they’ve garnished the coriander leaves.” Dodging his question.

“My pleasure.”

“So, Mwalimu, what was the essence of the so called date?”

“Aah, could you refer me as just Mwangi.”

“That will definitely sound awkward.” Making a sarcastic laugh.

“Why?”

“I can’t see myself referring you as Mwangi!”

“Well you just did.” He giggled turning away from Sly’s impressive gaze.

“Why would you encourage me to do so. You’re still my lecturer. And a senior one for crying out loud.”

“I’m not denying that. But this is a different arrangement altogether. I have a life out there, you know.”

Sly nodded as she awaited more from Mr. Mwangi’s bubble.

“Who doesn’t like having a good time with friends?” Making a more pronounced smile that warranted Sly to notice a gap that once housed one of his molar teeth.

“So, where is this headed Mwangi? Gosh, sorry. Mr. Mwangi.”

“Very good.” He ordered for some white wine.

Amid the laughters and long talks, Sly opened up to Mr. Mwangi about her bruising break up. She was surprised by how attentive he portrayed himself to be. He was such an incredible listener. He never interjected, nor blinked through the story. He nodded when called upon to, made faces when expected, while his eye contact remain drawn to her. That surprised Sly and in essence drew some positive attributes about him.

He sympathized with her story.

“Was he the first boyfriend you ever hand?”

“Mmmmh….you could say so.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

She crossed one leg to the other, took a deep breathe and adjusted her watch. “Okay, let me put it differently – it was the first serious relationship I have had so far.”

“The rest were?”

“The usual flings that die before they start.”

“Hahahaha. Is the guy who accompanied you to my office the one who hurt your heart?”

“Oh my goodness.” She walked to the ladies laughing loudly.

5 minutes later…

She found him on phone speaking to a female voice whom Sly deciphered, was his wife demanding to know where he was. She spoke with utter disgust and venom.

“That’s my nagging wife.”

“Nagging.”

“She is always venting and complaining of something.”

Sly sighed off. “You should make time for her. Perhaps she thinks you’re denying her attention.”

“But I’m always busy. I have no time to stay indoors and supply attention.”

“You see, that’s where you men go wrong. In the beginning you’re always very romantic and available, wait until the dust settles.”

Mr. Mwangi responded to an itch on his ever bushy beards. “I’ve got to provide for them. I can’t just stay there pampering her. How will I create wealth if I don’t whip my a** and get connected to the right people in this town?”

“But you called me for a date at the expense of your family!”

“I felt obliged to appreciate your brilliance.”

“Are you sure there was nothing more?”

“I have always been carried away by your charm right from the day you joined our institution. I wish we became more closer, perhaps even flying to the coast for a weekend, you know! Is that much to ask from such a dazzling woman like you?”

“But I’m your student and you are very much married. In fact, your wife deserves that trip more than I will ever do.” Sly was beginning to feel offended and intruded.

“Just a weekend.”

“No no no Mwalimu.”

“You could think about it, no pressure.”

“That’s not right. Are we done here, I see mum calling.”

Sly got to the car as Mr. Mwangi took his time clearing the bill and watching the smoke waft in the air from his smoldering cigarette-stick at one end of the parking bay, seemingly angered by his backfired moves.

They drove off with no much talk in the car apart from Sly engulfed in retrospection, with Mr. Mwangi trying to do some damage control to his proposal that didn’t go down well with her.

Did he jump the gun?

Photo credit: ebony.com

Platte-land series continues next Monday…

Previously on Platte-land series: Cupid

PLATTE-LAND 015: CUPID

Image result for Mpho khati curvy bodyHe was the Finance Manager of a top horticultural farm in Naivasha. A medium height kind of man, fairly young until you met his landmark pot belly that seemed to aggravate his age. He described himself as a family man. He was a dad to three kids; 2 sons and one daughter. He had been married for eight years now. You could say he was a social drinker, mostly going out on weekends with his childhood friends and business associates.

He met Shiku on one of those nights. She was with her girls, all being her classmates, from a road trip when they made a sojourn at a popular reveling joint in Naivasha. Two hours down the line, a female waiter brought a magnanimous order to their table. A dozen bottles of Heineken, Smirnoff vodka and the Jameson whiskey stared at them, eagerly waiting for the girls’ acceptance speech. There was no way these city slayers would resist such a generous reward, at least not with this economy. Mr. F.M as Shiku fondly referred him had eyed her from the moment they walked in. He had been mesmerized by her seductive body. She is such an angelic lass, c’mon go and get her number. If she denies you, you’ll at least console yourself by having tried your luck – His mind would tease him.

She seemed to have a commanding personality. Her smile was coherent in the same way it was contagious. Her eyes struck the deepest end of his soul. Her dreadlocks exposed her wild spirits depicting her rebellious nature of not conforming to the norm. She appeared to be an intelligent woman. F.M endeared female intellectualism and women who seemed to be eager-beavers. There is a way female intellectualism smells; like the titillating smell of dust when it rains. He had such a humongous soft spot for lasses with mass and substance too. Shiku packaged herself as one.

Speaking of which, F.M had a wife all men pray to marry. She had brains, followed by beauty. She had a profundity of emotional intelligence and quite an aggressive woman. She quit her job to support his dream of being a business mogul. She detested easy money and comfort zone. She also shun the lazy ideology some ladies hold of being mere gate-keepers of their husbands’ wealth. In sharp contrast, she was an abrasive go-getter. She’d travel the high road of nurturing ideas, fueling them to credible business plans, packaging them until they hatched to promising enterprises and consequently conveying the returns to Mr. F.M.

She was that loyal and hands on. Money didn’t tempt her nor inflict a bruise on their marital union. She’d engage him on where to invest the returns. They were great friends and would keep on forgetting they were marriage partners. Her hands had a thing for nurturing and creating products that didn’t exist. She had a creative mind and a subtle personality at hand, to balance life torrents. Unlike many women who are always after salivating their spouses’ wealth, resulting to hiring hit men to eliminate them for easy wins, she religiously believed in the idea of fostering and making marriage last its full longevity.

