mama's boy

Mama’s Boy has always been a hot-potato-topic loved and loathed in equal measure, one that is too sensitive for many writers to juggle with, that pierces through what we hold dearest to, compelling us to be on either side of the divide. You are either a mama’s boy or not. It is as clear as black and white. There is no middle ground or consensus in this. Sorry.

I’m not sure how I will fair but while at it can I throw a disclaimer? There is nothing personal in here apart from much respect to all the incredible MAMA’s out there.


Did you know six of every 10 Kenyan women are likely to be single mothers by the time they reach 45? The research by Prof Shelly Clark, an associate professor of sociology at Canada’s McGill University, and Prof Dana Hamplová from Prague’s Charles University and Institute of Sociology, also found out a Kenyan woman is more likely to be rendered a single mother by bearing a child out of wedlock than other, more unavoidable causes, like the death of a spouse or divorce. The alarming figures are one of the highest in Africa, mirroring the quickly changing dynamisms of Family in the country. A man’s roles at the family level is slowly being dwindled and riddled by reckless behaviors meaning many women are opting to raise their kids without the baggage of an irresponsible husband/dad. Moreover, faced with an increase in Female financial muscle, a good number of women are opting to go it alone in this whole family idea.

That said, where does it leave the boy child? What are the consequences of a child raised by a single mother be it from controllable or uncontrollable reasons? To some extent it disadvantages the boy child to the extent that he is constantly fed with how his dad was incapable, irresponsible if not unambitious or one that missed in action.  This boy grows with a very negative attitude of his own gender and tending to hold highly the role of the other gender.  Allow me to focus on the disadvantage of such a background for the sake of this article. That does not in any way water down the role of the female gender in bringing up a family.

That brings me to my point;

We are a society that is churning out legions of men who have never had an intimate conversation with an all rounded, mature man. The problem with that is, the boy child upbringing is hugely predisposed to one gender meaning the boy sheds off or even fails to attract manly attributes. Like appreciating the buck stops with him in matters family stewardship. Not getting to know the difference between crying and over-crying. Or rather, that signs of being too emotional are considered unmanly. Not learning early to tie a tie or how to skin a goat – Your dearest mum will never teach you this. Or how to jump start a car and that love is stronger than muscles……and how to be a gentleman. Neither your mum nor your aunties will ever help you in learning the ropes of being a gentleman than a father figure.  Remember you can’t give what you don’t have. They say baggage in baggage out. We are what we are predisposed to. Period!

That said, it’s one thing to passionately love your mum and to have her, love you back overwhelmingly and it’s another thing for her to overshadow your life in the sense of her approving every decision you make. Talk of lads who will not speak two sentences without mentioning their mums. These are the same fellows who will have a problem with their spouse’s cooking style, or type of lotion she applies if does not match that of the mum. No pun intended to mums though.

I strongly believe a man must chart his own trajectory at some point in his life. Where he will come to the realisation that, it’s okay to reach out to her when life becomes over bearing but also appreciating it’s not her role to sort out every challenge in his life. The sad reality is, the society is churning out quarter baked men who cling on a family’s heritage if not idling around waiting to bequeath what their parents toiled hard to acquire. It’s even despicable when you are 30 and bearded, battling an oversized belly, a receding hairline and unashamed attitude, wagging your tail home to pester your mum for not ensuring the house servant counted you for dinner or harassing her for not giving you money to fuel your car that she bought for you.

I’m talking about men who refuse to live independently.  Who still need motherly wings to cover themselves from the harsh life.  Blokes who can’t make a single decision without consulting their mums. Men who take advantage of the politics between their wife – mother in law relationship for their selfish gains. Of married men who back-bite their wives from A to Z from her bad breath to her poor taste of clothing forgetting there are married to their wives not their mothers.

This is beyond a caving mess that has me so infuriated. Saddening because it has become an all too familiar game that has risen and fallen, re-emerged, buried alive and at times refused to die or just fly away. Stubborn life stories that leave one disoriented, mad and tempting one to go uprooting these heinous men teeth, gouging out their eyes and hammering their heads hard enough until they shed off the unmanly attributes.

Bottom line: My Man to Man Talk has it that, as men, we have failed miserably and must come to peace with that. We must also resolve that we will not mould our sons to be quarter baked men. Otherwise that will be an injustice to the posterity generation. That we will dare to see beyond our Mama’s horizon. Whereby, we will be bold enough to make them believe in our self made dreams.


aged menSo last Saturday I was awake for a whole 24 hours. Yes 24. Don’t judge me, thank you. Late in the night at those evil hours of 3am when the devil and all his cousins go out of their way to raid and rein havoc to humans, a group of friends and I checked in to this new, dope and wicked club on this part of the world. To our surprise, we couldn’t get anywhere to park. How so! This is not Nairobi or Nakuru or Kisumu either, where towns wake up at night. This was a small town, about 200 kilometers North of Nairobi and we couldn’t get parking at 3am?

