MATERNAL MOMENTS: PART 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Looking forward to Part 2 of Maternal Moments!!

 

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CHEATS AND SIDE DISHES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a good one Andreaders!

MISS RECEPTIONIST

receptionist 2Last Saturday I checked in at a doctor’s place for a random check up. I met an empty front office, well laid out, neat and inviting. I rested on the couch convinced that the receptionist would show up in a matter of minutes. She could be in the ladies, I thought so. Well, I waited for a boring 45 minutes, my only accompaniment being the diligent wall cloak that drooled at me, hanging a meter length above my damn forehead.

I stared at the pricey, clean, manicured interiors of this office until there was no more to stare. I went over my phone, camped in the social media apps, survived the heated arguments about Nakuru and Kibera rallies on Facebook,  toured Twitter streets and found them debating about the incredible CBK governor Patrick Njoroge and how he pockets a paltry sh.18,000 while giving the rest to the poor. I wasn’t convinced how a man of his stature could survive with sh.18,000 in Nairobi, never mind, I moved on. Across the streets were the financial and economy intellects the likes of Kenyanwallstreet and Aly-Khan Satchu debating everything from how Chase Bank will be less complicated than Imperial Bank to clean up, to how Tanzania gate crushed the oil pipeline deal between Kenya and Uganda and ran away with it.

I landed on Instagram and got dazzled by what I saw on that morning. Even after all this wastage of time, there was no receptionist to attend me. By now my patience had run out. My eyes got hold of this number artistically inscribed in a piece of artwork that was placed strategically. I called the number only to answered by a lady. Okay, I thought the voice would sound baritone and come stamped by white-like beards. Yaani I expected a Dr. Muthui* (Not his real name) to respond from the other end.

I went ahead and introduced myself before subtly throwing a complaint of how I had waited for a whole 45 minutes without being attended. The mellow voice changed in a matter of seconds. I could hear her cocking her throat and arming herself with all the ATT this world has got. This is how it went down;

 

It can’t be 45 minutes. I have just left 10 minutes ago for tea break.

 You can confirm from the security guys. According to my watch, I have been here for so long.

 It can’t be 45. I’m coming. (She went quiet.)

 (I hanged up.)

 

Before I screamed who cares about her tea break and how was that my problem, I had a tap on my left shoulder. It was my doting Angel hanging lowly and occasionally flapping his humongous wings. He calmed me down even before I got an explanation of how long 10 minutes were, in this part of the world.

She popped in. And there was an awkward silence between us taking shape. She was eager to meet this hell-of- a-client who was throwing shade to her amazing and futuristic career. She gave me a handshake and went straight to her desk. She had a Brenda Wairimu(Actress) resemblance. SmaIl face, a smaller nose, petite physique, extremely light skinned and a commanding persona. Dainty ladies have a way of commanding authority; if it’s not from their assertive voice, then it has to be their confusing hairstyle or resistful eyes or the miniskirts. Haha nature has a way of balancing things.

I inquired about the doctor and to my disappointment he was absent for that day. WTH!!………..How now. They should have placed a sticker somewhere or close the office.

I never like it when a day starts on such a low note. I left when we had made peace and even assured her I will be coming back next week.  That done, my Angel was at it again. This time hovering around me while I made my way out. He made me remember how lawyers accompany their clients from the courtroom heading to the parking bay ignoring the journalists.

 

What is it Angel?

 It’s time we wrote about receptionists.

 Well, I could try it soon.

You got me.

 Thanks Angel.

 

So, I thought about what makes a good or bad receptionist. Has anyone ever bothered to write about the different species of front office ladies? This would be hard to crack but interesting too.

Moody and Mean

These are customer care operators who make it our business to stomach their soaring levels of stress or bad mornings. You identify them by the moment you walk into a waiting lobby. They will pretend not to have seen you and go ahead to hit the keyboard hard, head lowered until someone walks from the opposite direction to have a word with them. That’s when they will be like, “sorry, how can I help you?” They also make long conversations sandwiched by disturbing laughters disregarding your presence and urgency.