He had married his chimera woman. His best friend. His favorite illusion of a superwoman. She was a wife who’d speak of tomorrow’s plans dressed in a loose nightwear while lying in bed lulling the slumber mode and F.M would just nod his balding head in agreement. She’d talk about this deal and that order and of deliveries and collecting cheques where. At times she’d be like; Baba Cleophas, you need to look for that mhindi friend of yours  – Mr. Patel. I’m sure he’d be interested in the supply of Mahogany trees we traced near Uganda – Congo border, now that the ban in Kenya doesn’t seem to be lifted anytime soon. And did you ask Kang’ethe if his restaurant exalted the poultry order we made last month?

But beneath that, was a woman who understood F.M’s intrigues and sophistication depth. She knew when he lied and would smell when he warmed up to sultry women. She’d easily decipher when he played mind games with her, besides peeling off all the layers of deceit being schemed in his testosterone glands. She was a woman, F.M couldn’t underestimate.

However, after a close shave encounter with the sensuous Shiku, temptations were bound and rife. His boys cheered him on and so did his alcohol drink. She seemed to be the cheerleader of her squad and that cajoled him more. He was attracted to women who called the shots. And so, after his order was gladly accepted by these campus ladies, protocol would follow next. He’d walk over, pull a sit uninvited, and introduce himself all out of the blues. Interestingly, they blend easily. Their hearts’ lewd desires flooded their eyes, and so they’d occasionally feel the magnetic-pull, whip up their newly nurtured chemistry. By the end of it all, he was struggling in the deep waters of full-blown manias of lust and infatuation, thanks to Shiku.

He talked about his day job and his passion for his family. The more he shared bits and pieces of how fond he was to his kids and wife, the more attractive Shiku found him to be. He’d throw terminologies and adjectives regarding his job description, and how he flies in and out of the country for business-related workshops and trainings. She would marvel at his flawless grammar and wit. Of course, as it happens, his stupor state plus the excitement of conversing with a fine chiq like Shiku did wonders in motivating his commanding English fluency. His cologne was also unrivaled at such unholy hour – she found that weird.  He’d spew chewed information of; Net margins, Forecasts, Cash-flows, Deferred Tax, Equities, Transfer pricing….. and it would sound Greek to her.

You see, Shiku and Maths units don’t cross paths quite often and were akin to that annoying neighbor who plays loud music you have to contend with until fate coughs otherwise. She abhorred Maths in high school after the subject teacher depicted open bias to weaker students in that unit. Mr. Muriuki otherwise nicknamed as Calculus who also poised as the school’s pastor, blatantly humiliated and overlooked anyone who scored less than 45% in his subject. He took it as a personal affront. As it would turn out, Shiku didn’t do well in that unit but still made it to campus thanks to her passion for Art subjects which led her in enrolling for (B.A) Literature at Mt. Thondio University.

Time was lapsing to drive back to Nairobi at least before the morning rise came out calling. The girls were exhausted for driving a whopping 350km in a day and hiking the Menengai Crater. Shiku dragged F.M off the club to the parking bay. They barged into his car and adjusted their seats. He asked for her number.

The next thing he recalled when he rose from his hangover slumber, the morning after; the day had grown legs but the infatuation to Shiku was still blurring his mind. He smiled when he recalled Shiku planting a kiss on his lips and him cuddling her erotic body. He replayed that yesternight memory script like a million times, smiling to himself as guilt peeped whenever he made those blank stares to the ceiling board.

In no time the doorbell rung, beckoning the arrival of his family from church.

Photo Credit: http://www.afrikglamourmagazine.com

Previously on Platte-Land: Break Up

Read Next: Tryst

 

PLATTE-LAND 014: BREAK UP

Related image

2 months ago…

After the startling culmination of their date, she got home, went straight to her bedroom, locked herself in and began sobbing for hours. Exalted, she muddled and kicked anything she came across from the shoe rack that was banged to the wall leaving its components running for safety under the bed, to the blankets that were dragged to the floor. She turned to the orderly wardroom and rendered it into a chaotic jumble. She got hold of her favourite souvenir – A puppy pet gifted by her boyfriend and squeezed it hard between her palms, hurling contempt to it as if it occasioned the cause of their break up. All along, her mum pleaded with her to open the door but her pleas fell on dead ears. Her folks got bewildered by the state of their daughter as it stretched to a couple of days before she opened up to them the venom in her heart and the remnants of a formerly promising relationship.

You see, bringing up millennials nowadays, is equal to preparing for the worst and hoping for the best. The world is twisted due to the amount of shit being thrown around. Sly’s mum would reminisce her heydays when she was a teenager. How strict her parents were as so was the society. Kids had little space to manoeuvre in the name of freedom, including dating. These days a daughter has the guts of telling her dad how her boyfriend cheated on her and the dad will look away and mumble something close to; I told you I didn’t like his hair. I mean, what more could you have expected from him?… as he checks on the tyre pressure of his stunning, chisel bodied 2018 Lexus beast, at the parking bay.

Sly

Surely, why would Chris cheat on me? What warranted this kind of betrayal? When did this start? What did he see in her? I know I don’t have the most alluring body but at least I pay for that with my character. After all, I was always there for him. I’m not the nagging type. I’m not a spendthrift. I’m an intellect and smart. I’ve my life goals all put together. I started a school mag out of the blues. I’m starting my internship at a top media station next week. Who doesn’t want to date a focused woman? What else could a man want? I must have been blinded by his sideburns or was it the cologne and his adventurous nature! Surely, an apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

***

“Hey Njagi”

“Hey!”

“Where are you, in the hostel?”

“Yea, whats up?”

“Nothing. Coming.” Hangs up.

Njagi had a knock on the door only to be met by Sly’s teary eyes and her poignant face. She seemed to have been sobbing for hours. You see, Sly was the emotional type. Anything that pissed her off was enough to provoke her tear glands.

“You don’t look okay.”

“Yea, my life is all messed up.”

“What happened, I hope it’s not Chris again?”

