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.

ISN’T SHE A WIFE MATERIAL?

wwfYou met her accidentally on your maiden evening class while you searched for a vacant seat in that stuffy class. You found one next to this lady whom you gave a genial smile and which she responded cheekily. Your friendship was conceived almost immediately starting off as just ordinary desk mates. This was the case because the following day you made up late again and to your surprise you met a reserved seat just for you. From that very day, your heart taxied over the runaway of a platonic friendship, flying high to the clouds of happy hours never to land again. You could tell she was a simple woman from the onset. She didn’t wear any make up apart from a mild lip gloss that was applied to her already pink (read cute) lips. Her hands were not littered with fidgeting things. Her fingers had only a simple rosary ring. No necklaces or earrings. Her chest was closed up. No cleavage to be drooled at. Neither did she expose hectares of tempting, brown thighs to be ogled at. And she smelled great.

One random, lazy Sunday afternoon you got a call from her requesting you to take her to the market. (In this side of the country markets open on Sundays too). You were taking a siesta but quickly obliged to accompany her. This was a sign of greater things to come. At least you hoped. Wait a minute, which contemporary lady visits the market! I thought they shop in the malls even for veges and fruits. Not her. She religiously visits the market every Sunday to buy groceries for the week. She knows where to find the best tomatoes, yards away from her carrot vendor, a corner away from where she gets fresh fruits from Mzee Kinoti.

This is how it rolled;

So you hurriedly freshen up and meet her patiently waiting for you somewhere in town. You ask her if she’d take a cab to the place (market) since it’s quite a ka-distance which she vehemently declines. Little do you know she likes walking as much! Yes she can walk from Yaya Centre to town a place of kindu 5km without complaining. To you that was a big plus. So you guys walk doing long conversations and stopping now and then to take pics after your persuasions. You call it documenting life. On the flipside you badly need images of her in your phone gallery. She doesn’t mind photos. She is photogenic you know!

At the market she patiently shows you how to decipher a green-house tomato from the rest. She recommends you opt for the rest insisting green-house tomatoes have too much ‘chemicals’. “How to tell a greenhouse tomato is from their shiny appearance. And don’t pick the soft ones, they have a short shelf life.” She says. She holds your arm and drags you to a guy selling green bananas. (You literally listen to your heart race more). Which lady shops for green bananas, gosh! These are tasks done by our mothers and aunts. She throws Gikuyu names referring to different varieties of green bananas you’ve never heard of. You forgive yourself since Nyandarua County where you hail from is not known for bananas unlike Nyeri, Kirinyaga, Murang’a, Embu and such like highland Counties. As she mentions the names to the vendor guy, he responds as to whether that particular variety is available or not.

She turns to you;

Her: Do you cook green bananas?

You: No. I’m a bachelor. I don’t have the time for ‘elaborate’ cooking.

Her: Aha, (Gives you a funny look before letting out a sarcastic smile) what about in up country?

You: Not as often hehe.

Her: You are missing a lot. Green bananas are good for your source of fiber, vitamins and minerals,
and contains a starch that may help control blood sugar, manage weight and lower blood cholesterol levels.

You: Wow. You only 24 and know all these!! You’ll make a very good wife. Men adore women like you.

Her: You flattering me. Thank you though. (As she catches her breathe shyly).

You: (Your mind whispers words like – Can I marry you!!!…..God make her mine please. You know I need such a mama for my two forthcoming daughters)

Meanwhile her green bananas get packed and again she drags you to the mama selling onions. The mama throws a look at you two to suggest you look like a wonderful couple. Actually you act like one. She carefully shows you how to tell an ‘awesome’ onion from a not so good one. The latter has an elongated strip emerging from the tip. Ignore that type, it’s not the best. Look for one with a dry tip. You learn from her! She takes you to the carrot guy and boy! She knows how to bargain. All this time round, you thought your mum was the best in this league. No! As you proceed to look for nice pumpkins (Is she for real, pumpkins??) she explains why she had to bargain. The vendor guys take advantage of you once you appear looking posh and ‘middle class-like’. She learnt this over the years.

