HOW WILL YOUR EULOGY READ?

AliI have always wondered how my eulogy will read. Isn’t that suicidal though? Shouldn’t I book an appointment with Madam Grace the lean bodied, tall woman, with crops of grey hair who on this day will be donning one of those flowery dresses worn on a sunny wedding day which will seem to flatter her waistline and make her not seem a day older after 28. I’ll pop to her Counseling office and find her reading “How Women Decide” by Therese Huston. I’ll not miss the sparkling glass of water, half filled. She is one of those that takes water religiously and from look of things; I will be left to conclude she is ageing gracefully. She will sag her specs, hold my right hand and be like;

Young man, what’s your name again?

Andrew.

Andrew, you don’t look an inch closer to having a troubled life. Why do you bother about your eulogy, really? By the way what do you do for a living?

I’m a practising accountant, writer but they call it blogging, business man, student, and child of God.

You said child of God

Yes.

Wow, you are incredible.

Hold that for a minute…

Last weekend I found myself inside an over speeding Matatu being shoved from side to side from careless overtaking and outliving screeching breaks. That was me agonising if I’d make it to my destination, only comforted by faint hopes from a loosely fitting and dirty safety belt. I tried in vain to Toa Sauti backed by an elderly man seated next to me while the rest of the younger generation remained stitched to their addictive phones with their older counterparts seemingly struggling with sleepy faces perhaps not agitated by the unbecoming driver, after going through scarier stuff in life than being in a speeding matatu. The fact that my very dear life hanged precariously at the mercy of a driver who seemed not excited by life anymore was nerve racking enough to make my heart jump out my juvenile chest. Interestingly I had this to think in that one hour’s journey;

Just what if the worst happened and we crashed? You know in Africa, a son of the soil never dies before siring at least an offspring. It’s catastrophic, a worse tragedy than death and daunting period for the family. They just can seat next to that boggling reality. They will perform sacrifices at 3am under an aged Mugumo Tree that has stories to tell of how it made it to this day oblivious of the growing threat from timber enthusiasts and entrepreneurs. They will skin a he-goat without blemish, smear themselves with raw stuff from the intestines while facing Mt.Kenya, half naked, each holding a fly-whisk singing to Mulungu traditional songs and pleading with him to pardon me for not leaving behind a son or daughter to bequeath and keep our family name alive.

But who said we shouldn’t write about death? I know it’s still considered a taboo equaled to haunting one’s death in many African societies but this is 2016 Andreaders! It’s through writing about death that should help us audit our lives. Was it last year that I read on the gracious column by Carol Mandi of Sunday Nation about eulogies. She talked of how a group of people were tasked with writing about their deaths assuming they died that particular day (Today). They were asked whether they were proud of their lives, their achievements or lack of them and whether God would be proud of them. They were then tasked to write another set of eulogies this time round having achieved all they hoped to, in their days here on earth.

As expected, the second set of eulogies was way different from the initial one. They were enviable and conquering. But who knows if they will live to have such eulogies? It’s through such conversations that should help us cut the slack and the baggage that clogs our daily lives and align them to our goals. And goals shouldn’t necessarily be about, incredible homes, intimidating cars, plum jobs and beautiful kids and traversing the world. That’s too obvious and cosmetic. We should have bigger dreams and more inspiring like;

Resolving to be better human beings – Kind, honest, prayerful, who speak less and listen more, who look after the elderly, who give time for the less fortunate just to be with them and appreciate them, who mentor boys and girls from marginalised parts of the country without asking for a fee, people who donate to the poor and vulnerable amongst us, who resolve not to bribe or to accept bribes, people who promise not to litter while driving along highways, or drive while drunk. Souls who don’t grab land or fail to pay taxes or brood a bevy of sidekicks from all walks of life just because they are powerful and influential.