“Imagine it is.” She dived on Njagi’s bed and buried herself on the face with the pillow and started weeping lowly.

Njagi was confused as he pondered how to calm her down.

She got over it after an eventful 10 minutes. The pillow was all soaked with her pungent tears. Her face was pale and fazed. Her hair looked disoriented as if somebody rummaged it, attesting the levels of Chris’s betrayal. She had not taken anything except water, for two days. Her folks were terribly stressed.

“Calm down Sly. Breathe in, breathe out. In life, shit happens. And this one wasn’t your fault. We’re all naive at some point in life but it’s cheap and unbecoming for anyone to take advantage of someone’s naivety. That’s what Chris did.” Njagi tried to console her as she nodded, with her mind miles away.

“You recall when we went out and you informed me how queer he had become?” Njagi dug in another palaver.

“Yes, I remember.”

“My instincts were true. There was a lady distracting him.”

” I just don’t understand why he’d do that to me.”

“What did you two discuss at the so-called makeup date, sorry to ask?”

“You know, Chris is such a hypocrite. He was blaming his queer behavior to depression caused by I don’t know what. In fact, I had decided to hold his hand and walk him over it until it dawned on me, I was on my own and being set up.”

“Ehe keep going.”

“The date was fine until he escorted me to the bus terminus and by grace, she bumped into us.”

“Who bumped into you?”

“That b**** …..and she dared asked who I was to him.”

“Did she look familiar?”

“Not with those chubby cheeks.”

“Did she look hot!….sorry, ignore that.”

She clenched her jaws in utter disgust.

“Did he bother calling back to explain?”

“He didn’t and I don’t give a damn. He is too ashamed.”

“So, what do you think, will you call it quit?”

“I want to call him and make him understand it’s all over between him and me.”

“You know what, before you make that call, you’ll freshen up and I will take you for lunch.”

Njagi knew all the right buttons to make Sly rejuvenated. Call it platonic friendship.

Her favourite meal was anything close to a mushroom pizza. In no time, they checked in at Debonairs Pizza, at ABC Place – Waiyaki Way.  The surprise date worked for Sly as soon as she smelled the location of their lunch set up. Her face warmed up and her eyelids dried up. Finally, the old Sly’s character had resurfaced. They ordered for large size, chicken & mushroom pizza and soft drinks. They talked in length about MUST Zone school mag and basked under the excitement of Sly’s internship at Syokimau FM set to begin in a week’s time.

As they were about to leave, Sly insisted he had to call Chris. Njagi advised that the location was inappropriate plus she hadn’t recovered yet. “Sly, never ever make hasty decisions when you are very angry or happy. You’ll end up regretting soon after.” It was hardly a week after their last encounter.

Sly was adamant though, that the break up had to be settled once and for all. She took her phone and while she typed his name on the phone book, Chris called. It took them by surprise. She had to buy time before picking it just to codify her mind. The baggage of calling the other first had shifted to Chris, and in such a rare moment, she had to rise to the occasion and put to a conclusion this draining situation she was in.

“Hello”

“Hi Sly, how are you?”

“Never mind, what’s the call meant for?”

“Slow down. I thought we should meet.”

“Yea, you deserve meeting your new catch.”

“Don’t be rude.”

“You know what!….”

“Yes, I’m listening.”

“It’s very much over between me and you. Consider yourself a done deal.”

“No, no. We can’t break up on phone.”

“It’s not a request. Boy, smell your fate and deal with it. Forget me.”

“So, are you dumping your other boyfriend as well?”

“Which other boyfriend?”

“Njagi.”

“Leave Njagi out of this.”

“How do I know if you cheated on me with him, previously?”

“Stop using Njagi as your scapegoat….”

“Sly…Sly…Sly…listen to me.”

“Consider yourself dumped.”

“You remember I found you caressing your friend Eunetta and you told me it’s a girls’ thing. Are you a lesbian Sly?”

“Stop side shows Chris.”

“Did Eunetta win you over me?”

“You’re making drama out of nothing. I’d rather remain single than have you in my life. You cheated on me for over half an year.”

“You are kidding me.”

“Kid you not.”

“Babe!”

“Don’t babe me.” Hangs up.

***

“I had my name thrown around”

“He is alleging you are my other boyfriend.”

“What about the lesbian stuff?”

“Let’s not even go there.”

They both sigh off reaching to each other for a well-deserved hug.

 

Photo credit: Chicagonow.com

Related article Apology

Previously on Platte-Land Lechery

Read next: Cupid

WHY MARRIAGE IS STRUGGLING

Ladies and gentlemen, sad to let you know we are in deep sh*t. As we speak, marriage institution in Kenya is under assassination and serious siege. In other words, it’s half frozen, its nostrils dangling in deep waters, legs upside down, wobbling for help. It has been forcibly captured and capsized by the evil, bloody spirits full of venom and where Samanthas, Slay queens, Side dishes, Strippers, Socialites, Seducers, Sponsorees, Serial Killers, Slanderers and did they say Sh*tholes…call the shots and rule with impunity in this game of musical chairs.  It’s not even a question of broken vows or dishonoured promises but who is behind strangling marriage and oiling the evil spirits that are getting into people’s heads only to unleash terror, horror, violence, bloodshed and premature deaths to the very core of society – Family. Here, we are gazed by a shocking reality pondering on what may have warranted such horrible, painful, cold, bloody and untimely deaths of precious loved ones.

Deaths that have left behind traces of gaping voids that depict a nation badly wounded and bleeding from within. Desperation, ill mental health, lack of stress management mechanisms and moral rot can only be assumed as the obvious causes of such dire calamities that have befallen today’s society. What is left behind is a community picking up the pieces and trying to make sense of these wild patterns that have rendered many orphans, single parents, divorcees, or empty shells of debris after an entire family lineage has been wiped off.