The pumpkin mum cuts her half the size which will be enough for the week. All this time your mind has convened an ’emergency cabinet meeting’ and resolved to seriously pursue this young woman. ‘The whole of you’ is convinced this is your Miss Right.

You are tempted to ask her; Did it hurt (The Coca-Cola Ad)
Her: Where?
You: Uki dunda from heaven!!
Her: Sorry!

Yaani how can you be this lucky to stumble to such a lass in 2015!

You walk back to town and escort her home as darkness creeps in. You also head straight to your digs and sit on your couch for 30 minutes without bothering to switch on the stereo or the TV to watch the news. Nothing seems to matter more than that afternoon’s experience. It was heavenly. You even toy with the idea that it might have been a dream.

One week after, you invite her for lunch in your house. This is bold. Yes, you cook for her. You get her by surprise since the two of you had strolled from church together when you asked her for lunch in your digs. It’s important to also note she is quite religious. I judge religious people by the time they wake up to pray. And for your information, she has an alarm that wakes her up at 5am to pray for 30 minutes. This turns out to be the conversation as you walk from church. You have lunch and then she insists on doing the dishes! That’s a wife material type, right?

You then make her watch Fast and Furious 7 since she hadn’t watched it (She is not so much of a movie person) and then request her to accompany you as you check out to do your monthly shopping. You recall her recommending a very distinct house freshener which lasts longer than your usual picks. She also makes you buy a designer deo that befits your character and which makes necks wag in your office the next day. The most memorable part comes by when you make way past the kitchen cleaning stuff. She gets like; “I didn’t spot any steel wool in your kitchen?” This is so true since the last time your sufurias were thoroughly cleaned using a steel wool was when you sister passed by your house 4 or 5 months ago. You pass by the utensils and again she advises you to buy Luminarc branded items as they boost of high quality next time you furnish your wall-unit. She introduces you to lentils (aka kamande) at the food stuff section emphasizing they are good for stabilizing blood sugar, lowering cholesterol and reduce the risk of heart diseases.

Several months down the line and after a cluster of interactions you realize she is never interested in your phone. She never touches your phone even when you dash to the bathroom or walk out to buy milk. Again this is a big plus. Phones kill relationships and make partners die of knife stabs. You also happen to taste her unrivalled cooking skills. She doesn’t buy chips, she cooks them effortlessly. Same case to puncakes and chapatis. She can do it in the morning as she prepares breakfast at one end. Multi-tasking is in her flow of blood. This reminds you of another thing, she will light a jiko in no minute as she pills potatoes and as she also cooks porridge from the gas cooker.

Her other talent is in home remedies. She is big in this. Always at her fingertips. From heartburns, nausea, sensitive teeth, small burns, baby fevers at 2:31am…..she walks with a ready prescription. And something else I forgot; she likes ironing clothes for her man. She will go through your wardrobe, cull clothes that suit your day theme and iron them for you. She is that lady who believes in waking up an hour before the husband, to prepare breakfast as she cleans the house. Another added advantage is that she is a sucker for body fitness. How about that?

You reliased she is extremely coping. You can easily leave her with your mum inside a smoky hut on a rainy afternoon as they cook mukimo (a Gikuyu traditional food that some idle simpletons throw shade at), go sleep for two hours and find them later, happily preparing tea in the same spot and keeping warm from the glowing hearth of firewood.

One year after you meet, she has steadily remained loyal to those principles. The question is; isn’t she a wife material? Can wedding bells ring now!!!

DR.STACEY, KAGESHI AND MY LIMPING LEG

FemaleDocHardly 24 hours after I published my last week’s article dubbed Of Tummies And The Struggle which I had disclosed of my ailing right foot, I found myself seated in waiting area of this hospital with white, leather sofas, staring at the humongous TV, preoccupied with lost thoughts. So much was going through my mind at this time as I hate visiting hospitals. Kageshi can attest to this. I only visit hospitals as the last resort when all the home remedies fail to work. The room was dead silent apart from the TV on low volume. My face was in pensive mood, sympathising with my leg and regretting why I ever did the exercises in the first place. Minutes before I checked in, I had a lengthy conversation with my mum who assured me everything will be okay. I would tell were it not for the distance, she badly desired to accompany me as I visited my doc. This happens so many times. My mum has never accepted I’m a grown up who has developed thick skin along the way in my close to three decades of breathing life. Talk of African Mums.