Along the stuffy corridors were sounds of modern music, coupled with ladies who only knew how to dress from top to the waistline and deliberately ‘forgetting’ to dress their way down. Not a surprise by now. Lucky enough we got an awesome sitting area amid the deafening entertainment, and after minutes of jostling, shoving and brushing off acres and more acres of exposed cleavages and thighs along the way though unintended. I had spent a whole 20 hours with my friends hence no much of talking was to happen at this time of the night apart from us using our eyes to rove around and watch fellows getting down while in the process, mingling in the washrooms with young and aged Team Mafisi Sacco busy hunting or forcing their way to the arguably large number of ladies present.

All went well until I watched something very disturbing unfold right where I was. So this mzee in his mid fifties  for some hours was salivating on this fine chiq who was clinging on his so drunk boyfriend. Actually, the boyfriend was so dead asleep. Apparently to this chap, he saw an opportunity to literally get away with this lady! How some old men put shame to their age is a non issue at this day and age.

After kindu one hour, the lady decided to visit the washrooms and guess what, this Baba-nani fellow, seemingly highly regarded in his village for his vast wealth and well being and with grandchildren half my age trailed this lady to the washrooms like a dog on heat. He camped there for a whole 3 – 4 minutes and later pretended to have also gone to answer a call of nature by coincidence. This bold mzee would do the unthinkable few minutes later. He blocked the lady from accessing her seat. He erected his tired and pot-bellied body right in front of her way and smiled unashamedly.

While contemplating whether to jump on my feet and give this mzee some electrocuting blows and kicks (if only I could gather that courage) and in essence accept to be the sacrificial lamb and worse still find myself up in the air having been whisked by the bodied bouncers, I took my time to decide whether I was ready to pay the price. Meanwhile, the lady shoved off this wicked and titillated mzee and had her way through. At last, I was relieved. I could hear my heart stop racing.

Here’s my problem. Even after married men illegally raiding our hunting grounds and speeding off with all the beautiful lasses (at least from the outside), they still want to get away with our precious girlfriends whom we have invested time, resources, emotions, unrealistic ambitions (2016 resolutions) and our grandfathers’ inheritances to have them in our lives. Now, this can be scary. If it will take several guys to escort our ladies to the washrooms just for the mere reason that some married men can’t tame their exploring libido syndrome, is indeed disturbing.

I simply cannot make sense of this. Can you imagine you dad salivating over a lady, a third his age at a club frequented by the youthful generation, at 4:05 am. This brings me to another point. I have serious beef with men in their mid-fifties and above patronizing entertainment joints where their nephews and nieces check in. Come-on you damn wazees. How do you dance to Wiz Khalifa’s rugged lyrics or Justin Bieber’s latest mellow album at 5am in a place where you naturally look like a headmaster? Give us a break please and get a life. And if you have to frequent these clubs, at least don’t ‘cattle-rust’ our girlfriends. It’s all we can claim to have.

In any case men the age of 55 and beyond choose to visit clubs that play less noisy music or makuti villas somewhere in Umoja Innercore that play great Rhumba music or pride to host a One-Man-Guitar (Miku Rua wannabe). At least not Club Tribeka or Mojo’s of this world. Moreover for the well-oiled, moneywise, imbibe in serene and ‘peaceful’ places like members-only clubs where men in their 50’s and 60’s meet after a weekend of golf or ‘site seeing’ of new projects somewhere in Kitui or Laikipia. They are not to be found in dimly lit clubs where patrons can’t even have a simple conversation due to the loud music.

Being a big fan of Kaka Sungura, I’m just thinking in his popular song dubbed Promised Land featuring Amos and Josh, he should have sneaked a sentence or two going like;

Kidole cha kati kwa wazee wanao mezea wasichana wetu; kidole cha kati kwa akina Baba-nani wanao fanya mapenzi na wasichana rika ya wajukuu wao…..

Merry Christmas dear readers. Don’t over indulge. Be a blessing to the less fortunate people around you and while at it, dare to be a blessing to your family and friends and not a bother.

Frohe Weihnachten und ein glückliches neues Jahr (Merry christmas and Happy new year).


alphonse-kambu1 I wrote this article with a very heavy heart. Saddened and shocked by this rare piece of two legged animal disguising as a male human being. So, last week we were treated with a gruesome news item of a battered woman one Ruth Gakii formerly married to a UNEP working guy, Alphonse Kambu. I watched that story unravel on my TV and felt defeated. I have never been more ashamed, for being a man. Dear readers, allow me to vent my anger in this week’s article as I try to make sense of what drives a man like Alphonse to wake up every morning and report to work with a happy face. I’m eager to decipher how he sleeps free of nightmares in the dead of a night if his actions are anything to go by.

When he dons his sleek suits and powers his car to life, driving all the way to his beautiful office in Gigiri (I imagine every office located in Gigiri is beautiful), what goes through his head? Are there infighting camps in his mind pulling in different directions every day of his life, thereby paralyzing his rationality? What is his life like; is he sensitive to pain or does it work in contradiction as far as he is concerned? Can the world afford to have such a cold, uncouth and brutal man alive today? I sympathise with Ruth Gakii and her family for the emotional and physical pain they were exposed to, since Alphonse the dare devil came to their lives. You would be forgiven to imagine guys working in blue chip companies and multi nationals are the last that should be expected to be struggling with such serious personality disorders.