Marriage has been ransacked and tore apart by hungry carnivores in the name of Alcoholism, Cheating and Infidelity, Finances, Low libido, Mistrust and a society struggling with debauchery addiction. Speaking of finances – They say money and marriage is an age-old problem. Many married couples face tests that threaten to crumble down their marriages whenever they fail to come clean on their financial status and worth. In fact, a myriad of conflicts in marriage has been attributed to couples mistrusting one another on money issues and undisclosing how much they own. Some go to an extent of operating secret bank accounts or registering their assets with the names of their children and not their spouses. Couples that tend to show an unusual appetite for materialism desires at the expense of cultivating authentic happiness are much vulnerable to money-related conflicts regardless of how rich or poor they are.

Further, many married women are living lonely and unhappy lives due to men forsaking to honour their cardinal responsibility of providing for their families. On the other hand, legions of women too, are triggering lots of pressure to their husbands to live up to the expectations of the social class they perceive to be in. Consequently, if such men don’t honour such expectations, they are denied respect and dignity in their homes and gradually become way unpopular even to their children. Much propaganda is fed to the kids thereby poisoning their souls to abhor cold feelings towards their dads.

Marriages that have no common goals or priorities tend to weaken their financial growth and capacity. While everybody should be allowed to pursue their individual goals in life, in marriage, major decisions that affect a huge chunk of the family budget should be smoothly harmonised to avoid future conflicts. It’s a fact that, spendthrift is the number one financial cause for divorce be it in gambling, alcohol or impulse buying. While it may be smooth sailing for ordinary relationships, clearly, marriage has never been a bed of roses and as it demands disclosure and transparency for fewer conflicts to occur. Those who defy this rule find the going quite unbearable and tough.

Infidelity in marriages has contributed to many bloody separations if not leading to death. No one time hasn’t the media reported of cases of love-triangles oscillating around married people and side women. Many marriages have come to a grand halt due to cheating or realising their marriages have been rocked by secret concubines. Majority of men are very much vulnerable to keeping side women for selfish desires. Concubines use soft power strategy which usually involves massaging man’s ego and tending to depict submissive demeanour to win over them. What many men don’t realise or only do it in hindsight when it’s too late, is that concubines’ end game is to eliminate man’s wife from her territory and ending up inheriting what the wife or children would have stood to gain. Broadly, we have two types of cheaters. People who cheat because it’s in their DNA and character to cheat. These are fellows who can’t control themselves whenever an alluring skirt wearer is in their vicinity. They are controlled by lust and tend to cover up their insecurities by breeding as many cheats in their lives. Indeed, it’s a question of seeking validation and feeding their life inadequacies. The other lot of marriage cheats happen due to prolonged dissatisfaction or unresolved issues in marriage. While this is not an excuse, it’s important for couples to address issues timely instead of shelving them under the carpet where they build up only to choke them later on.

Does it bother you how many young ladies in their twenties and early thirties that find it attractive to date married men? While this is done perhaps to boost their narcissistic ego and feed their hypersexuality, many more practice it out of peer pressure for financial breakthroughs. And with all due respect to single mums, there are a number of them who chest thump on social media how they are able to provide for their kids if not playing the role of father and mum which by the way is a credit to them, BUT end up being laid by married men not once, not twice, not thrice but regularly. Woman, that’s double standards!

Clearly, we are a generation that due to its insatiable desire to live-large, exude instant gratification or clueless on coping with life’s demands and dynamism are unable to manage our stress levels. Unfortunately, we’ve left poorly lit and ill-funded mental facilities and very few number of counsellors and unaffordable psychiatrists to address the issue of depression. Surely, Mathare Mental Hospital is a drop in the ocean if we will ever successfully address stress-related deaths in the society. Mental health needs to be well funded and devolved. As a matter of fact, we need well equipped mental hospitals in every County in Kenya.

Be it as it may, we need to indulge further as a nation on the need to preserve family heritage by reclaiming it from the jaws of domestic violence and unfounded deaths. Worse still, the fact that innocent children are being killed in the melee of unresolved issues is an invitation for God’s wrath on us. Moreover, bloodshed is a direct curse. No one has the mandate to terminate another person’s life regardless of the situation.

More fundamentally, couples should take their time in dating to learn more about each other. And while it’s naive to imagine you can exhaust getting to know somebody, usually, there are red signs and no go zones traits you can observe while still dating someone. Besides, getting to know one’s family, their values and reputation is equally as important. By the way, successful marriages are not about marrying the most curvaceous woman or the tallest and richest man, it’s about investing in discipline, authentic friendship, teamwork and sacrificing for one another for the greater good of family accomplishment.

 

MATERNAL MOMENTS: PART 1

It’s all fun and games until labor contractions begin. By hook or crook of it, it gets evident that the chickens have come home to roost. That the day of havoc is alive and well. At this situation the baby is usually stretching off, armed with eagerness to breathe life outside the placenta. Speaking of which, the placenta is that place where everything is controlled from the atmosphere to the lack of harshness from realities like demos, teargas, cash crunch, frenemies, global warming, traffic, inflation, idle politicking, sanctions and blackmail. Besides, if hues and cries and piercing pains are anything to go by, a lot is left to be desired in the labor ward.

So, a day to the EDD your wife will confess to having craved for chips and since she cooks them so effortlessly, you’ll encourage her to let the unborn baby have what she is desiring, be it chips. And in a few, the table room will be filled with sweet aroma emanating from the kitchen where your wife and her bulging belly will be cooking for the baby and yourself, her last meal before she crosses the bridge to parenthood. Halfway the cooking, she will drop the long cooking spoon and run to you, holding her back with one arm complaining of a sharp pain. The impact of the pain will be enough to smoke out a bit of tear drops in her eyes and have her form a paranoid face. All this will happen at the backdrop of dawning labor pains that will have no clear recognition to first-timers. So anything close to pain will be enough to call a press conference and make a quick call to Eston, your cab guy. It will also be prudent to let the chips burn out in the kitchen as compared to handling the pain from your wife. Later, you’ll walk to the kitchen to serve what will have been saved from the savage of burning out. However, you’ll only manage to have some few bites courtesy of the tension building on.