I had just walked to the receptionist who by the way was a guy. Very unusual. He pulled an artificial smile and asked my name and other personal details. Immediately my Boy-Child activism checked in considering receptionists are in most cases petite ladies. I was glad some employers are now employing people based on their capability and not gender. 10 minutes after, a brown young lady with pronounced chick bones and big round eyes and a WEAVE emerged from the Consultation Room donning the symbolic white coat. She looked 28. Don’t ask how I guessed her age. My heart skipped. I didn’t recall the last time I was treated by a female doc. Actually it had not happened before!

Back to my ailing leg. Kageshi came to mind. I smiled shyly when I rolled back thoughts about how for like 5 days before I gave in to visit the doc, she unrelentingly massaged my feet with a warm (read hot) towel to ease the pain daily. At times I would let out a deep sigh when she pressed my right foot so hard as a way of ‘curing the pain’ with the hot towel. She was like; “This is not the time to be gentle, I need to see you walking again, Love?” I felt like a 7 year old boy being nursed his feet by the mum. And by the way, the whole experience turned out to be very romantic.

So, I was called in to the Consultation Room. Dr.Stacey warmly referred me with my first name, Andrew. I was quite impressed. I get very excited when people call me by first name looking straight to my eyes. Does it happen to you too? I narrated to her my troubled story while she made notes with her sleek pen. She directed me to a high table across the wall where I had to remove my shoes. She assessed my foot, asking a million and one questions. She then asked about my profession! I told her I’m an Accountant which I promptly regretted saying so. I wish I told her I was a Writer who has a passion for telling serious stories with a humour-like touch. And she’d be like; “A Writer? Wow! That’s nice. So it pays your bills and supports your family?” And I’d be like; “Not exactly. I blend it with ‘small’ hustles here and there. I do preambles for websites and other stuff.” Her face would reserve any more questions hehe. She twirled my foot with her tender hands which had well trimmed finger nails and at some point I noticed her huge watch which commanded attention. (From men circles; ladies who don huge watches are taken more seriously because of their seeming boldness).

I wished I asked the million dollar question Biko poses to the swimming pool guys from Malindi to Kigali or the chap who pushes him in a wheel chair when he gets diagnosed with a blood clot. About their most interesting clients. I’m not sure how Dr.Stacey could have responded to such a question. Probably I could have got her off guard or maybe she would have complained of the patient becoming very intrusive. While she attended me, I ransacked her ‘office’ with my eyes from her table which had several medical journals stashed nicely, a medical dictionary, two novels next to her snazzy phone and a lip balm. There was a newspaper too. (And that’s how you judge a lady’s age). Her huge handbag was placed at the corner of the table and car keys resting beside the bag. Anyway, after the assessment of my leg she let out the bombshell. That my leg would be immobilised for two weeks. A shocked me was like, “really?” And she pitched an affirmative YES. She went ahead to wipe my feet, applied a creamy stuff and massaged my foot for 3 minutes. She then firmly tied a bandage on my ailing leg and let me off the hook wishing me quick recovery and requesting I go for follow up checkup in a week’s time. (Which is tomorrow).

What Dr.Stacey didn’t warn me about was that, the first two nights would be the longest nights I ever endured. Dealing with a heavy and uncomfortable leg was a nightmare in itself. I wasn’t able to even stretch my right foot. (Thank God for sound health). I thought of so many things during these nights. I came to a point of appreciating more, breastfeeding mothers. Waking a dozen times in the night to lull a stubborn baby and still manage to wake up early to prepare for jobo. Wow! Respect to this kind of women! Their sleep is always interrupted. That was me and my leg waking at 2:01 am to soothe it to ‘sleep’. The situation was so bad on the first day that I didn’t realise it was a Friday, a night to watch a programme I fondly like, The Trend. I slept before 9.