The fact that this dude has for years battled and battered this woman in order to gain custody of their only kid is the most unfortunate of sad news. The guy whom I understand ironically works as a legal officer in the Division of Environmental Law and Conventions – UNEP has for far too long bragged about how untouchable he is. This kind of impunity should never have been tolerated in the first place. UNEP is an organisation of no mean repute hence it should have known better and raised eyebrows first and dealt with this guy firmly and decisively instead of turning a blind eye and purporting to be concerned when the issue is no longer in their hands. Borrowing from good practice models, ideally, serious background checks for employees of such organisations should be carried out regularly and thoroughly.

I feel cheated by the so called promise by them (UNEP) to ‘co-operate’ with the investigators. Their issuance of a statement that their organisation does not extend diplomatic immunity to such-like gross violation of basic human rights should be treated with a pinch of salt. Justice delayed is justice denied. As far as the public opinion is concerned, it seems like it is the case. We all watch news and all can attest that this is not the first time we have heard of Ruth Gakii being battered and mishandled by her ex-husband. UNEP cannot admit to be in the habit of knowing its employees better through local media. It’s extremely sad and unfortunate, to say the least.

And who is more daring than this Alphonse Kambu guy who is literally vomiting on our shoes and spiting on our very faces, not once, not twice but many a times. How do you go to a visitor’s house and totally disregard him or her? Is that African! Beating up your ex-wife in front of her mother and your kid! Dude, get a life. Who raised you? Where on earth were you brought up? Did you grow up in a family set up or were you raised in a zoo? Who taught you to trivialize women and all they got? When your family back home asks about the well-being of your family, what do you tell them? Does your conscious disagree with you or have you compromised it along the way with your evil theatrics? Did guilt give up on you? I have not heard more despicable news this year.

Mr. Alphonse, when you take your lovely son back to the mum while drunk, what can be said of you. Extremely ignorant, reckless and sickly! How then do you manage to sit in your office on a Monday morning in that picturesque headquarters in Gigiri with well-manicured lawns, chirping birds, artificial falls and more of a serene environment and deliver on your work? Does the quietness of one of the ‘coolest’ locations to work in Nairobi lull your evil mind to sleep waiting for the next weekend to stir the elusive peace in Ruth Gakii’s world? Or are you a man of different personalities which are unleashed or trashed back to where they belong, depending on where you are and who you are with?

Meanwhile to the people of the little known (at least to me) Papua New Guinea; you owe us an apology. How can you ‘export’ to our great nation a ‘wasted’ man with a rugged personality? A demigod kind of guy who objectifies women and imagines he should be worshiped by all if not his ex-wife. A man who roams with utter arrogance purporting he cannot be apprehended by the police. Surely, Papua New Guinea you could have done better. Kenya is a civilised nation that upholds the dignity of all, including women and so we expect all diplomats to toe the line and respect that, period! Alphonse made me hate his native country and left to imagine he is the best they could offer. Before I cement that thought in my mind I expect sooner than later the government of PNG to furnish us with a sincere apology addressed to Ruth Gakii, her family and the rest of Kenyans.

As if to add salt to an injury, a celebrated local actor Abel Mutua made bad jokes about Ruth Gakii on The Trend Show last Friday trying to justify why at times it’s ‘okay’ to beat up your woman. That was extremely shallow and insensitive. Now, to the many ‘Abel Mutuas’ of this world alluding to why Kenyan ladies shouldn’t get married to foreigners as if to say Kenyan men are wholly gentlemen and all loving; shed off that pedestrian thought. And by the way it’s important for them to say this prayer after me. “Dear Lord, I come before you, requesting you, to tame my slandering tongue, and give me wisdom of being considerate of others and learn how not to hurt them through my mouth. Forgive me my sins, especially my reckless tongue. So help me God. Amen.”

Free advice to you Alphonse; Kids are the most sensitive human beings. They are very vulnerable and have sharp memories too. Don’t ruin your kid’s life for your own aimless selfishness. Your son deserves a peaceful life devoid of an unpredictable dad with unstable emotions. The greatest initiative you can do for his benefit is to keep off from his life. He has made no sin being alive. If you need to sacrifice somebody to satisfy your beliefs, you better sacrifice yourself.


metrosexual men Questions abound, every contemporary man alive ‘struggles’ with a degree of ‘metrosexualness’. The big question is, where do you draw the line between looking sharp and being overzealous. A metrosexual lad is oftenly very in touch with his feminine side. Google defines a metrosexual male as a young, urban man with an interest in fashion and fine taste. Having said that, there is nothing wrong with a bloke looking good and smelling awesome and having tender hands and trimming his nails after 3 days and going for a haircut every five days to conceal the receding hairline and shaving his beards every two days. A man got to invest in himself in 2015. That’s why legion of lads invest time to sigh and sweat at the treadmill to drop body baggage, gain abs and look edgy.

I’m not sure though of a man whose number of shoes occupies more than half the shoe rack way outnumbering that of the wife or them that carry water cans everyday while checking-in to the office. Is it okay, ladies? Somebody advise me if ladies are attracted to such kind of men. You know of guys who worry more about meeting their hair stylists than honouring a client appointment. They will cancel your meeting at the last minute to honour a spa experience. Their favourite hobby is to shop. From jewelry, watches to men’s magazines. That’s their thing. One positive thing about metrosexuals is that they are epic dressers. They understand their bodies and what works for them. They stand out in occasions with their fitting suits or powdered noses if it’s not their illuminating watches or their general flamboyance. Their IG timeline is dotted with pics from the gym showing off their cubes or biceps. They crave for stares in the streets. It works for them.