Two hours later, the pains will have become more frequent at intervals of 30 – 40 minutes. By then, you’ll have consulted Doctor Google who will have it that the pains are called contractions. And that they’ll be signs of true labor if they come at a time when the EDD is expected. Upon reading that, your heart will skip with fear and excitement. The two feelings will interlock and do a Jaguar – Babu Owino fist out at your dismay. Further, Doctor Google will have it that, it will be highly important if one times the intervals of the contractions and probably, record them somewhere. The following will be the reason; For first-time mothers, true labor is placed when the spacing of the contractions is at the intervals of eight minutes while for the rest of the mothers, true labor kicks in when the contractions space in between ten minutes interval.

While you’ll gladly communicate this to your wife, she will have none of it and so will you. You’ll rather seek an interpretation from the nearest hospital in your list of options. What will follow will be you picking the small suitcase that will have ‘mother & baby items’ and place it at the doorstep as you make a call to Eston. He will not disappoint. At 11:44pm, he will have showed up at your gate. Both of you will make a brief prayer committing everything to the Lord and requesting for His protection and guidance in this uncharted path. You’ll walk out quietly, careful not to trigger any curiosity to your neighbors. In less than 10 minutes, you’ll have arrived at the hospital waiting to be attended. While at it, you’ll hear screams from the labor ward, of mothers pushing hard and cursing in equal measure. You’ll turn to your wife and pretend not to have heard the noise, just not to scare her further.

After an examination, your wife will be reordered to revert home as her cervix will have had zero opening and that the so-called pains she will be experiencing will be premature. In fact, the doc there will be like; “we need 10cm opening.” You’ll drive back home dejected, scared by what type of pains and magnitude to expect; wondering how your wife will handle them; bothered if that cervix spacing will ever be possible to attain and further agonizing if Eston will pick your call at 3:30am if the pains become intense and unbearable. No sooner you arrive home than the pains will drift closer together in intervals of 20 minutes. You’ll practically not sleep that night apart from massaging her back and persistently timing the pains and hoping hours ahead will speed up. You’ll miss daylight and all its safety.

At 5: 25am, you’ll have fully prepared and made way to the hospital again, this time not ready to revert back to the house without a kid in the arms. Luckily, she’ll be earnestly admitted and pronounced as to be experiencing true labor. She will be issued with those fluffy and oversize maternity gowns that will make her look like a Langa’ta Women’s prisoner. No pun intended. You’ll notice buds of fear placed at the corners of her eyes. You’ll try to ignore them as you whisper words of encouragement that in fact, will do little to suppress the fear in you too.  As that unfolds, her phone, as well as yours, will keep on buzzing from curious family members and friends eager to know if the baby will have popped out yet. While the calls will create more anxiety, you’ll advise your wife to switch her phone off and leave it to you, to convey the information as to when it’ll be appropriate. A friend of hers, actually twice her age will call you requesting to know if you picked a woman friend to help your wife as you embarked to the hospital. You’ll lie to her that you did so. As soon as you hang up, you’ll wonder how in the 21st-century husbands can’t drive their women to maternity wards in peace and in the company of nobody else apart from maybe their pet dog, one Poppy!

Not even your mother in law or your own mother will have the closest of information on what will be transpiring at this moment but instincts will be screaming something to their heads. While at it, you’ll stop the nurses along the way, humbly requesting to know the fate of your wife. Some will be receptive while others will be as cold as a club bouncer. The latter will have no feelings to let nor sympathize with your poor self. But there will be some who understand keeping up with a pregnant woman for nine months and overseeing all the hullabaloo and drama that comes with it, is no mean achievement. One such nurse will be Nurse – Angeline. She will have lots of things happening on her taste of hairstyle which will make her stand out anyway. Upon posing the question of the fate of your wife, you’ll notice her honest smile and reassurance even before she speaks. You’ll also notice the narrow gap between her front teeth that will make her smile more customized and memorable.

That evening, you’ll walk home to meet your house literally walking to you demanding to know how everything turned out. “Did the baby come?” the matrimonial bed will ask. “What is the gender?” the utensils will pose to you. “What is the weight of the baby?” The electronics will beg to know. The half-eaten chipos of yesternight will still be on the table mapping out what will seem to have been the most hectic 24 hours of your lifetime. Meanwhile, you’ll sit down and draft short messages conveying great news of the birth of your baby, a few hours ago, to people around you who seem to matter most. Before then, you’ll have called your mum as the first recipient of this privileged information and she will recite a gratitude prayer right on the other side of the phone conversation. She will be glad of her son, finally walking into parenthood while she is alive to witness it as it unfolds. To God be the glory.

By Day 2, your wife will have made lifetime friends from her hospital bed from the likes of Milly who despite losing a new baby born, will be a walking piece of inspiration. She will be extremely prayerful, overly kind and unbowed by the circumstances of losing a child. She will have coastal origins from her Swahili command to her plus-size demeanor. Then there will be sad stories of women who have braved marriage violence for their entire pregnancies. There will be more cold ones like of kids born with deformities and had their mothers take off leaving them at the mercy of the hospital. There will be some to extremely sympathize with; like of women who’ve endured bleeding from their fourth month of pregnancy compelling them to be hospitalized to the end of their gestation period; while others won’t deliver until their blood pressure stabilizes. Then there will be this slender, light-skinned Form two girl, admitted in the same ward with your wife. She will not have a child lying next to her. You’ll learn that she survived a rape ordeal, got impregnated in the melee and had the dignity of carrying the pregnancy to the ninth month. She delivered one and half years ago, an innocent baby boy. But why the girl will be back in the hospital is because she will have pains around her belly which in a few days ahead, will be booked in the theatre after it’s established if she has developed some tumor in her stomach, through an X-Ray process. Your wife will also have made friends with one woman who gave birth to 1.5kg underweight infant baby and got trapped in the hospital since the bill was too high for her and her family to settle. The last you had about it, it was way past sh.100,000.

Looking forward to Part 2 of Maternal Moments!!