Dealing with kids in the neighborhood who’ve been telling me Pole (sorry) with sympathetic faces has become a norm. Not to mention tussling with a thousand questions from all the souls I meet. It has been worse when they expect me to take time in narrating a detailed account of what happened. This is so draining. Gai! When I dashed for my weekly shave, Shemas my barber laughed for a whole 10 minutes after I explained what transpired. That I was jogging in my digs and twisted my leg in the process. He couldn’t understand how one can jog inside a house. My boss was also visibly shocked. When I walked to the office last Monday morning in open-shoes with a bandage tethered in one of my legs, he looked lost until I explained. He was like; “Andrew you are too young to start messing with your legs.” My brief response was; “It happens” punctuated with a fake smile.

I salute the two incredible women; Kageshi and Dr.Stacey who came in handy when I needed a lot of reassurance. One thing I have learnt is that it’s never the same when you can’t walk normally. You get tired easily and naturally can’t do some tasks the same way again. It’s also not easier when one leg is rendered inactive. Appreciate and give thanks for good health and while at it take extra caution while exercising. It might save you a fortune.

OF TUMMIES AND THE STRUGGLE

Athlete Stretching --- Image by © Royalty-Free/Corbis

A few weeks ago I posted a photo on social media which apparently exposed my bulging tummy. How I hate tummies. Interestingly, my sweet Niece Whatsapped ‘hurling words’ at me demanding to know why an uncle should be gaining weight when everybody else is burning hours in the gym cutting weight! Well well well! That statement was hard to swallow. I did hear it sink deep in my stomach and up in my mind where it unleashed terror and threatened to ‘Sossion me’. I have never been more haunted by a simple statement. Gaining weight is no longer fashionable and worse still, some Machiavellian geeks seated somewhere will assume you are a lazy being. How harsh can it be! Well for the record, my tummy has nothing to do with me imbibing alcohol as one childhood friend alluded. This again left a bitter taste in my life. It’s not fair to always imagine all guys who grow tummies are alcoholics and take Nyama choma more often than they sip tea.

And by the way, I am at a crossroad. In catch 22. Why? Well, Kageshi (My publicly-known girlfriend) has been ‘over-feeding’ me so that, come 2016 when I will be visiting her parents’ home to pay dowry, I’ll look ‘presentable’. Hahaha. Yes in some parts of this country, you cannot afford to present a skinny fellow to your damn uncles. They will chase you away the Magarer-Langat way. You recall this lad, formerly of ODM. Come to think of yourself up in the air, with an idle crowd behind, waving tree branches and jeering at you all for not appearing ‘moneyed’ so to speak. (Why do people in upcountry have to harm trees when they hold demos; Are placards that expensive or rather not effective in these parts of the country. These are the same humans who’ll show up during Wangari Maathai’s Anniversary while in the background persist to maim her legacy.) Speaking of upcountry, mums residing in this areas do not mind when their sons grow ‘big’.

So where does this leave me? I weighed all the options and concluded I should restructure my weight instead. In fact, as we speak, I have embarked on doing exercises in my digs now that I can’t afford to frequent the gym. The last time I was there, 2 years ago, I used to spend more money on gym fees than I’d spend on my food budget. This didn’t make sense to me. I obliged to give up. I’m also an accountant you know. Doing exercises in the house is not simple either, though I dropped two kilograms last week but not before I got an injury on my feet. This was as a result of jogging 2 kilometers in the house. (Don’t get twisted, yani jogging for 20 minutes nonstop). If walls in my house would speak, they’d confirm the depth of my sighs and how sweaty I can be. Enough of Andrew!

Speaking of my niece, she’s hardly 53 kilograms (2kg for her blonde weave) and still insists on rigorously working out in the house. I know she will kill me for writing this, sorry hun! At times she skips meals to maintain her overrated flat tummy. How now? To me this is overzealousness. Many ladies are caught up in this madness of flat-tummies too. I know men admire such lasses, but when it takes skipping meals for a tummy! Hell no. You might have the tiniest waistline but still, have a pathetic lifestyle. Some are even taking pills to shed weight. That’s where the problem is. I’m not trying to throw shade at the whole idea of maintaining a healthy lifestyle. It’s very noble. It significantly lowers your stress levels, combats diseases, boosts your energy levels and improves your longevity….bla bla bla. However, bragging of firm tummies on IG or pronounced muscles is neither here nor there.