By the way, all metrosexuals have tried modeling or have rather been made to believe they are the next frontier in modeling. In fact all models are metrosexuals but the reverse is not necessarily true. You will spot them in town, walking noticeably, with their typical beige leather bags hanging in their shapely arms and in trendy pants and shoes better than yours. I know of guys who visit the washrooms every now and then clandestinely not to pee but to adjust their ties or have a look at their teeth. Speaking of teeth, these chaps go for teeth whitening every two years. These are same dudes who carry perfumes in their cars to spray themselves during lunch hour. Interestingly, every time their spouses request them to assist in house chores they worry of their manicured hands. What of guys who visit the salon to be shaped their eyebrows or for a pedicure treatment which they will then suffocate us with endless pics in Instagram! Thank God none of my sisters was married to such dudes. I probably would have compelled them to divorce by now.

Sometimes back I checked to this office somewhere in Adams Arcade for an official engagement with Mr.X. All went well until my nosy eyes landed on a lip balm resting unperturbed at one end of the table. I excused myself to go to the washrooms. That was too much for a 9:00 am meeting. How do you hold a conversation with a bloke who every 30 minutes gets back to dig his lip balm to ‘moisturise’ his lips? I should have borrowed notes from his wife because I knew he was married. Did his father in law just let this pass! Like he turned a blind eye and approved his daughter to be waking up next to a man bothered by his lips which not even a morning peck would dare ‘moisturise’ them. How now!! Mzee, you must be kidding me. Kwani how much was the dowry price? Or were you flattered by the hired helicopters that made your only daughter talk of the village for an entire year. In some cultures this habit can deny you a wife. I don’t want to say it’s gayish. You know the term ‘Gayish’ has been reduced to a dustbin where we dump every ‘unmanly’ trait we don’t agree with. I would rather describe the behaviour as just disturbing. I don’t know about you.

That’s aside. A month ago, my barbershop introduced a new product called ‘Facial Scrubbing’. In fact Shemas, my barber excitedly relayed the news to me imploring on me to try it. I categorically turned down the request. How a man with beards would lay his fingers on my so sensitive face in the name of scrubbing it to make it ‘smoother’ is something I was and will never be ready for. At least not when performed by a man. This is something I have never conveyed to one Kageshi because she would throw tantrums from here to Nineveh City in the Bible. ( A city where God sent Jonah to inform it’s dwellers to repent and turn away from wickedness and violence lest God would destroy the city during judgement). She would go like; “Hiyo ni facial gani ya 1200/- (How can a facial treatment cost 1200/-?) Why are you wasting ‘our’ hard earned money with things I can do in the house?” A man’s hand meandering through my face in the name of making me look ‘flawless’ would literally kill my conscious. And what would I do as he massages my face; Close the eyes and smile to myself as he moves his damn fingers down my chins, to the jaws and crossing over to my forehead occasionally encountering an annoying pimple, as I seat pretty and worry no less about life. This whole thing can’t seat with me. I shudder to imagine such an experience.

The thing is, metrosexual men are the new breed of a contemporary man. They are shedding off the traditional male stereotype, willing to push the envelope further, thinking outside the box and embracing a more sensitive approach to their looks but depicting lots of security to their sexuality too. The flip side is, women have been left to contend with a very self-aware male species that cares big time about his image and manners. The only problem is, when obsession with one looks interferes with one’s life then that’s not manly.


Mother With Children In Park She is a mother of two. Both from different fathers. A charming, shy boy with a bubbling, full of life, younger sister. For the boy, his dad passed on while he was 6 months in his mother’s womb. Very sad. He died of a short illness. It was very devastating for the mum. Attending the burial of a man she had not even introduced to her family, while pregnant. You may assume she was green and naive. She jumped into this relationship at 23. Three months later, she was pregnant. Before she even figured out what was going on, the guy was no more. Her life was doomed and shattered. Life came to a grand halt.

Her other challenge was to deal with her family which watched the unfoldings from a distance without raising eyebrows. (Be grateful for family. They mould you again, out of your broken pieces). She was lucky that her mum chose to embrace her. Very uncharacteristic of her. No interrogations nor whims of anger but acceptance of the reality. But she wouldn’t escape the typical traders of rumours, mummering from one corner of the village to the other searching for the highest bidder. She was baptised with fire, in this world of Single Mothers.

She hated life and her very existence. She felt wasted by the world and betrayed by God. She had nowhere to hide from the hungry gossip fodders. From the scornful eyes to the slandering tongues. Not even church would be left behind in unleashing ‘terror’. It’s gave her a lukewarm welcome. Friends camouflaged unusually fast, while foes resuscitated from nowhere. They came hard and eager to tear her flesh apart.

Before long, she gave life, to a crying, handsome angel. A boy who fought baggage and naysayers in equal measure. He has grown in might and knowledge every time the sun rises and sets. He is an artistic boy who loves drawing anything locomotive. He has special place for ‘objects’ that fly. Airplanes make him develop goosebumps. He treats them with awe. They trigger part of his brain that ends up to inspire him more. He is very creative with his hands. He makes technical ‘things’ so effortlessly. His mum peeps him across the window as he fondly plays football only to be overwhelmed by joy.

