One thing that I find very amusing about working class Kenyans on Friday evenings is the way in which they announce, very loudly, that “wamefunga kazi”. Dude walks into the local, removes coat in theatric fashion to show that he’s had it on for a bit too long, “dresses” the seat, places car keys on counter, loosens tie, folds sleeves, sits and orders the waiter to serve him a very cold beer. How else will you know that the weekend has arrived?
Another thing that I really enjoy doing while in the pub is listening in on people’s conversations. Have you noticed how everyone suddenly becomes an intellectual as soon as a couple of bottles of Ruaraka’s finest have graced their parched throats? You’d think that all the problems on this earth and beyond, right from the fracas in ODM, to Darfur to Iraq to global warming etc have their solutions right there in that dimly lit kibanda. And you’d also wonder why the owners of such brilliant thoughts have never submitted their CVs to the U.N. and it’s associated agencies.
Knowing how bar patrons are most times a very loud breed, I just couldn’t help overhearing a conversation going on between a group of guys on the next table. This happened a few weeks ago. So this is what I managed to piece together from the whole conversation.
It appears that Kenyan men are becoming quite intimidated by the so called “independent women”, with particular reference to young execs. You know the type, graduated less than 5 years ago, proud holder of an MBA which earned her a mid level management job at a firm somewhere, chic dresses well, rents a cosy apartment somewhere in Kileleshwa and drives a 1500cc Japanese import.
(I hope I’ve not described down to the last detail anyone that might be reading this post! If so, read the disclaimer at the top of this site)
So, according to the storyteller, let’s call him what…Sospeter, these young ladies have taken the Destiny’s Child “independent woman” mantra a bit too far. These women now call the shots, and they’re proud of it. And they’re rapidly turning the tables on men in matters that have been our domain since time immemorial. These days it’s not a strange thing for a man to find himself being carried home as someone’s chips funga! Basically they’re outdoing us at our own game!!
Sospeter recalls with much anger and bitterness, the events of the previous weekend. He was due to meet some friends at a pub in Hurlingham. He was lucky to have beaten the Friday evening traffic and got there with about an hour to kill. After “officially opening the weekend” with his first Tusker, he looked around and spotted an attractive lady seated alone at the counter, looking very bored. So he decided to walk over and offer her some company.
He introduces himself to the lady, let’s call her Wilkista (yes, today it’s the full shady names!!) who seems least interested in meeting his acquaintance. She sizes him up from head to toe before lazily offering her hand in greeting. Sospeter offers to buy Wilky a drink, but he’s startled by her reply.
“Do I look like I can’t afford to buy one for myself?”
OUCH!! Ok, let’s try another approach. Sospeter asks if she would mind some company since she looks quite bored. Again she shoots him down.
“What gave you the remotest idea that I sat here with the sole intention of being hit on by lousy pricks such as yourself?”
Double ouch!! Seeing that things were elephant, Sospeter quietly retreated, tail between his legs.
Time flew and his friends joined him. They sat and had their drinks and muturas all evening, with Sospeter secretly stealing glances at Wilky, wondering what it was about him that she found so offensive. Did she have to be so rude? Ama her ninii is so fabulous that she pisses glitter ? Kwanza even her hair was probably chopped off some dead horse’s tail, she had on too much make up which was beginning to fade, and her long, red nails were obviously fake. Now she’s feeling sweet for who? Kubaff!!
Wilky on the other hand was feeling rather proud of herself for being so confident and showing Sospeter that she has no intention whatsoever of being anyone’s door mat. She’s a modern woman for christ’s sake!! But she did find him attractive though. Well dressed, neat, great physique and a charming smile. Mmm mmm mmm!!! She kept stealing glances in his direction as well. And knowing what a couple bottles of red wine do to her, she figured that he could do for the night.
Somehow Sospeter found himself somewhere near the counter (probably buying a scratchcard or cigarettes or something) and Wilky asked him if he was still interested in buying her that drink. Sospeter, a bit apprehensive after the madharau she showed him earlier on, tried to look unfazed and he took up the offer.
They talked, they flirted, they laughed for a while before Wilky asked him, point blank, whether he’d be interested in trying out some of her imported whiskey, which of course was in a cabinet in her apartment. And how could Sospeter refuse that offer?
Brethren!! We need to style the fcuk up!! When the deal is too good, think twice!! Legs don’t automatically part just like that!! There’s obviously a trap there!!! The next time a chic that you’ve just met propositions you, RUN for the hills!! And don’t look back!!