 

WHICH WAY OUT: FEW OR MORE KIDS

Image result for A photo of a beautiful african family

Early April this year, my family and I embarked on a trip to visit my Shosh, up in the hills of Othaya. A green desert of tea farms, and dwindling coffee plantation, up and down we were, taking sharp corners underneath unbothered deadly rivers making their way to distant lands. Othaya, a very fresh environment courtesy of the unrivalled abundance of rare indigenous trees, tall and gigantic, placed on top of hills and down south along the slopes, bending and singing smoothly – what a purified air! And this journey is never enough without passing by Tums. Well Tums is a small getaway, sandwiched by weather roads, red in colour and inside a sleepy village called Giakaja. Here, the best of kuku and mbuzi choma invites you from the parking bay, and soon you spot the busiest of waiters speeding like rally cars, balancing their trays with the dozens of orders playing in their heads. Tums being a gazebo-like layout, the laughters from happy people enjoying every bite of the meat and ambience waft easily all across. Normally, Nairobians who live for discovering hide outs, will be found here on a Saturday afternoon, flanked by their glossy wives, and their beguiling looking, smooth skinned girlfriends with sweeping elegant weaves, and their boys in expensive pants while some will still insist on puttting on coloured shorts in the year of our lord 2017. Usually, their tables will be dotted with Tuskers and silver-like melting meat. They will smoke arrogantly, speak louder, laugh more and ask for more beer and choma.

Now, we make our way to Shosh’s place, eat, drink, chat and then by coincidence happen to meet a number of my cousins who have also checked in for other engagements here. So, as the evening gets weary, one cousin rises to give vote of thanks but sneaks in an interesting conversation. That as cousins, they are considering awarding whichever family that will reach the target of having at least five kids. Currently the top contenders which is a tie of a few, has four kids each. Actually they are three families out of thirty something. SADLY, SHOSHO PASSED ON RECENTLY AND IN FACT LAID HER TO REST ON 16TH JUNE 2017. Rest in eternal peace dear pillar of my heritage.

Moving on…Our generation is breeding far fewer kids. Two utmost. Three if one is damn rich. Some one. Well the commonest reason being the “harsh economic times”. Quite logical. I mean how and why should one agonise over raising more kids when Unga is neither affordable nor available. When you can’t place food on the table, why more? Dear Andreaders, can our economy encourage contemporary parents to get more or few?

Well, I sampled a few of my friends asking them: Given a choice considering the status of our economy, would you go few or more kids? Kindly give reasons. Only one out of twelve respondents was for four to five kids regardless of the economic status. Three respondents were for very few kids. The rest had no clear answers. Simply put, they were nor here nor there. Just a bit confused. Sometimes back, my siblings and I visited mum by surprise. She was extremely happy and sensational. One thing I fondly remember her saying was; “Assuming I had one or two kids, would I be this happy?” You can imagine a family of slightly many siblings , armed with their spouses and curious teenage-like kids, and few more delicate and restless ones less than a year old, who can cry all night. We were scattered in one house, unbowed by the crying ones annoyed by the new environment they were not used to and the laughters and dealing with not-so-familiar faces plus the undoing of low temperatures of Nyandarua. Kids can be sensitive? My mum now savouring the beauty of watching her grandchildren whirl up and down while the shy ones sat attentively as they gazed at the hearty conversations. The shy ones in this instance had to be the teenagers getting acquainted to adolescence stage of life.

While working on this article, I stumbled on a research report named, Kenya: The Demographic of a Country in Turmoil which gives a chronology of Kenya’s population. Digging in, between 1970s and 1980s Kenya had one of the fastest population growth rates in the world. It experienced an economy slow down thereafter, which prompted the government to advocate for family planning to lower fertility rates. In 1960’s an average family would have 8 – 10 kids. As of 1990’s, that dropped to about five kids. With the AIDS epidemic which eroded health and mortality progress, Kenya has had to review life expectancy from an average of 60 years in 1980s to 53 in 2007.

But while the poor are having more kids, the middle class are siring few! Seemingly, the former are putting up with a fight of survival while the latter are toying with pro-westernized ideologies where getting more kids is no longer fashionable and worse still – very demanding and expensive, so to speak. But demographic pundits have it; that with an effective government and stable economic environment, population increase leads to steady economic growth.

The worry is, many alike, in our classes of life are bringing up fewer and lonelier families. Where, a couple gets two kids, educates them and by the time these children join University at about 19 years, the parents being anywhere from 45 – 51 years, are left to live alone while the kids run to Nairobi. These are the same kids who never get married nor visit home. So the closest these parents get to meet their grandchildren, unfortunately, will be in their sorry state – feeble and draining their family savings to medical bills besides dealing with two kids who haven’t stabilized in life. Forgive me for entertaining the thought that, there is fun in more numbers.

Thinking rationally, clear advantages of having relatively more kids include; Family projects become easier and attractable to finance based on the numbers, the few less-fortunate in life get pulled up by the rest of the siblings, the diversity of careers and lines of incomes brought about by different interests for each sibling increases chances of survival, such a family has a bulk of knowledge and forum to exchange ideas and increase business networks. Moreover, economies of scale have never been more plausible than in families – Utility bills are far cheaper in a house of more, than of few. Clothes and toys can be passed on to the younger ones. Parents who are pro-more can be in a position to enjoy freedom earlier since the teenage kids can be left to guard the little ones as they attend a dinner date, or rush for urgent issues out of the house, and can be caught up in traffic without worry of house girl drama.

Medical researchers have disclosed that growing up with a brother or sister can reduce food allergies, multiple sclerosis and some cancers. Obesity and depression is potentially reduced by exposure to more siblings. Parents with one or two kids, spend lots of money in Day-cares while the pro-more can have that aspect taken care of easily. Research have shown that ‘siblinged’ children will have stronger soft skills and keener emotional intelligence than single children. In most cases, siblings make up the best of friends. Mistakes and confessions are first told to close siblings meaning a good support system can be nurtured within siblings. Further, one or two kids can choke from over attention and pressure. Relatively more kids dilute the attention awarded to each kid hence aiding in making a child mature quicker.

Few or more, the jury is out.