We have hyped flat tummies at the very expense of healthy lifestyles. According to Women’s Health, an online women magazine, globally, sixty-two percent of women say the body part they’re self-conscious about is their belly. Nowadays, there has been a misconception that cutting your carbohydrates is tantamount to cutting weight. This is a generational lie. It’s wrong. Health pundits insist, cutting simple carbs may help reduce your weight but that does not necessarily suggest pushing complex carbs off your plate. Your body still needs vegetables, legumes and whole grains. Worse still, we are a society that has been misadvised against taking eggs. It’s true, eggs have a fair amount of cholesterol but they are good sources of protein, several B vitamins, choline, vitamin D, and vitamin E too. Extra caution is only limited to people with heart diseases or diabetes.

You know of these people who check on their ‘portions’ while they also count on the number of calories they’ve consumed in a day. Is this not a first world problem? We have totally been enslaved by all these crude gimmicks in this internet era. I have heard tales of corporate women whom ideally are quite learned, donning tummy belts. I call this, contemporary slavery? I hate to imagine a time when my wife will be jumping to get her tummy belt first thing after dashing out of the shower. This can be very defeating. It will remind me of war-time movies where you have to don certain paraphernalia to identify yourself. Woman, you are not in war, not unless with yourself. Besides, they follow a schedule of what one should consume in say three weeks and guarantee to lose a whole 30 kilograms. I’m also told of something called tummy tuck only affordable to the rich. This entails of plastic surgery in the abdomen in which fat and skin are removed and muscles tightened. This is to yield an illusion of a flat tummy. The lengths this generation travels to fit in or stand out!

New fads are being unleashed every single day promising ‘faster results’. But all they do is show our degree of laziness and general naivety. A healthy lifestyle will only be met by taking larger portions of natural foods, fruits, taking lots of water and more importantly regularly working out. This does not necessarily mean going to the gym. This ‘house’ is so overrated. In fact, a good number visit the gym just to brag about it. Simple exercises in your house coupled with more rounds of walking around the estate with your loved one(s) and maybe riding a bike preferably with your spouse can be very helpful. This is much wiser than gulping what we are fed via our TV screens. Drop the overzealousness. Accept not to be deluded. Don’t move with the wind, your kids might pay your price.

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THE CORNERED MALE SPECIES

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Do they say the fish rots from the head? Come to think of it and while at it, ask yourself how you’d describe the chairman of Maendeleo ya Wanaume and these three adjectives would surface and do justice; a tired, laid back and comic guy. Who even appointed him if he wasn’t elected? And speaking of elections, how didn’t I not have a heads up! For men to be taken seriously in this country, we need a man worth his salt at the helm. An eloquent kind of guy, with stamina to steer an array of men battling with pot-bellies and receding hairlines. Type of a man who can resuscitate our emaciated reputation and take a bullet for the millions of us who grow beards. He should be that guy who can nurture a sense of belonging in the Man’s Kingdom by challenging us to provide leadership in our families.

But more fundamentally, what is ailing the Y chromosome? Has man been overrated all this time round only to lose his oomph in the 21st century? He has weathered and left bare and naked over time. Naked in the annoying truth of high appetite for lust and alcohol. He’s been reduced to a ‘thing’ that’s wading in moral decadence. He is now disintegrating in big and small pieces at the very feet of a bewildered society. What happened to the traditional male with all his aggression and protective syndrome? It’s an open secret that members of the male species have been cornered. We’re embarrassing ourselves in the open if not tearing up the little credibility we brag of.

10 years from now, I can only hope I won’t be caught up in the cobwebs of being chauffeured in an intimidating car to the G.P.O area, to fish out hot lasses at the bus station hanging on their weekend bags and glued to their phones. God should also forbid the mere thought of flying my P.A to Fairmont Mount Kenya Safari Club somewhere in Nanyuki for a weekend of escapades as my lonely wife pulls duvet in our elegant mansion agonising over my behavior. The reality is, having a 20 something years old sidekick as a married man, is very fashionable nowadays.

Sampling the recent incidents that have been unfolding right in front of my TV screen only leave my conscious in a state of jeopardy. I feel ashamed even while all alone in my house. You can imagine if I had a 3 year old inquisitive son, propping those queer questions right in my face. Like, “Dad, who is Mugo wa Wairimu? What did he do?” How I’m I supposed to respond to such a question? Speaking of Mugo, is he aware that by the time a woman walks to a gynecologist, she is already unwell? Raping her while in a sedated state is too inhumane in my opinion. It shames me as man. It puts burdens to hundreds of families who ever took their family members to that clinic all because of a man who can’t contain his libido.

What of when your uncle appears on TV heavily drunk, with a disillusioned face, overgrown beards and smelling like a corpse. How does my son put up with such a close relative? I need to have an idea of how Kenyan fathers survive in their houses at 9pm while watching despicable stories unravel on the screens. Men should think twice before indulging in some of these things. We don’t live in a vacuum. We have people who look up to us. Who expect mentorship and inspiration from us. If all that is in our mind is a comprised conscience choked with evil, how will we manage to guide a whole generation pregnant with expectations and hopes?

I was taken aback few weeks ago and even shared my anger on my Facebook page andrewismme.com of this chap who found out that his wife was cheating on him. So he ambushed her and beat her mercilessly. What ignited my anger was how bystanders mostly men, gnawed their teeth in unfounded excitement while they recorded the ordeal. That was so shallow and annoying. How do you watch a woman being mishandled and all you do is display your unashamed joy? The last time I checked, men were called to be protective beings. This chap should have simply separated with the wife or report her to Njuri Ncheke.

Sadly, men of the cloth whom ideally should be busy instilling values in us are in fact outdoing each in embracing the vices. Just the other day while flip flopping TV channels I came across a story of a pastor who was wedding without having consulted his 1st wife. Such like stories have been retold to the umpteenth time. Granted that this way of life persists for some years to come; will we ever have a society? The male species has failed miserably in upholding the value system of a society. From the Ng’ang’as of this world to matatu conductors who purport to be our moral police thereby stripping women ‘badly dressed’, we have sunken and buried the male species in deep shit.

Having said that, what’s a better place to reflect, seek healing and guidance than through the bible. Ephesians 2:1-5 And you were dead in the trespasses and sins 2 in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience 3 among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. 4 But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, 5 even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ by grace you have been saved.

I’m calling on the male species family for whom I am a member, to rise to the occasion and redeem our image. For so long we’ve steered the society in the wrong direction. It’s important to appreciate men have been bestowed with heavy responsibilities and it’s unfortunate when the Animal Kingdom behaves better than many of us.

WHAT LIFE MEANS FOR A BACHELOR

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You are 27. Sitting pretty on a six-figure salary bracket. Your colleagues have been making these jokes of how your weight gain has been directly correlated to your steady rise on the promotional ladder. Sounds true. On the side, you are servicing a car loan, doing your Masters and a proud owner of several parcels of land. You seem to be doing okay as far as career and financial muscles are concerned. You feel satisfied to have achieved quite a number of your goals, a few years shy of hitting the psychological age. 30.

What’s all the fuss about hitting 30? Well, life before and after 30 is as different as day and night. Hitting 30 without a family to show, or diapers to change (for your son or daughter) or better still, Instagram pics of you lulling your 3 months old, Baby Newton to sleep, is overwhelmingly defeating. At 30, your passi insists you must join church’s Men Association group. It’s also at 30 that you’ll succumb to your brother in law’s demands of dragging you to this chama he belongs to, that trains men who’ve come of age, cultural traditions and their role in the family. This is huge and somehow intimidating because you’ll happen to mingle and make small talks with men the age of your dad as you prepare some nyama choma in this picturesque getaway. You’ll also be expected to tell them what you’ve achieved and how your vision looks like. In other words, you’ll be groomed from a boy to a man.