Promising ourselves that we won’t leave our families under the mercy of being undressed by shame and undignifying life kept in top secret when we are long gone. Imagine that’s part of what matters, like being good role models to our kids, nephews and nieces and instilling in them the spirit of hard work, diligence and of being responsible fathers and mothers. It’s not about your bank balance, or where you travelled before you hit 40 or how a party animal you were in your 20s. It won’t matter. And people will definitely forget that, as they attend your burial. But the vulnerable lives you touched, and thousands that you inspired in your own unique and small way will be remembered for decades. It will affirm young dreams, rejuvenate emaciated hopes and usher positive energy to souls across the nation(s).

Come to think of Mohammad Ali. Rest in peace legend. Have you heard or read of a more decorated human being? Classified in the same level with great icons like Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King, Abraham Lincoln, Karl Marx, William Shakespeare and many others. What an incredible persona this guy was. A brewer of positive energy, liberal, conqueror, phenomenal and greatest of them all. This reminds me of a function I attended whose chief guest of honour was the celebrated CEO Julius Kipng’etich. He talked of how, many rich and successful people aren’t free. They are slaves of money, entitlement and fine things life has to offer. Mohammad Ali was not only free of mind, but more importantly never a sycophant of anybody. Many of us are sycophants of our jobs, bosses, families, spouses, friends ……never speaking up our minds or being true to ourselves.

Every month I get to interact with souls that earn 9k, who work in below 5 degrees temperature levels, nine and a half hours a day, 7 days a week plucking export flowers  or arranging and packing them meticulously for overseas markets. They spend their days standing or bending depending on the department they are in, all in green overalls and white gumboots, and warm gloves and with like two -three sweaters if they work in the Pack – House as is referred in the Flower industry. They take cold food since there are no luxuries like staff rations or a kitchen for that matter, not even canteens. At 1pm, a horde of them will walk in droves, speaking loudly and excitedly making their way out to take numb food that can’t be warmed and that will sink to cold stomachs and be expected to warm cold bodies that have been standing for hours in ice low temperatures. But one thing stands out, every time I mingle with them: The hope in the rays of their eyes is touchable. They live a day at a time in peace with reality but aggressively doing their best with what they have, all along supporting their needful families. A good number of them are single mothers living in shattered houses that ask for a rent of sh.1,500 and who ensure their kids attend school and have a meal in the evening. What of you? Where does your heft salary end up at the end of the month? Are you investing or expensing it in entirety?

Will your eulogy lie between the lines that you were an above average, industrious, incredible and awesome human being. Note that above average has nothing to do with education papers but the whole package of your existence. How you interacted with people, the legacy your friends, close relatives and maybe your kids will write about, 30 years from now. Fundamentals and life principles you instilled in them that will be too deep rooted and relevant, decades after you’re gone. That’s the benchmarking we should all set for ourselves, not living empty lives and borrowing heavily to support a lifestyle that has nothing to do with our goals apart from disorienting us from the very same goals. We should die trying, refusing to bow down to life challenges. Our lives should be themed with aphorisms like – Lose unrelentingly…I’m a consequence of my choices…I take full responsibility of my mistakes…I didn’t live somebody else’s life…Lord I repent my sins and those of my parents and generation…I’m sorry to whoever I wronged intentionally or otherwise…I’m the greatest of them all in my Kingdom…No word or action will ever distract me from my goals…I lived to conquer my worst fears…I tasted freedom when I ceased being a captive of my imagination…It’s been real being alive, time for the next phase…My transition won’t not only be televised but experienced by many!

That’s the spirit. Let’s create the best from our potentials as it lasts. You just never know! And to whom much is given, much is expected.

 

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MY LUNCH ‘LOCAL’

jymoDuring my life in college I belonged and still do belong to a squad by the name Cattle Dip. In fact our Whatsapp group has been in existence since this social media platform taxied safely in our lives and became part of us. The close to 10 of us were using all manner of tricks to survive in Nairobi mostly living with relatives then, who too had their fair share of survival struggles. Basically, the resources weren’t enough. Naturally, we devised ways and mechanisms to survive in this city. From having the sh.50/- lunch at Ngara Market to walking from Vision – Paramount at the Globe roundabout to Uhuru highway – Haile Selassie intersection or at times paddling further to Nyayo Stadium to catch  a sh.20/- mat to Mombasa road. For most of us our daily budgets revolved around sh.100.