 

CHEATS AND SIDE DISHES

A friend of mine who lives in a staff quarter since he works in a firm located remotely shocked me the other day when he narrated a story about his colleague. So, his colleague whom we shall name Jacob* who happens to hail from afar town and hence compelled to live in the same quarters, developed an affair with a lady from a nearby village. With time the lady moved in to stay with Jacob and would only walk home occasionally. Mind you, the lady’s parents are aware that their daughter sees a man from this firm but somehow have no idea that Jacob is very much married and with three kids. Commonly, cheating men are stingy to their wives. Exactly what Jacob turns out to be; earning a handsome salary but neglecting his family to an extent where one day, his wife decides to travel a distance of about 200 kilometers, to Jacob’s place of work to confront him.

On this day, the side dish happens to be in Jacob’s house oblivious of his wife journey to accost his seemingly mindless man. So the wife rings Jacob warning him that she is five minutes away, having embarked on a journey for an impromptu visit. As soon as Jacob hangs up, he drifts to the bedroom, grabs the side dish suitcase and all her belongings, throws them over the fence that borders the staff quarters screaming at his girl to speed off since his wife is meters away coming. In seconds, the poor girl walks out of the house confused, meets with Jacob’s wife along the corridor but lucky not to have been noticed as to where she emerges from; walks away unhurt by a fellow woman’s wrath. Too lucky but unregretful, she walks back a week later after Jacob wife travels back home.

A number of years ago, soon after landing my first job and too excited to live alone; living in a single room by then…My immediate neighbor a struggling alcoholic, red eyed man with a couple of dark scars on his face and one who would carry a heavy smell of intoxation, welcomed me in my new found freedom of sorts. His love for loud music was unmatchable. He’d exchange ladies at will, something the neighbors had made peace with. Well at some point he settled down with one lass. Haiya, just so casually at the glare of our eyes in that come-wash-my-dishes scenario. Assuming that she was among the seasonal ladies who would just be replaced as soon, we were dead wrong.

You know, in single room neighborhood, sound travels as fast, as if everyone is living under one roof – See your life landlord. One evening, as I was retiring to bed (My bed being next to the imaginary bedroom of my neighbor’s room) his newly wife phone rung and she picked it with ease. I could tell it was a man calling and flirting with somebody’s wife right on his balding head. As soon as the conversation ended, screams from the lady could be heard. The tiny house was turned upside down, in chaos, screams, ultimatums and shouts that would go like “Live my house”….”live my house”…”pack your stuff!!!! (Wajameni whats with men daring their wives to pack their stuff while inside they are wishing – I hope she won’t). Here was a phone call from a man who was sharing the spoils with a newly married lady or so it appeared.

While a good number of young people would jump to love triangles for material gains, a good number of the slightly older folks, deliberately get involved in side affairs for emotional assurances. That not being an excuse, the contemporary marriage has been rocked with complex issues opening gaps and cracks for side dish syndrome to penetrate, shimmer and thrive. The most vulnerable being men who are trapped by either desperation to feel loved, reassured and recognized, the side dish woman continues to grow in vigor and boldness each passing day. From the gospel world to men of the cloth and politicians, infidelity and lust seem to be crossing paths far too frequently.

When some months ago, a compelled confession by a man of no mean achievements and who happens to be the number two most senior official of Jubilee government, an eloquent, vibrant and charismatic – William Ruto; clearly the wave of brooding side dishes confidently stands tall, first among equals even for the high and mighty. Is this the case? Perhaps not. How so, while he is not the first nor the last politician to feature in the side dish infamous book. That in the year 2006 Ruto met, got twisted and succumbed to the strong agitation of brewing a secret affair, hearty and well-oiled love only for the timing and leaking of the bombshell to be in the electioneering year.

Monica Lewinsky a 21 years old unpaid intern in White House under the leadership of President Bill Clinton back in 1995, perhaps was and is the most publicised woman in the history of marriage infidelity.  Tiger Woods who was too naive to realise his career was intertwined to his performance in marriage, painfully ended up his envious world class golfing career out of a side dish affair. Locally, renowned celebrities have battled recorded tapes leaking to the social media, pants down cheating on their spouses.

But why are we surprised? You know of this guy in your estate pub or your friend who brews this beautiful side dish. You know of this woman whose man works in a far city but broods young men when the poor man drives back to the city. It shouldn’t be a surprise by now. You know of this close relative who is in his/her early forties, unmarried and seemingly unbothered to get hitched but occasionally have rumours wafting now and then sometimes to your doorstep that so and so is normally seen frequenting his/her house. You perhaps have this neighbor in her late thirties, with two kids, no consistent man in the vicinity but an occasional man who sneaks shyly when these kids resume back to boarding school.

What I’m I trying to say? That our generation has normalized infidelity, sexual greed, selfishness, and compromised integrity. We have smashed the marriage institution, robbed it off its values and bleached the institution with short-sided sinful and guilty looking men and women. We have witnessed Whatsapp prayer groups get rocked with sexual scandals. That not surprising, infamous pastors and alleged men of god have been all time culprits to this society weakness.

Far more men and women are putting their cries on social media, others succumbing to depression, lost for words with what is fighting their union. Many more are resulting to physical fights to save what is rightfully theirs in as much the reality is hostile to listen, respect and keep off.

Thanks to an ongoing conversation in the social media that MARRIAGE IS NOT AN ACHIEVEMENT; I dare say marriage is a goal and an accomplishment – For crying out loud in Africa. Marriage should validate oneself and be devoted for, if done for the right reasons. The so called campaigners of this narrative have every objective to welcome and support cheats in marriage and just play down this incredible institution. That with one phone call or text message, a life may be at danger, a whole family may be in shambles, two people conjoined by honest love and commitment may be at the brick of self-destruction. It’s very costly to repair love more so when the orchestrators move and smile at will in the name of socialites and sponsorees at hire.

Yes, majority of married men will look attractive to you lazy woman who can’t find your own and will gladly fall into your trap to cheat on their wife with you, only for you to realise when it’s too late that you too will be cheated on by the same man you lured in the first place. That said, people should stop doing church weddings for formalities if they can’t let go their side dishes.