Timid

Occasionally you will walk into an office and meet an extremely shy receptionist. She will hardly look to your direction and many a times have a voice that will not be audible. You will struggle to have a conversation with her and will leave with an unsatisfied look.

 Old Lady

You will find them mainly in government offices. They will be grey haired with loosely fitted specs and will take a million years to type a sentence. They will be motherly too, breathing heavily but quite reliable.

Men Only

This type pays homage to men only. They like it when men flatter with them for whatever reason. They highly have fun with serving the male clientele and even go to any length to please them.Typically, these are ladies who entertain a lot of men even in their personal lives.

The Multitasking and Smiley

These are best. They will answer calls from a different end as they take down your details while sorting out the files and reaching on the Messenger to give orders. They will depict high levels of energy, give genuine smiles and lend a keen ear. They will seem motivated and good at what they do. And the icing on the cake; they will recall your first name when you come back few days later.

My angel and I are so done with this challenge and on to the next one.

Blessed week Andreaders and may you Fiji all your good-for-nothing critics, competitors and haters.

 

 

 

 

 

‘LOVE’ – YOUNG VS OLD

quarter baked menLess than two weeks ago, Nanyuki woke up to very sad news of a 64 year old killed by her supposedly boyfriend who is only 22, crudely in what was alleged as a ploy to take advantage of her wealth. Well, a 42 year gap is what it is and no man can convince me it had anything to do with love but a quest for free money and feeding curiosity. Did they say curiosity killed the cat? Never underestimate the power of clichés. While some say the elderly woman was in pursuit of a companion, I dare ask you; When did a hot blooded, rugged and uncivilised 22 year old learn the art of companionship? Not even 26 year old ladies date 22 year olds dudes. But anyway, I register my sincere condolences to the family and friends of the bereaved.

Away from that; over the few years I have lived in this town, I have come to identify a certain clique of well dressed, nailed polished men, who seem to have mastered what works with their bodies. Blokes who go for weekly haircuts and who have half of their budget going for trendy clothes and shoes and fancy phones. Guys who live large and exhibit a taste for the fine things in life. Once in a while you will spot them in posh, borrowed cars making rounds around town leaving a trace of disturbance from the roaring exhausters or music from these high end cars. They are local celebs, if you may. Bragging of well-connected networks and rich friends at their disposal. You will never fail to find them in every worth-the-talk social gathering that comes by, be it house parties to outdoor events where they endeavour to leave their signature mark, which is causing a stir. From the rides, dressing code or ladies who stick to them like flies, they will form conversations in every salon, class and chama meeting.  And they love this feeling of being the center of all attention.

But there is a twist. Who finances their deluxe lifestyles? You will never meet them in office corridors in haste or along the streets walking pensively with documents. No. Theirs is a always a nonchalant attitude chilling with the alike boys on top of eye-drooling cars on a Monday morning in strategic places around town, in shorts and tight T-shirts, funny hairstyles, flashy phones and commandeering demeanors.

To what may not surprise you by now, they serve as fodder for the secretive and little known market of sugar mummies. A carefully knitted and subtly operating, intriguing world where relatively older women feed their obsession out of the ever available supply of lustful, money-hungry young men in their twenties and early thirties. For a long time the market has been well guarded from the public eye but going by the trends of late, the players have either been found pants down, or rather choosing not to pull any breaks nor giving a damn about the cat getting out of the bag.

Here the affluent women some as young as 40, wrestle out with them in octogenarian years. They come fore to shop for good looking young souls who can diligently calm their baffling appetites in exchange of some tidy sums of money. How these guys fool the rest of us; is that they still maintain their oblivious girlfriends or if not harbouring a string of mindless call-girls just to cover their untamed desires.

This reminds me of a story I was narrated by a colleague sometimes back, how having attended a function with a couple of friends, they decided to visit an entertainment joint to unwind. A few tables away, seated women in their mid-fifties who apparently began eying the young men who had accompanied my colleague. In a matter of time, these poor blokes had been courted, sensualized and shifted their base to join these lecherous women. My colleague and her female friends had to deal with this defeating surprise for the better part of the night.