Then came his sister, few years down the line. A whole different scenario. All along her mum endeavored to be a staunch Christian. And in her quest for a bible-based-church, and a husband so to speak, she unfortunately stumbled on one of these rogue men who hide under the word of God, donning white, oversize suits without blemish, all along fishing and feeding His flock. You know of this so called ‘Pastors/Apostles/Bishops’ who lure young, naive girls to satisfy their dangling libido. She fell victim.

No sooner had this chap realised he had impregnated her than he took to his heels. It’s something he has done over and over again. You can’t beat him in this game. She again lost gravity of life and came down crumbling within no time. Back to square one. Back to awaken gossip fodders, traders of rumours and souls thirsty for flesh blood. Her family again embarked on making her whole again, out of her broken pieces.

Reality dawned when she was fired from her workplace when navigating through this mess. Family came in handy. She gave life to the most adorable girl. An incredible personality, who excelled in school and church. She turned to be bright than her age. Always challenging grown-ups through her wits and wisdom. Her gifts are in singing and unusual confidence. The future holds so much for her. Every new day, she becomes bolder and conspicuous. These two kids have mitigated the stigma their mum battles with. They brought blessings to a seemingly, dull home.

Now, changing lanes and zooming to you who belong to this group that reigns havoc to Single Mothers. You that change relationships like bracelets. You that have aborted a million and one times. You who go for morning-afters three times a week. You that run from one STI to the other, impregnating ladies from all walks of life. And while in the process talking ill of Single Mothers. Karma is a bitch!

This single mum has since forgiven this confused, insecure ‘pastor’ out to maim a generation. From the hit and run treacherous men to awesome chaps plucked off by death, all they leave behind are the unsung heroines. If you didn’t know, Single Mothers are the ultimate measure of a strong woman. Big up to them! I salute you phenomenal gems.

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baby bumAfter you did your wedding vows, the patting shot you fondly remember from your mum, was that she was awaiting several grand kids. In hindsight, you thought you were done with pressure. No. After the lobbying from all and sundry, small talks and persistent, ugly questions of “kama ulipata mtu”, you finally surprised them with a wedding. Ooh dear, what a relief, or so you thought! Marriage life is where the rubber meets the road. You realise there are two parties that must be kept happy, even if it means faking it. Both families. It also dawns on you, the need to balance opinions between your mum and your wife. Speaking of your wife, she’ll have convinced you that you need to chill for two, damn, long years for her to complete her Masters class to even contemplate having a baby. You wish she appreciates how long you’ve waited and craved to be a daddy.

Yes, you’ll feel confused because all you care is a son or a daughter. You badly need one like yesterday. Before you know, this will serve as your maiden disagreement which when push comes to shove, then Koffi Annan (read marriage counselor) will have to find his way in this muddy affair. Lest it’ll prolong for months and sometimes choke your chemistry. Close to a year later, she’ll send you a text message on a hot Wednesday afternoon, saying she got some good news. You are the kind of a chap that doesn’t work with suspense. You even warned her of surprises. She’ll throw a hint, that Doctor Alice gave her some very exciting news. You’ll jump on your feet, forgetting you are in this quiet environment (where everybody tends or pretends to be busy). Your colleagues’ necks will wag at you, acclimatising with this unfamiliar face. It’ll be tough to fight back tears of joy! At this point, you’ll not give a damn. It’s been a long time coming. Only God and you can attest to this.

Fast forward several months. Dealing with a pregnant wife, was something you had not waded in. You didn’t portend to be the one holding the short end of the stick. Somebody should have prepared you for this. Isn’t there an Association of Husbands With Pregnant Wives where they perhaps exchange notes and give each other moral support? Or a place where you sit round, like a dozen group of men with a moderator or whatever they are called, and make fun of these weird experiences you’ve gone through as you laugh loudly? This can be very crucial in airing out your bottled-neck anxiety or stress related issues, triggered by your pregnant wife. It works for women, right?

She is 6 months now. As the bulging body makes its presence felt, so do your responsibilities soar. Actually within the first month, she had made enough complains about ironing your clothes. You chose to take on ironing, something you’ve not done for over a year. Then she developed this desire of hovering around your body. She liked you even more and even started calling at 5:30 pm to inquire if you were making your way home. This caught you by surprise but worked anyway as you felt ‘very much needed’. The first trimester was hell on earth as her body was getting acquainted to the changes in her body. Mood swings checked in and swapped at will, even at 12am when she used to wake you up, trading complains of you squeezing her against the wall. Then came in, regular nausea and heightened smell. She would ‘smell’ you a kilometer a way. Your deodorant which you still used even before the two of you first met, became an issue in this period.(1st trimester).

You learnt to adjust very quickly and became open minded going by all these hullabaloos. Her 2nd trimester is almost done, but it has come with its fair share of problems. What scared you most, was her waking you up (she still does) at 3am to warm some food. Hahaha, she feels hungry at 3am, how now? Nature has humour. So, for 3 months now, you’ve been waking up to sit at the couch as she makes her way to the kitchen to warm some food. She’ll then walk to the table room, and insist on sitting on your legs with all her weight. Gai! This clearly hasn’t worked especially going by how she sits down(she falls on the couch like a thunder. I’m sorry…..she’ll strangle you for writing this, hehe). So, as she eats, sitting between your legs, you get lost in the future. Toying with the idea of what type of daddy you’ll be and what your kid will turn out to be. You gaze at the walls, at these quiet times of dead of a night before your eyes stumble at the moving clock’s minute hand. This suddenly reminds you how fast you need to get back to bed to hide from your office in-tray and before the earthlings come to life in a few hours.

By this time too, she has also relinquished most of the cooking to you or the day scholar-house girl depending on her moods. Before she stopped, she used to wash her hands a million times. She became too sensitive to ‘hygiene’ hence the million washings. Her craving for meat has become a daily ritual. She even woke you up at one point demanding some hot soup. You had to wake up early, to book some bones from Mr.Githendu your butcher. There is also this time she cried for a sugarcane. You personally hasn’t eaten a sugarcane for decades. Your teeth are not so strong to rough up a cane. How then did she expect one to be found in the house? This was a long fight.

What has kept you moving is the love you have for this unborn baby and of course your wife. You get goosebumps for being a daddy in waiting. The mild imagination of slamming the door in the morning after kissing this sweet munchkin and walking home to realise how you love him/her, is invaluable. The mere thought of your family and in laws holding her(him) in their arms with sincere joy gives you enough impetus to surpass these pregnancy effects and experiences. It’s worthy it man! Enjoy as it lasts and do it with all your heart and while at it, have fun and show some love. It’s only nine months.


Related imageShe is 21. Beautiful, intelligent, confident, charming and sweet. Her alluring face, skillfully personality and time, has concealed what she has gone through in life. A life summed by four words. Sadness, fear and denied freedom. From a distance, you may be forgiven to assume she’s one of those PYT(Pretty Young Things) from campus who oscillate around married men like they are possessed by an overwhelming evil spirit. She’s that lady who can make your tongue mumble and swallow words just from her sheer looks. She is one that exudes this image that slurs your pick up lines and leaves you at the mercy of her patience. Here’s her story;

To start with, I met her accidentally when I paid a courtesy call to a close friend. We had those shallow conversations of gathering stories here and there, flattering jokes and mild laughter. Before long, I was gone. It’s after then, that the said friend broke out her shell of a life, to me. Brenda* was born from a brewing love of two lover birds in an urban setting. She wouldn’t enjoy the privilege of having two parents for long. When she turned 3, her dear mum passed away after a short illness. That turned around her life, upside down.

Her dad has always been very industrious and an aggressive businessman but also very shrewd. He was and still depicts this no-nonsense demeanor to her family. She grew under this environment for 20 long, eventful years. Her dad would marry another woman, close to a year after Brenda’s mum passed on. Before long the foster mum was pregnant and 6 – 7 years down the line, she had 3 of her own kids. Brenda* was loathed by this mum for obvious reasons. She was not her biological kid.

She had to choose between a rock and a hard place. If it was not her foster mum hurling insults, it was her dad’s daily beatings. I’m made to understand Brenda* has been battered by her dad all her life. From the sheer rumours that she was seen with a boy in the hood or coming home late, that alone qualified for a thorough beating. Her neighbours were all familiar with her usual wails and pleads to her dad, to stop the beating. Her entire body is marked by scars from her dad’s infamous belt or nyahunyo(whip). (Which dad keeps a whip to beat her kids? Slap them or get a small cane if need be but not a whip, for heaven’s sake! That only shows how a miserable dad you are, especially when you purport to discipline selectively).

Over the years, her dad evolved to a total stranger. Daughters have needs and require attention and care than boys (no pun intended). The thing is, she pleaded with her father for money to buy sanitary pads, in vain. Her dad would silence her with the all familiar phrase; “I don’t have money”. Appreciate that the same dad sponsored her cousins to schools and gave money generously to dozens of her relatives who visited their home. Mind you also, Brenda’s* dad bought land at some point, constructed a nice house and even purchased a car. Her foster mum on the other hand was unapproachable, only using Brenda* to relieve accumulated stress from her husband.

When Brenda* was to join high school, her father made it clear that she would have to join a day school so that he would ‘monitor’ her. He was an overprotective dad, who expected her to be within a radius he could trace all her moves. With all the bad things happening to her, she developed a rebellious attitude in school. She didn’t like the school she was in, and while in Form 2, she led a strike that made her be terminated. Your guess is as good as mine, she was very happy to leave that school. Of course she had to pay the price of ‘a shaming’ her dad. That particular time, she was beaten every part of her body.

She was moved to another school and the beatings wouldn’t stop. Every time dad came home stressed, she would be in for the beating, for mistakes committed centuries ago. Her childhood and teenage life was robbed by her parents. Her foster mum made her do all the house chores and take care of her siblings. She had no time to bond with her friends if any. Their house environment was terrifying and this took a toll order on her esteem. Her siblings were not going through the same agony but devoted to be her friend.

After high school, she stayed home for a year or so and was later enrolled to a tourism college. Even at this point in life, she was not expected to be seen with a ‘boy’ anywhere near her vicinity. Otherwise this would qualify to a two day, non-stop beating. Sadly, her dad would not even buy her a phone. What for? He’d ask! Even getting money to go to the salon was still a problem. College life became very distressful for this pretty lady who had bared it all while so young.