Enough of 30. Your family back home is anxious, and dealing with the elephant in the room; waiting for this day that you’ll call them on a Sunday afternoon, booking a day on their calendar when you’ll finally and officially bring a wife home. On the side, you are also grappling with business partners on your side hustle who unrelentingly have not given you any peace of mind, all in the name of showing care for a brother. You recall this day, one of them drew for you a sketch of how badly you are faring. That you should have married at 25 (two years ago) so by the time you hit 45, your kids will be in college. Otherwise, as it looks now, at the age of 50, you’ll still be attending Parent’s Day meetings somewhere in Nyeri County because you believe schools in that part of the country perform very well in national examinations.

But that’s easier said than done. I mean, from your toes to your receding hairline, to every part of your body is in unison that you should be married by now. That’s not in contention. But the big question is, who is there to be married? Is it these contemporary ladies whom when you invite one for a dinner date, comes with half a dozen of her ‘girls’ pulling unashamed ear to ear smiles. A very high percentage of ladies view and judge men with financial lenses. Ladies listen; I once schooled with this guy who didn’t even complete college for lack of school fees. He was a great friend of mine and still is. In fact, we’ve shared the same circle of friends for the last 7 years. We didn’t drop him because of his financial woos then. Not that we were any rich. It’s through God’s grace that we survived. To cut a long story short, this dude married when still trying to make ends meet. God honoured his resilience and hard work. These days, he uploads pics on Facebook of his wife and him crisscrossing the country for holidays. Flying his family for 5 days at the Coast is no big deal to him!

But how many bachelors will ever be lucky as this dude? All we have are ladies living a larger than life lifestyle. Who can’t do laundry because of their manicured nails and instead, pay someone to do so as they go doing ‘facials’. The same ladies with an alcohol tolerance thrice more enduring than yours. Who show off these phones the same price to a plot of land somewhere in Nyahururu. They also suffer from impatience and are addicted to instant ‘success’ and its glorification. Bachelors are going through tougher times than their dads or grandfathers ever did. The game has turned out to be too complex, riskier and expensive over the years. The only ladies meeting your criteria are in fact inviting you to their wedding committees if it’s not the actual weddings or baby shower visits!

Back to the story, you once happened to take this hot intern for a coffee date only to regret the very thought of it. Once settled, she asked this waiter with a glowing skin and colgate teeth peeping from her suggestive smile and of eyes that literally weakened every joint of your body, if there was anything on offer apart from beverages. She ordered for red wine. You were taken aback. She tapped your arm and was like, “bring him a cold Tusker please”. You pretended to be this open-minded fellow and went on to spend almost 4k on a Monday night obviously not budgeted for. By 12 am a visibly drunk intern dashed to the washroom and an opportune moment presented itself. Your endearing waiter was standing strategically behind you. You’d smell her scent and manage to see her from the corner of your cornea. You reached to your wallet and chomwad a business card and placed it in her hands accompanied with a small tip. She gave you a face that read, I’ll be waiting for your call. The next day, your intern dropped by your office to thank you for the epic treat. She sat on your table with all her endowments, her cleavage half out, acres of thighs to graze and a long weave overshadowing her back. If only she knew how much it costed for that random date. Haha. Since she proved too expensive to maintain, the alleged affair died as fast as it had sprouted.

Interestingly, you have this relatively young, married friend who seems to have all the qualities of your imaginary wife. In fact on the few times, she has invited you for coffee, she insists on paying the bill. (When married women, be they classmates or friends invite you for coffee, it has to be strictly coffee.) She even lends you money within a short notice, when in a fix. She compliments your dressing and actually goes ahead to ask where you bought that watch that underlines your tastes. To make matters worse, she throws subtle advances at you leaving you more confused. You certainly don’t want to ruin somebody’s marriage for the very simple reason of never wanting to imagine your wife ever contemplating cheating on you. (Especially with an unmarried chap).

Every year the HR pops to your office to update your medical insurance details and goes like;”Any dependant or wife so far?” And you respond with a NO that ends up to invite a loud, awkward silence between you two as she finds her way out.

The only thing bachelors are in need of is family love and communal prayers akin to my shosh’s ‘deep prayers’ at 3 am for them to survive through this jungle of temptation, deception and remorse.

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

STIGMA OF A SINGLE MOTHER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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