Where these poor men ended up that particular night after a treat of free drinks, presumably triggered an erosion that wiped away all their genuine and faked integrity, conscience and innocence. Who knows how many other bad decisions they have made since that night? Did their spouses ever got wind of this storo?  Probably not! Women who go wooing young men in nightclubs have very high chances of manipulating a brood of other headless men under the disguise of money and enviable lifestyle.

What we are dealing with as a society is a case of a generation using short cuts to make ends meet. We are a people who are of the opinion that the end doesn’t necessarily justify the means. We want overnight wealth built on quicksand. On the other hand, the world is littered with an elderly clique of humans who have trashed decorum and anything that sounds right. Fairly wealthy men and women who have dared to have their cake as well as eat it.

For the sake of playing the devil’s advocate; why would women of age, fantasize young lads. What is it that their age group male counterparts can’t fulfill? Who created this void and what do these boys guarantee? Is it the pot bellies or maddening drinking that’s a problem? Is it that these ladies skipped a stage in their lives of dating and what-have-you? If that was the case, who permitted them permission to transfer their baggage to the younger generation?

Now, the tragedy is, evil triumphs when enough good number of men do nothing.

 

 

FORGET SOCIALITES;MEET TROPHY LADIES

older-versus-youngerTo some extent I so much envy ladies when it comes to their innovative ways of making extra income. Come to think of how a career as a socialite became acceptable and admirable by legions of ladies. How this career has unashamedly crawled up our knees to pose as a flourishing million dollar industry, right on our noses. Ponder how many Trophy Ladies survive by just holding their sponsors’ arms, smiling at their business partners, booking tickets for holidays, looking pretty, seated next to them when being chauffeured in dark, humongous cars, satisfying their erotic needs and massaging their egos. On the hand, men have no easier ends. It’s getting tougher for us. All we do is stir the shorter end of the stick. It’s time we got our very own Maghufuli at the helm of Maendeleo ya Wanaume. I guy who is super creative and visionary. Maybe we can poach lads who call shots at the enviable Team Subaru fraternity. With that, we will have brought in new blood with machizmo and invigoration to make us think outside the box. I mean, there must be easier ways of making money, surely!

So who is a Trophy Lady? I hope I will be in order to assume ladies who wake up to solely serve this moneyed man, smile 24/7  whenever around him and simply look good and get paid in kind or otherwise for those sort of services, meet the definition. A legal mpango wa kando who has no bones to strain. Think of such a contract. Here’s the thing, this industry is growing in leaps and bounds every single day since men with means are willing to spend on such ladies.

Now, meet this lass;

Call her Anita. A story is told by my friend about how she watched a girl get wasted in a span of 3 years right on her face. Note, WASTED is relative. So how;

One hot afternoon, Anita walked to the office dressing an overwrought face and making some jingling noise from layers of bangles tossed on her slender hands. She had a model-like body. Her hair strolled all the way, dangling the waistline and her pretty, long dress did the honours of flattering her strongholds. She was a beautiful Borana lady, lucky to be educated (No pun intended) and out, hunting for a job. She was holding an A4 envelope, enclosing documents that summarised her background and on that context, had come to seek for employment.

After pensively waiting at the front office area, she was directed to my friend’s boss, had a conversation that dragged for about half an hour and out, she walked. She left her C.V behind and of course her phone number as requested and that was the beginning of her evolution. The boss had fallen for this charming look.  That Anita had come to seek a reception position was a non-issue for now. Three years down the line, that has never seen the light of day. This guy had other plans and so she fell in the subterfuge, predictably.

What followed were a series of sumptuous coffee dates and trips to enviable places for lunch. Her conscience had been compromised. Her naivety gave in to his selfishness.  Having his family live in a distant town, the chicken had come home to roost. Sooner than later, Anita would move to this guy’s digs. Her new lifestyle had tricked her. Her goals in life had now changed. Her J.D was just to satisfy this man, go out for shopping and salon. Life had become so flawless.

Gradually, she was made to believe she was the second wife as long as the genuine wife wouldn’t visit. When the latter popped, she was made to leave for a weekend or so and sort sleep-overs elsewhere. All along the wife had made peace with the fact that this man cheats on her. She had had so many. Her man was so hooked to cheating that it had become normal. In fact, unawares, Anita was one amongst legions of them. Why hers was a special case, was because he caged her. He trapped her future and curved in trajectories that brainwashed her. Meanwhile, for Anita, she forgot about her boyfriend and family. She was in a new lane and the rest didn’t matter.

Slowly, she became aloof and lazy. She started imagining whatever this guy had acquired over the years was equally hers. Overtime she gained so much imaginary power that she could fire a driver or gateman at will. She didn’t even cook or clean the house or at least clear the table after a meal. That was the house servant job. Hers were to watch movies and do plenty of sleeping.

For numerous occasions, the lad relentingly sort jobs for her. But she couldn’t make it past the interview desk. Her laidback attitude robbed her opportunities due to her comfortable lifestyle. Seeking for employment became a forgotten priority. The only skill she acquired after hooking up with this guy, was a mere driving course.

Cleverly, this chap didn’t absorb her in his firm since he was all aware that she would antagonise and crumble down his baby investment within no time. Hers was to accompany this chap when he attended business meetings in Nairobi or Maasai Mara or Coast and sit pretty, wear an infectious smile, cuddle him if need be and be all over him. For a fifty something old guy, dating a lady the age of his daughter somehow does wonders to his testosterone. There is a funny myth among guys that if you sleep with ladies half or less your age, you will remain younger, fresh and vigorous.

From the school of public opinion, this lady was doing very well. Having several cars at her disposal and flying across the country and dressing in clothes shopped in exclusive places. When you compared her to her peers, she was doing very well. (Insert sarcasm). Now, the danger with this generation is; we are too selfish. We are people that have no guilt. We are humans who have no problem with dating married men and women. We are super selfish. As long as this guy lives, this lady will have it all having edged the wife from the scene and serving as the aide de camp of this manner-less chap.

She has no plans to settle down, at least not in the near future or get a kid. Mind you, this guy still cheats on her. (Anita). What’s the point? Live a lavish life meanwhile forsake or mislead your family that you are doing very well in life, edge out a whole family, remain financially dependent on a man, acquire no further skill/education and have nothing that you will ever call yours. But that beside the point, sooner or later this guy will get back to his senses or rather get over her. Funny enough, she once called the office demanding for some money to buy airtime meaning this guy deliberately gives her less than enough chumz for upkeep and not sufficient to save or invest. In other words, she lives at his behest; he can trust her with his raunchy body but not his damn money.

As long as you are dating a married man or woman, yours will be a time bomb and lots of guilt now or later. Nobody is wholly righteous but that’s not an excuse to engage in bringing down families and robbing somebody’s children; a daddy or a mummy.

In the end, Karma is alive and watching from a distance, doing press ups and waiting to pounce!

We choose our joys and sorrows long before we experience them – Kahlil Gibran

 

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).

AND SHE REACHED FOR A CIGAR!

Female smokers Nairobi CBD has five designated smoking zones which typically are not women friendly. (Hahaha sounds funny). Yes smoking rarely pays homage to gender or financial muscles. Not even to that slim lady in dripping dreadlocks in the heart of Majengo Slums to the swanky and sophisticated corporate woman who chairs boardroom meetings where her gender is normally outnumbered by her male counterparts in dark suits and well-trimmed beards.

Nairobi’s public smoking zones are perforated, congested and stuffy. No woman who spends her money in the spa would swing her hips inside a smoking zone filled beyond capacity with all the usual suspects who walk in unbuttoned shirts revealing their over-hairy chests. These female smokers park their cars in the middle of nowhere and puff, if not from balconies of their homes or from open air areas of pricey restaurants, where they cross their high healed legs, wearing dark leggings and skirts flagging up at their waistline and smoke as they view Nairobi’s beautiful landscape. And they never forget their menthol chewing gums meant to kill the smell.