Things would twist a bit; her mum came to like her two years ago. She became soft and a reliable friend. This cooled things a little bit. Meanwhile her dad was still the same! Hard, terrible and violent. Come January 2015, she said enough was enough. She gave up on this life and embarked on a journey to Nairobi, having fled home. She didn’t carry her clothes, because her neighbours would suspect and ring her dad. She had no money either, to survive in the city.

She’d live for a short while with a friend before moving on to another, before the first became curious to learn of her guarded story of life. She did this while looking for jobs here and there. Through her small savings and skipping lunch and sometimes sleeping hungry became routine. To calm her stress, she got hooked to smoking and imbibing hard liquor. Days moved to months until she met her (cousin who’s my friend). The friend shared this sad story and implored on me to help. We managed to get her a simple hustle that would pay her bills for the time being.

My point is; count your blessings and be very grateful to God for everything. Some wish to have, half the privileges you savor. Never take anything for granted and help wherever you can. Lastly, guys, promise to be profound daddies. One man, can change the world!

Brenda is not her real name neither is the pic used. This is a very true story.

Check out my Facebook Page; for regular, half serious stuff that will help you unwind and recover from a day’s harsh torrents.


fw“……..Take me on a date; I deserve it, babe; And don’t forget the flowers every anniversary
‘Cause if you’ll treat me right; I’ll be the perfect wife; Buying groceries; Buy-buying what you need
You got that 9 to 5; But, baby, so do I; So don’t be thinking I’ll be home and baking apple pies
I never learned to cook; But I can write a hook; Sing along with me; Sing-sing along with me (hey)….”

You are familiar to the lyrics of Future Husband by Meghan Trainor. An awesome song it is. It played randomly one of my indoors days and my spirits came alive. And I was like, wait! Future husband…mmmh I should pen about Future Wife. An idea was born. Here it is.

To start with, Future Wife, time is of the essence. Your indecision is costing me, big time. It’s making me feel stagnant and impatient. Its creating a hearth of quiet pressure, disseminating from likely and unlikely quarters. This stalemate I hate to be in, has ushered unwelcomed ‘advisors’ with no legacy to hold on. I’m tired of playing all nice & merry, and smiling like a bride to hide my uneasy heart. (Brides smile for 8 straight hours, gosh!) Your decision holds my fate. Make it pretty fast.

Let’s compare notes and see if you meet this criteria of the so called envisions of my life. Fast and foremost; I’m a sucker for big personalities. You better be a walking brand that brings warmth and colour to life. You can’t afford to be a humble wife. I’ll hate it when you are afraid of disagreeing with me. Arguments and disagreements keep couples on check. Constructive criticism comes from people who have a whole bank of wisdom and an invaluable personality. Please be that woman, who will call me for a cease fire and be like; “Babe you are drinking too much” or “I’m dragging you to church today, no excuses”. Now that’s my woman. Who never shies from saying, “Hun whatever you’re doing is wrong!”

Future Wife, promise you’ll give me two sweet daughters, namely Annabelle and Abigail. And together, will invest time and prayers to see them grow to beautiful, confident and ambitious women who’ll settle for nothing less. That you’ll join me in creating a beautiful world around them that will bore great dreams to these sweet things. So big and intimidating. Promise; you’ll make me loathe being away from home after 7pm. Missing that tea just meant for me, served when dinner is just about to be prepared, will leave me guilty and unbecoming. Kindly see to it, it becomes that bad. I pray your meals will heal a day’s wound and tribulations. Its needless to allude that you need to be an awesome cook. You’ll raise the bar so high that I’ll be lost in guessing what you’ll cook in a given day. I foolishly harbour thoughts of literally running from the bedroom to find out what’s cooking in the kitchen, having been triggered by aromatic smells.

I pray that your wisdom will be pegged from the bible and more importantly that you’ll instill to our two daughters the habit of reading and reflecting on bible teachings. All men desire such women. Praying together as we gather at the dinner table will become our untold ritual. I hope you’ll join my church’s Young Mothers Association soon after our first kid comes to life. And from there your wisdom will be sharpened further apart from developing new friendships that will mould you and our family holistically. I hope you’ll watch over your weight as time passes by. Fit women are precious. I know you get the drift. I’m also scared of spending years watching over your calories and ‘portions’ (God knows what’s that) and calling for a party, when you lose 1 kg. I’m not ready for that kind of torture.

In case you turn out to be a literature freak or something like an art enthusiast; I’ll be so overburdened to be grateful to your family and to God. Realising that you read widely, wildly and sometimes do a bit of writing, will literally make me fall for you every day of our marriage. Delegating some of my projects to you will be my joy. I’m talking of you editing my work for a book that will have drained every part of me and taken years to compile. That will be so sweet.

Assure me that we’ll have the same taste of music. Music is so huge in my life that its the first thing  I crave for at 6:35am. I ceased being a morning person, I enjoy sleeping late. I know by the time I wake up some of you will have spent 30 minutes on traffic pulling those lost faces, that make you think of your poor state of life, your boss’s demands and unrealised family expectations. Future Wife, finding you singing my favourite song will shred my age, stop my receding hairline and make me 2 years younger.