This type of life slowly sinked in us to an extent of nurturing a belief that no man should spend as much for lunch. Four years down the line, I have had issues with hotels that overprice meals they offer. But whom I am to protest, its either you take it or leave it. Not that I still frequent makeshift places for lunch nowadays, however, the nostalgic feeling hasn’t hanged it boots in my life just yet. With tight competition and thanks to offering the same type of menu which is rather visualised than placed somewhere, these vibandas battleground is left in the service delivery zone. How they serve the food and approach would-be-customers breaks or makes their jinx in surviving in this quite profitable market.  Of late, we’ve seen the likes of Deputy President William Ruto, Hon.John Sakaja and many other bigwigs make much publicity capital out of visiting these places mostly associated with low class citizens.

Enough of that;

I’m sitting in this favourite lunch joint waiting patiently for my order. Normally, if you are a familiar patron the waiters or are they referred as waitresses will welcome you with a high five or those affectionate handshakes that are always followed with a thunder. It’s the unwritten rule in this joint. Call it a ritual if you may or a marketing gimmick that has worked for many walk-in customers. Imagine a place where waitresses ask how your day is fairing on? You know, in Marketing they teach us about customer satisfaction and valuing. This is the magic that leaves us badly loyal to this small hotel that has one fan, 18 seats, two waitresses and buzzing noise from busy humans and their cutlery . It’s the same magic that makes many of us find our way to this hotel even when we find ourselves in the other side of town.

The two, slender ladies from head to toe but big hearted and with even ‘bigger ‘ smiles serve with sheer passion. You can always tell they love what they do and they love their boss too, and the customers as well. They refer us by our names and gladly find us a place to sit even when it is tough to find one or when those short-fat-daddies that Biko writes about occupy two seats. These ladies always depict genuine smiles to customers with their familiar phrases, “Umeagiza?” Now to you who attended Kiandutu Primary and later proceeded to Komothai Girls Umeagiza is a Swahili sanifu term meaning; Have you ordered?

These waitresses never have those times-of-the-month mood swings. Never. I envy how they enjoy what they do not like some of us who sit behind a computer doing accounting stuff dealing with mean-looking emails from auditors or stubborn clients who will not pick your calls or respond to emails. You will work under tight deadlines from the seniors and also put up with long impromptu meetings all in a day’s work. But what of serving food to hungry humans who will only be there for a maximum of 40 minutes. Here patrons don’t stay for long since they have to excuse the rest that are trooping in carrying their weathered bodies along, having been bashed by the humongous sun that has seemingly outmaneuvered the rains or were they floods! The only time I came close to eavesdropping a deal, was when I sat next to souls negotiating for a car from car brokers and in a record, 40 minutes, the deal had been struck with me as the unintended witness who couldn’t help but listen.

Moreover this is not a place for rendezvous, where you catch up with your girls for coffee or for prolonged lazy lunch breaks with your-significant-other with nothing to show but a toothpick on your hands, you will politely be chased by anxious eyes from patrons next on line struggling to hold their ever bulging tummies. Here, you don’t make long phone calls or wait for someone while keeping yourself busy with the newspaper, where do you even place the paper when fixed in a stuffy hotel clutched by six people in one table with all manner of confusing meals from Matoke beef to Kienyeji special. How do you even order for Kienyeji(Mukimo) for lunch while in a tie. How do you even make it to the office thereafter still in a tie, bracing the scorching sun and having taken Kienyeji special! 

By now you could guess my favourite order, well; I can do Matumbo-Chapati any day of the week. Yes Matumbo which I learnt lately it’s also called offal. This joint understands the art of cooking Matush. As many would fear, my stomach has been safe and happy for the six months i have frequented this place. By the way, the order is accompanied by Matumbo soup, to soften the chapoo for ease of pricking with a fork. Now, who on earth orders for Matumbo soup? Haha. Is it thick? Does it have crawling earthlings or floating stuff? How’s the taste? Kageshi couldn’t believe I take those things as she referred them until she gave in to my convictions lately. She took a friend to the same place recently and she called me immediately marveling how delicious the food was. On that juncture I’d recommend Dr. Stacey whom I wrote about, sometimes back Dr.Stacey And My Limping Leg to try my favourite meal in this hotel behind Kenol – Nanyuki. Doc, I dare you.

 

     

SPONSORED? WE WILL JUDGE YOU BIG TIME!

SponsereeI have read and observed the talk about ladies who cohabit with married men, stared as opinions took sharp meanders across social media, survived the hammers and tongs thrown from both divides, dozed off the lectures on why we shouldn’t judge them and finally wept. Yes, I wept in my soul after reading lengthy articles and watching media personalities try to justify society vices, listened in disgrace the vague arguments about why we should mind our business and hid from jabs propelled by extreme feminists. (Note feminists can be both female & male).

For the record, I will judge every lady I spot pretending to be harboring some love with a man twice her age. Equally, I will judge that man that is eroding our precious daughters/sisters/nieces with evil money and lies and pretense. I will be bitter about him for demolishing a life’s investment. On that note, I’m convinced to have written fairly enough articles about MEN LETTING US DOWN. For avoidance of doubt here is a sample amongst many – Beside Stripping Women , Untamed Desires , Men Who Go Clubbing at 55Why Have Married Men Disenfranchised ‘Single Boys’ , and What Became Of Men .

However, allow me to share my thoughts on the so called sponsoree ladies. I will judge them not on my individual capacity though, but as a representative of the society. The society bestows each one of us with a responsibility to uphold societal values. That shouldn’t be construed to mean I’m all righteous. In any case, I’m nowhere near a saint; however I can’t justify my boggling past mistakes with a selective bible reading attitude. Ideally, we should hold ourselves accountable of course from borrowing society values that should always be our point of reference. But how will we trace these values if all we do is sink in evil and resurface holding placards saying Do Not Judge! 

To you that is sharing a Bible verse on Do not judge, would you mind reading Jude1:7 as well! Just as Sodom and Gomorrah and the surrounding cities, which likewise indulged in sexual immorality and pursued unnatural desire, serve as an example by undergoing a punishment of eternal fire.

I repeat, Christians should learn to read the bible wholly and not selectively.

You know, humans are the worst hypocrites. They hide under a bible verse that says do not judge and use it as an excuse to exercise debauchery. They hide under a story of the bible that says cast the first stone if you are not a sinner in order to console themselves. Why we will judge these ladies however, is because if we don’t do so, it will be a lose-lose scenario. Come to think of Sodom and Gomorrah and if they judged each other. For argument’s sake, if these people raised uproar over bad behaviors, probably Sodom and Gomorrah would have saved itself from God’s anger. My point is, we cannot preach on DO NOT JUDGE and go ahead sinning left, right and center and consequently watch a society fall apart helplessly just because we were warned of judging. We’d rather judge since somehow some of us will appreciate that we are sinful and therefore repent and reconstruct our lives than publicly saying do not judge only to go ahead and judge secretly.

By the way, we will not judge you because we sin differently or because of what you’ve amassed at such a young age but because as a society, we have a mandate to judge people who give life to evil. But we are not exceptions either! The same sword we judge with should be placed right on us if we do the same. Judging, safeguards values of a society. For truth’s sake we should stop burying our heads in the sand and lie that we do not judge even when we make poetic opinions why we shouldn’t judge.

Humans judge a million and one times every day. It is human nature. It’s in our DNA. That’s how we are wired. Actually, not even OUR OWN SELVES escape from self-criticism. We’d rather make peace with that part of reality and be honest with ourselves. We judge people based on their heights, their careers, how they dress, their characters, type of car they drive, the estate they live in, their type of weave, makeup, spouse, their bodies, their relatives, their failures, their incomes…..damn, we do this every single day. Even when we shout on top of Mt. Everest that DON’T JUDGE, we will fall back to judging the next minute. We will judge with our mouths shut, our eyes closed, our hearts smiling and with every other body part that can do so. No one is an exemption from this human flaw including our lecturers, Pastors/Bishops/Apostles/Prophets/Imams and parents. It’s who we are anyway. We will judge in our dreams, in church, in burial ceremonies, in weddings, in dowry occasions, at birthday parties, in school, when having a family meal, in the office, in the matatu, and virtually everywhere.

That said, I don’t advocate on what one popular blogger C.Nyakundi sometimes writes. Judging shouldn’t be about insults or attacking a certain gender. It should be done within the purveyors of decorum and ethics. We should be mindful of these people as well as their families. Crushing them with insults and unprintable words is not justifiable. However, that shouldn’t mean we remain silent. As representatives of society, we should judge them by telling them what they are doing is ungodly and so wrong. Cross generational sex can only mean one thing; that Judgement Day is not far off.

You see, if we do not make noise about the direction our generation is heading, from tearing apart marriage institutions to openly practising prostitution in whichever form, we will have lost the plot and equally angered God. Not that we are any righteous but because we have a mandate to be responsible Christians who jealously guard societal values. Because, if we do not do so, who will do it?

Worse still, if we don’t judge, we will sit pretty and watch our daughters get lured by money and say; “It shall be well!!!” C’mon??

 

 

BATTERED MAN, PLEASE MAN UP

depressed-black-man-getty590That man is under serious s-i-e-g-e and crumbling faster than we thought may seem far fetched, however it is consistently being affirmed by daily scary statistics that bombshells anyone who cares to read between the lines.

Is man under a crisis? Yes. If we would measure the anger levels at the family level, it would shock you. We are angry and frustrated by so many things, but women seem to be leading the pack in throwing tantrums. From the look of things, they are not ready to sit down and have a conversation with man’s mediocrity and failed leadership. They are exhausted with stomaching facets that represent a man in deep crisis.

If our ancestors would resurrect now, they would immediately die again in shock. They would curse the so called men and their Maendeleo of Wanaume nonsense, for being nonstarters, complacent and weak. They would hurl their anger at the man’s kingdom for sucking up in cowardliness. They would blame the modern man for his feeble leadership styles and even go a notch higher to draw a sharp contrast with what happened then and now. If your grandfather was born in early 1900’s or earlier, I’m referring to him. A case in point, my grandfather was born in 1906, died 90 years later; aged, with a wrinkled skin, weathered body but not without a loud and solid legacy. He evoked awe and respect even on his deathbed. Rest in peace, Thuku Gathara.

What I’m I try to say? That the soaring number of men battered by women, is resulting from man’s very undoing. The fish rots from the head, as they say. Meaning man being the scion of the society owes everybody else an explanation as to when he will drop his nonchalance. Man cannot and should not play the gender card for being battered. No man deserves to be battered by a woman and if that ever happens then he doesn’t deserve to be called a man. Women never wake up and toy around with the idea of battering their men. They beat the betrayal of expectations. That said, no one should assume I’m trying to justify husband battering. My point is; the chicken have come home to roost. We are being reminded, that as men we have failed to live up to the expectations of the society.

Men have shown weakness and women have taken advantage of that. Meanwhile, while man is crying foul blaming women empowerment as his source of havoc, he still fathering a fatherless generation. And in anycase, where was he when the woman was being empowered? Why didn’t he agitate for the boy-child empowerment as well? The sight of a battered man should remind men that they have failed miserably in their quest to lead and steer a generation.

The future looks grim going by the statistics. To add salt to injury, the society is churning out very weak men who grew up with complacent dads who once in awhile slept in wet trenches drunk and buried by a myriad of irresponsible behaviours. We are dealing with a man who has abdicated his roles and assumed all will be well. Man has become ambition-less and too selfish. Actually what is hurting man today is his selfishness. That’s why he spends all his earnings drinking from Monday to Monday. While the poor man is dying of chang’aa and other illicit liquor, the middle class man is dying of mainstream alcoholism.

Consequently, the woman has repackaged herself and out of no options, has been forced by nature to fill the void. That’s why you spot many women playing the man-role; Being providers and family leaders. Man has sunken in his hollow and dimly lit dreams. The reality is, legions of women are raising families single handedly. What is more shaming than that?

The thing is, I’m worried and very sympathetic with the future. I’m shaken by what stories our sons will grow listening to. I’m doubtful if man will have manned up. How weaker will he be? How low we he have scooped? You see, not wealth nor class defines a weak man but his degree of upholding values and taking responsibilities. And by the way, a man is judged by his legacy, his provision ability and his family leadership style. Every man must walk to the measuring scale and be judged how manly he is. Them that invest and show concern about their legacies, who work hard in life to put food to the table and dare to hold their families in one piece, certainly have no symptoms to be battered by their wives.

Men must live under certain realms not only to satisfy societal expectations but also for the case of proving they contributed something small to society’s civilisation before death plucks them. According to sociologist Steven L. Nock, a man must live under the principle of creating more than he can consume. This is basically living well aware of the fact that our kids and grandkids will judge us critically with what we accomplished or didn’t. In that regard, they must shape up and be counted as gentlemen. They must leave indelible marks that coalesce around adding value, power and strength to a society. Our eulogies shouldn’t be decorated by adjectives that feel out-of-place and detached to the persona.

It’s therefore sad if the contemporary man can be bothered with if or when he will ever be battered by his wife. Now, to those battered outside of what I have alluded above, then that’s an isolated case which should be treated as such. Otherwise the bigger majority are being battered due to their slackness, laziness and failure to man up.

“Our forefathers had civilization inside themselves, the wild outside. We live in the civilization they created, but within us the wilderness still lingers. What they dreamed, we live, and what they lived, we dream.” -T.K. Whipple

Have a reflective Easter holiday!

MAMA’S BOY SYNDROME

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.

GYM INSTRUCTORS, WOMEN CLIENTELE & MAN’S AGONY

gym women  

I never understand why men married to housewives never see the sense in appreciating that they are virtually, employersSatisfying a housewife is damn expensive, a tall order that needs a very patient, rational man and the icing on the cake – a standing ovation. A considerable percentage of their monthly budget will be labelled; Her. Placed there to caution him, as well as work as a contingency measure, just in case.  To that extent, you would rather deal with that housewife who burns hours watching The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, attending to her kitchen-garden or escorting cum receiving your kids to and from school than one who takes it a notch higher by making it clear that a day can only be spent in the gym.

Speaking of the gym;

The stakes are high for healthier lifestyles, that serving as a blessing in disguise for gym madness to comb and set shop in every tiny space available in our estates to high end places in town. This has also been complicated by the self-proclaimed gym instructors who in actual sense are body builders. For your information, there is a huge difference between the two. Google is your friend. The industry has been very lucrative thanks to our bad eating habits made worse by long hours of sitting. Now, for a potential investor, all one needs is space to rent. Nothing bigger than a space that would also fit in a sizeable barber shop. That done, he’ll go for a wielder who will come up with a myriad of crude gym equipments that the closest he’ll have come across them will be in the internet. Hiring a wannabe gym instructor with no papers to prove but a body to convince will follow. He will hire him anyway. Nobody regulates this business and there he will be, set to go. One more quick one, he will also require a nice carpet and store overpriced counterfeit mineral water.

Speaking of which; I’m fond of checking on Talia Oyando moves on IG about her passion for keeping fit. Every week she shares her prowess in the house of fitness doing crazy aerobics from high kicks, sit ups and exercises that seemingly would make me sigh to the end of the world. At her age she is doing very well. Talia looks 19 if not younger. Her body shape and fitness looks like the girl-next-door who just cleared high school. Talia and that girl’s energy are at par. When I was in class 5, a whole 15 years ago, Talia was still in radio if I’m not wrong. This lady is growing younger every single day. And she deserves it. She works hard to maintain her fitness.

While Talia is doing very well fitness-wise, there is another class of women obsessed with the gym and gym instructors. Women who will take an entire year to lose a single kilogram. For them, they never frequent the gym to lose weight or keep fit but to have a good time! Most of them are housewives bored by spending an entire day in the house. You will find them at at 12:00 noon on a Monday in the gym armed in their tight body suits that display their body meanders and contours as they try in vain to do press ups. They will try and fail miserably and that won’t bother them. And the gym instructor won’t care a thing too. Mind you, gym fees nowadays cost an arm and a leg. It’s like taking a kid to a middle class boarding school.

For these women clientele, they will blackmail their hardworking husbands to pay for them the gym fees to cut on their sagging tummy. To them, whether that money is utilised fully in the gym will be nowhere in their concerns list. Whether they shred or not, any sagging mass will be a case of devil-may-care kind of thing!  All that will matter is going to the gym and having a good time with the gym instructors. Read – Admiring his veined abs, pronounced chest and killing some hours.

They will deliberately have their lingerie lines all too revealing if not having their cleavages over exposed much to the amusement of the instructor. Well from a man’s perspective, that’s too worrying. We are insecure human beings even if we pretend not to. Yes we spend numerous hours worrying how a Waiganjo-like man spends uninterrupted five hours with our hard-to-please, seductively dressed women. It’s of concern when another man flaunts of more material than you who have paid dowry, to write home about your woman’s sweat or the smell of her flatus. This is the same guy who will brag to understand more about the shape of your wife’s body, and which particular area needs more work to align. It is even disturbing enough when a gym instructor posts pics of his so called clients on social media and you happen to spot your spouse in one them posing in venereal and awkward positions.

If only walls would speak, God knows the can of worms that would emerge from this house. A lot is left to be desired when a trainer spends more time taking selfies, vaunting her flawless body or parading her assets all over I.G than training. And by the way, it’s actually unhealthy to train as you take those flavoured juices. It’s pointless. You are just but adding more sugars and calories to your body. Drink pure water to hydrate your body. You never go wrong with water. We are a generation that is consuming too much sugars and reducing that intake is so much important towards attaining a healthy lifestyle than spending a million hours hobnobbing in the gym. Now, will the gym instructor grapple this topic? Your guess is as good as mine.

FEMALE BARTENDERS

bar attendants3The holidays might be done and dusted but you are still stuck in the neck of woods taking stock of a season that literally milked you dry. At least from 21st December, it was a rolling stone; you on a drinking spree from lazy afternoons to cock-crow hours, the next morning. The only songs playing in your ride’s stereo the next morning were like;

Nigga we made it, hey
We made it
Nigga we made it, hey
Damn, we made it
Nigga we made it, hey
We made it, aye
Nigga we made it, hey
We made it.

In actual sense, you woke up at 9 am in the many mornings having made it to the parking yard and falling asleep right in the car. How you drove yourself home and survived the alcoblow guyz is a whole rocket science puzzle your mind is still trying to add up. That was you for an entire fortnight. Your woman threw tantrums from here to Bethlehem and back. The rest of the family were equally unlucky to have a piece of you. You made technical appearances for the family-get-togethers and drove off as soon as dusk settled in.

So who brain washed your Finance Manager brains or rather hired you in entirety? Well, the underestimated world of female bartenders raided your Kingdom and this is what you wrote home about;

Ready! Let’s go!!

Social drinkers are patrons mostly middle class men and women who imbibe not necessarily because they have an urge within them to do so but do it anyway, to enjoy the great feeling that comes with an awesome company complemented by an epic location. They are choosy urbanite generation, who are suckers for the fine things their pockets (read bank loans) can afford. Unlike alcoholics, they meet in trendy ‘locals’ to catch up, network and to have a good time. In the process they make new friends or strike new deals. All under the watchful eyes of women who serve them endless drinks all night long. These women in many a time will have dressed seductively and will have bodies worth the drooling. The problem with serving beer to a man for 6 solid hours definitely triggers chemistry if it’s not more. Now, if this happens 3 times a week, that is like 12 times in a month or 14 days during December holidays, there will be more than meets the eye. Ladies, if your man is a heavy drinker, there is something to worry about. There is even more to worry if he visits this particular entertainment joint come rain or sunshine. Nowadays patrons have the right to demand to be served by specific bartenders. The customer is always right and should have his/her way, you know!

Of course not all female bartenders have any ‘ill motives’. We have professional ones who work diligently to make a living and in the process manage to ignore any advancement from whatever quarters be it from the Management or the lusty patrons. That does not include some that hover around your table from 6pm to 5:05 am, always stealing glances at you. Some will rub their all-popping-chests around your back pretending to be serving from your backs. Others will grab the next available seat around you and purport to be taking a short ‘commercial break’ as they dangle their bottle openers towards your arm. Some will cling on your friend’s lap (A Mr.Njoroge – IT geek) and afford to show no qualms. Why this particular bartender will be so cosy in that position will be out of manipulating Njoroge’s courteous demeanor.  Isn’t that s***** harassment?

I came up with five major categories of female bartenders that will serve as a heads -up or a way of discerning the wheat from the chaff, the next time your beer and you are robbed the much acclaimed bliss by these class of humans;

Single Mothers

Actually you will never notice they are already young mothers until they throw it when you least expect. This always has a way of leaving a dull taste in your beer. Usually, they depict maturity in their conversations and a lot of soberness in life matters. They are mostly fit, intelligent, beautiful and armed with decades-old skills that bring out the soft and vulnerable side of you. They cut into size hot-tempered men including them that pull emotionless attitudes out there. They never speak loudly or laugh anyhow. They grin and chuckle when it’s necessary and in a decent way. The danger comes from the fact that they are always in the hunt for soul mates. Many men fall in this shit as they struggle to balance a no strings attached sort of friendship and being trapped in the webs of ‘love’.

Moody & Snitchy

Normally dated by Senior Supervisors/Managers or real ‘sponsors’. They Waiguru and topple anybody who dares to step on their toes. They are untouchables, authoritative and own millions of insecurities in their bank of life. Being moody is part of their norm and can easily get their colleagues fired. If they decide to dislike you as a patron, your peace in that entertainment joint will forever be wanting.

Humble & ‘Harmless’ 

These are college drop-outs or 20 year old lasses who didn’t make to college due to financial woes. Normally, they are nonchalant earthlings trying to make ends meet the hard way out of desperate situations. How they find themselves working in a bar is a whole 10 episode Devious Maid-like series that will leave you teary and emotional. Their stories are boggling, making you appreciate how God has been generous to you. Working in a bar is a very short term thing for them.

Spoilt Ratchets

Talk of bad girls of this game. Bold and brave in every word, deed and dressing. They are the caliber that finds joy in breaking rules. Basically, they stand out for all the wrong reasons. They wear shorter skirts than their colleagues, sport heavily padded bras that unleash kilos of drooping cleavage and pull all sort of weird hairstyles from crazy mo-hawks to side shaves that steal all the attention and make statement in the process.

Husband Snatchers

They find thrill in poaching married men and ‘domesticating’ them as long as they would wish. To them it’s all about fulfilling one’s fantasy. From houses fully furnished effortlessly to businesses set up by these cornered men, theirs is to identify, chase and cage these vulnerable humans. To them, there is never a hurry to get married when they are already living larger than life lifestyles without breaking a sweat. They live a connived life shadowed with a guiltless comportment.

 

Now you know……!

Have a sober January.

Ta vare! (Take care in Norwegian).