With that in mind, I asked myself; who dates these women. I decided to do a simple research by asking eleven guys via my Whatsapp if they would consider dating a lady who smokes and that said if they would also opt for a marriage with her. Nine of them responded with an affirmative NO, emphasizing how they would not stand such a girlfriend while two said that was not an issue that would affect their relationship. I wasn’t surprised by the nature of the responses. We are still a reserved society that treats female smoking as an extreme taboo. It’s sort of ‘unfair’ to the female gender because the same apprehension is not replicated to their male counterparts. I personally detest the whole idea of smoking. In fact I can’t think of any of my close friends who smoke, male or female.

Having said that, the two gentlemen who were of the view that smoking for ladies is not such a bad idea represent a crop of society that is gradually accepting that female smoking is cool and trendy. Making it to the infamous list that has many of our borrowed Western cultures. Our grandmothers didn’t smoke. At least not for the two I know of. It was a man’s affair. But the Y generation will have none of that. They will colour their addiction with words like it’s just a shisha escapade, which is still smoking at the end of the day.

Why I’m also writing about female smoking this week is out of an encounter with a lady who walked to the office and happened to speak to me. At least I could smell her breath. It was very confusing. For a lady to be smelling cigar is a big deal to me. In fact it’s unacceptable. It’s simply not right. This lady was smelling cigar at 10am on a dull Monday. That tells me she is an addict. After further digging here and there I found out she is married to a white guy. Again I wasn’t surprised. Some women will do anything to appear ‘cool’ and to appease the mzungu guy.

I remember formerly working with a colleague who used to smoke. She carried this demeanor of a very innocent lady. She was a Muslim by faith. She was petite in size, very young, with a flawless skin and sweet eyes. She had eyes that could easily lure you to fall in love and ‘forget your people’. Anyway, she would sneak out of the office at 11am, walk down stairs hide somewhere and puff. She would then comeback looking pale, chewing and putting on a naughty smile heading straight to the dispenser to get some water. She would smoke at least thrice between 8am – 5pm. It happened for so long until we came to a point of accepting it was no more of a big deal. Initially, she used to keep it as a top secret. But anytime you would go to her desk, you’d smell cigar and ignore it not imagining such a beautiful lass would smoke. Not even her lips would leak anything to imply she smokes. By the way, how do ladies manage not to have those dry and dark lips smokers usually have? Overtime, she gave up on the baggage and decided to let the cat out of the bag. That smoking was part of her life.

The first time I had a close shave with a female smoker happened back in 2009 when I convinced my very good friend Kelvin Muteru to accompany me to downtown Nairobi to meet a former primary school desk mate whom I hadn’t met in like 10 years. I didn’t like the idea of meeting her alone. I was new in Nairobi and quite naive as well, then in my maiden days in college. It was an emotional encounter meeting a desk mate after 10 long and eventful years. Surprisingly, she hadn’t changed much. She still had the same complexion, personality, smile and laughter. But she had dreadlocks and her eyes were unusually red. Her lips didn’t say a thing about her smoking addiction, neither were her teeth.

Kelvin and I were dead broke only surviving through our parents pocket money which was not much especially for me. After exchanging pleasantries and the usual talk of how have you been , she reached to her pocket and unleashed a cigar. She called the waiter and asked for a lighter. She lit her cigar, pulled a humongous puff and let it on our faces. Burying Kelvin and I with a bluish, toxic flame that lazily wafted in the air. We both looked at each other, confused and in awe. Our eyes wide open and our foreheads full of visible blood veins. Have you ever heard of baptism with fire! That was one. Nobody saw it coming. That she smokes!!!

The conversation was never the same again. If my mum would only imagine where I was and in accompany of whom! God bless our parents I do not recall what we discussed post the ‘baptismal’ but I fondly remember her saying smoking was a normal thing that shouldn’t raise our hairs. We were very brief with her for obvious reasons. The more we hanged on at the joint the more costly it became. Soon after we got back to school, all my friends had gotten wind of my ‘smoky friends’ courtesy of one, Kelvin.

Bottom line: Smoking is extremely hazardous for either gender. Let it go if it’s a hobby before it develops to a habit.