Bonding with your mother in law which in this case will be my mum, is an experience I hope to witness. My mum is very social and breaks ice very fast. Expect to hold a 3 hour conversation with her after 9pm as you sip tea and occasionally attending to the jiko. Upcountry (Note I didn’t refer home as shags. Shags means remote and undeveloped) is very cold at night. Thank me later for the heads up.

Being an art person, I’m sure you’ll adore photography and get fond of this Canon camera similar to that of my buddy, Paul of the (He’s a professional photographer), which arguably will be the best gift I’ll have ever surprised you with. You’ll stop me in the middle of the road while we embark on a road trip, to capture this photogenic piece of God’s creation somewhere in Samburu.  I have a soft spot for art, forgive me. Science detested me, no hard feelings though.

Ambushing me for wearing the wrong tie for the right suit will do a lot of justice. Please promise to critic my dressing and expect the same from me. I don’t want to delve on the ‘intellectual’ aspect. I’m yet to know or care whether am an intellect.

Future Wife; I hope i didn’t maim or kill a piece of you. See you sooner.


FB_IMG_1437307970660…………………It’s been a long day without you, my friend
And I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again
We’ve come a long way from where we began
Oh, I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again
When I see you again  – Wizkid ft. Charlie Puth

This is one of my most favourite sentimental songs for 2015. Incidentally its one sad of a song. It invokes memories of Fast Furious 7 and the car crash that claimed celebrated, leading actor, Paul Walker. Its terribly emotional.

That Mzee Ojwang’ has officially wrapped his time here on earth and that we won’t see him again, reminds me of this song. Even after dying at 78, you realise life is damn short. Let’s appreciate some facts here,

Born in Nyeri District, at some point he dropped out of school due to financial constraints. He worked in Mater Hospital for four years as a theatre technician before joining KBC formerly Voice of Kenya. He stuck here for 44 years. Lived in Mbotela estate, a neighborhood in Eastlands, Nairobi associated with lower class people. Terminated together with other cast members of Vitimbi from KBC about two years ago in what the management called ‘old age’. Died in Kenyatta National Hospital from pneumonia. After 44 years of dedication and commitment to one employer, he didn’t even get a golden handshake! His unrivalled passion in bringing comic to our living rooms since the 70’s shouldn’t have gone unnoticed by the presidents’ handlers to befit him with a Presidential Commemoration, at least.

Sorry, I just lied that I was part of this generation that had their childhood patched with unparalleled comic and laughter for several decades from this legend. I wasn’t. Not that we didn’t have a television. No.  We had one, with a conspicuous, orange colour. This must have been my dad’s first asset, soon after he got his debut job. How my dad settled on an orange background colour is something I wish I asked him. If he was alive, this would have been an interesting conversation. What our household and many others in my village lacked, was electricity. It was very expensive, bureaucratic and took ages for one to qualify for a connection. In fact, in a village of about 50 homes, only two enjoyed ‘power’. One such belonged to a veteran athlete in the 90’s named Eric Wainaina. Not the musician though. Google is your friend. The other envious one was and still is a home to a brilliant guy who works in a government institution. Luckily, power came through in the last decade.

So this explains why I wasn’t lucky enough to watch Mzee Ojwang’. Actually many of my childhood friends share the same story only that they wouldn’t publicly admit. I don’t blame my late dad. He was phenomenal and in fact set the bar too high for me. Had he been alive today, I’d engage him with questions like; How he managed to have bought a car (VW car was the in thing then), several acres of land, constructed a nice house and had Friesian cows grazing by, before he hit 30. Dear readers, please ask these questions to your dads. Like what was their greatest achievement at 30. And what were their goals then. This will help you big time, in restructuring your life especially in the financial angle. Many fathers then, saved more and spent less unlike our times; where you are judged by the size of your phone or your loaned car that you’ll pay for 15 years.

Where was I. Mzee Ojwang’ is the Gama Pinto, Tom Mboya, Jaramogi Oginga, Harry Thuku and Nelson Mandela of the Art industry in Kenya. He was an epitome of a rare group of Kenyans, whose embodiment was not defined by tribal caucuses. In fact somebody said, Mzee Ojwang’ will be the first Luo to be buried in Central Kenya. That’s how far he was from his native tribe. How I wish we can use our talents for the betterment of others far away from parochial trappings of tribal mindsets. ( It disturbs me when learned Kenyans make fun and continue to cheer the like of Moses Kuria and company).

It’s sad that Mzee’s death was shrouded and shadowed by many low moments. Am sure at some point he felt unappreciated after more than 44 years of unconventional hard work and dedication to this nation. How do you perform for four presidents during national holidays in a span of 4 decades and die a pauper. Art has for long time been neglected in this country. Over the last few years though, the script has been changing. I know of friends who work full time in this industry and are doing very well. It’s politically correct to say the Mau Mau fighters of every noble course die empty handed, sadly.

Though Mzee Ojwang’ was never part of my childhood, his exemplary service to this nation penetrated beyond the TV screens to the villages deep in the rural areas. Kids of those times craved to watch him even when connection to electricity was an impossible dream, then. You’ve left an indelible mark sir. Safiri salama, salimia Molana, tutaonana baadaye! 


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