Wilky convinced him to leave his car at the pub and ride home in her new Nissan Sunny. By this time, Sospeter wasn’t thinking. They got in, drove to her tastefully furnished apartment in Kileleshwa, where they did have that whiskey that brought them there in the first place. Wilky was courteous enough to prepare him a polite meal, which they ate as they listened to some neo soul on her expensive Sony 5.1 home theatre system. Kweli this mama has taste.
Shortly afterwards she left for the bathroom…………
Why the hell am I beating about the bush when we all know where this is heading?
Yes they had sex! A lot of it! Very vigorous headboard banging sex. Sospeter adhered to Archer’s principle of playing it like a world cup final, combining it with Mwangi’s thoughts of “smackin’ it like you’re paying a mortgage on it!” Wilky on the other hand didn’t disappoint! She rode him as if he were the last camel in the sahara heading in the direction of the last remaining oasis.
And after that, they slept. Exhausted, but wrapped around each other in post coital bliss. Or did they?
The next morning Sospeter was rudely awoken by Wilky and ordered to make himself scarce before the neighbours awoke. No morning glory, no shower, no brushing of teeth, no breakfast, nothing. She threw him his clothes and a 500 bob note to catch a cab or a mathree back to whichever hole he crept out of. “Alaa? Kwani tulipigana usiku au vipi?” As we used to finish an insha back in class 8, papo hapo ndipo ilipodhihirika wazi kuwa Sospeter ndiye aliyekuwa chips funga.
Imagine how Sospeter was laughed at by his pals after he narrated his story! First of all the way she had pimad him at the bar. Then he agreed to be carried home as takeaway. Then he was kicked out before sunrise with a 500 bob tip like a cheap whore from Luthuli Avenue!! It doesn’t matter how great the sex was, but a woman just doesn’t treat you like this!!
So basically it seems as if the tables have turned on us poor men. Women these days are becoming more bold, they’re becoming better (or worse) playas than men have ever been. And they have no regrets about it considering the injustices that have been committed against women in the past. They’re proving that anything a man can do, a woman can do, if not better!
The vibe on that table ended with the men vowing to take back what’s theirs! These women have to be put back in their place! Tyra Banks, Oprah na Destiny’s Child wachomwe! This empowerment bullshit is going too far! There was even talk of men all over the country joining Maendeleo ya Wanaume so as to safeguard their rights!!
Boy, did I have quite a laugh!!
Another conversation which I happened to be part of (though I did more listening and laughing) featured a couple of these same young exec independent women fresh out of campus type chics telling us that they have no use for men completely. Apparently men have outlived their usefulness, and it’s only now that women have (grown the balls?) to fight back!
One chic’s logic is that since she’s making good money by herself, she doesn’t ever need a man to complete her. She’ll never need to rely on any man financially, why have a two minute man when you can have an Energizer powered dildo that can give far more mind blowing orgasms in two hours than a real man can give in a week. She doesn’t need a man for company since we’ve proved to be totally useless in emotional matters.
But she nearly killed me when she said this:
According to some magazine that she read, men will be extinct by the year 2050. Why? With increased technology, the only purpose that women need men for (i.e. providing good genes for their offspring) will have ceased to be a natural process, and will only take place artificially… at sperm banks. That way, men will cease to be relevant and they’ll all die off. No more war, world peace etc.
I laughed my ribs sore, the only question I managed to ask was where the hell they’d get the sperm from in that case!
The gender battles and sexual debates in Kenya will never cease to amaze me. With Kenyan men on one hand accusing Kenyan women of being materialistic, opportunistic leeches who have zero bedroom skills, and Kenyan women on the other hand accusing Kenyan men of being cheapskates, unsophisticated, unemotional, football crazy drunkards who provide no meaningful action to back their big talk.
Our women have decided to outsource (Congolese brothers with enough bling for two CMB Prezzo’s) and any white man
*coughAfrifuckingkanersincludedcough!* leaving us men with no option but to head West!! And when we do that, they complain. When will all this end?
Lemme be Aegeus for a minute and pose a few random thoughts of my own:
- Does Michael Joseph (Safaricom CEO) kusanya Bonga Points?
- Does the Celtel CEO (what’s his name? Huyo mse ako na meno fifty fae na zote ni yellow) eh, does he have a Safaricom line? Does he kusanya Bonga Points?
- Does Mwai Kibaki have a wallet? If so, how much money does he carry in it? And what does he use that money for?
- Doesn’t it suck big time when you meet your ex five years down the road, and she looks like $10 million IN CASH!!
What’s on my Playlist?
Love Foolosophy – Jamiroquai