Have a good one Andreaders!

A GATHERING OF THE BOY CHILD – PART TWO

Image result for Kenya boys in public schools

Over the last one week, I have received many emails and Whatsapp messages; of some impressed readers, some who couldn’t wait for Part Two and a few others who dragged a seat for me, and gave me a dress down on how I was castigating the boy child which ideally, belong to. I’m happy though that a majority found sense in what I was putting across and partook in appreciating the cloudy reality that seems to hover around the boy child.

Itemised  below were bits and pieces that I was able to gather from this meeting organized by one, Moses Njoroge as pointed out in Part One of this article.

I was here seated with deflated humans just like me battling life fears and societal expectations that not only keep glaring at us but also toppling over whatever little confidence left behind.  Amongst us were men married to beautiful, spiritual and devoted women who perhaps were worried of what could their men be learning from this meeting. Was it about radicalizing them to be tougher husbands who shouldn’t show emotions nor accept to be corrected when they fail? Was it about telling them to be a bit careful on giving out money to their wives? Or was it all about emphasizing to them to be ignoring ideas fronted by their spouses? Far from it, this was a forum attended by gentlemen who meant well for their women. They were coming from a school of thought that was willing to learn something new; to approach life with a wider scope of people’s experiences and backgrounds; to laugh about their weaknesses and mistakes and more importantly to create new networks to bond and to empower the boy child in us.

Here is a wounded lion that is still expected to roar. He is wounded by imbalanced upbringing, lack of role models, under empowerment and steady rise of single mothers. He is sidelined by the media and all other stakeholders, who now put all their attention to the other gender at his expense.

We are grown up men struggling to let go hangovers of our childhood. If it’s not about dad’s who didn’t live up to our expectations rather succumbing to the wild-fire of alcoholism then it has to be how they ruthlessly battered our mothers right in front of our eyes. These imageries have refused to go or die of. They keep haunting us and replaying over our minds. They stubbornly question why we had such horrifying dads; insecure, unambitious and who loved the beer bottle than our family.

Some have learnt to cope with realities of dealing with dads who passed on when they needed them most. They died even before, these men who were boys then, learnt how to pee on their own. They were left to be herded by older sisters in the jungle of adolescence and moms who had no idea on how to instill these sons, manly attributes. The best they could do was to provide them with all they could afford but nothing to do with how gentlemen think and are wired. These boys grew up in an environment where there was no man to look up to and to identify with. Their dads passed on pretty early in life exposing them to tough rays of life that were not only itching but with far-reaching ramifications.

For others, it was a case of finding themselves being molested by close relatives and not knowing who to trust or talk to. A majority of us (men) being fundamentally introverts in some quarters have a tendency of keeping it to ourselves from a very tender stage. To some, they got it really bad in Form One after going through hostile environments full of bullies. These changed who they were and how they perceived people. It eroded every good virtue in them. Living in a chaotic environment has consequences and one of them is succumbing to the ugly mess of turning out to be as the rest.

Family gatherings that are expected to harness unity and create identity to an extended family are no longer fashionable to attend. They are now scarce and far between. You know, we are busy humans; busy chasing money, cutting financial shortcuts, bribing and embezzling funds. We’ll also be spotted in middle class functions drink driving to look cool, having sagged our pants and mentality as well, hand in hand with lasses donning waistline skirts and showing cleavages from here to I don’t know where. Uncles, who should essentially play a critical role in mentoring nephews; are in fact busier souls to have some time with. Family gatherings have been reduced to show offs and a place to trade subtle, perennial family feuds. We attend these occasions to enjoy beer with cousins we’ve not met in a hundred years. Unfortunately, there is nothing like mentoring of boys by the uncles and being shown how to skin a goat or having a sitting to learn about traditional cultures.

I recall one participant who co owns a company in real estate and land business giving very cold statistics on the gender portfolio of their clients. You’d imagine men are big in investing, right? Imagine the numbers don’t seem to add up in days of our times. In fact according to him; Out of 300 sales of land, only two pieces were bought by men, the rest being purchased by women. As pointed out in the previous article, women are deliberately investing more and spending less. For men, we’re doing the reverse; spending more and investing less. And included in our entertainment expenses is treating these same ladies (who own acres of land) by taking them out with cars on defaulted loans, and paying bills with credit cards. Shouldn’t that worry you?

Society should further be scared by the overwhelming number of singer mothers. The boy child should be scared even more. With all due respect to voluntary single parents, and their devotion to their children, I mean well for all of you. However, allow me to look at the bigger picture, especially on the boy child issue for the sake of this article. According to Pastor Gillis Triplett of Embassy Christian Church headquartered in Atlanta, Georgia; your son IS NOT the man of the house. He is your child! Most single mothers will never understand the psychological damage they cause by anointing their sons to be the man of the house. By falsely convincing their boys that they are men, these single moms pigeonhole their adolescents into a pressure-based environment God never intended for them to be in.

We are giving these young boys lots of emotional duress and what Gillis calls mom’s fanatical demands of manhood. You know, many single mothers are not in good terms with their ex-husbands. Note I used the word MOST not ALL. It is a case of subtle war between the two. So this boy child is brought up in an environment where he is quickly ushered to a war field right after birth. It’s a case of who succeeds in winning the kid’s trust over the other. Going by the statistics of the rise of voluntary single mothers; the boy child poses to lose big time as he is brought up by a woman who has very low regards about men generally. Meaning, in as much as the boy would be provided with everything he’d desire of, except for a dad, he will be hugely exposed to narrations of how his dad was or is a failure. How then, will such a kid ever admire being a great man if his world exists of none?

I’m aware of men who’ve got their acts together, so to speak. They have intentionally dared to be the most committed fathers and husbands they can ever be. They have persistently raised the bar for contemporary men notwithstanding the overwhelming challenges facing the male gender. I salute these blokes and encourage them to create forums in their neighborhoods to empower the rest of us.  No man is self-sufficient. And, we are human first before anything else. It’s natural for human to crave for acceptance, motivation, general empowerment and to be listened to. Men are of no exemption!

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: