**You shall forgive me for the use of unflattering language in this post. It merely reflects the amount of resentment that I have for these creatures.**
During the last week of Machipo’s stay next door, Nyambura came by with a couple of girls, one of whom I know from uni. She said that they’d be moving in by the weekend. There’s the fat one (let’s call her Kate) who at some point wanted my vibe but I wasn’t interested in her. I didn’t know her really well, but I heard of an incident where she stole a bottle of liquor from a nearby bar and got herself beaten up as a result. No one finds such hoodrat behaviour excusable. Then there’s the short one (let’s call her Muriel) who only struck me as being rather big mouthed and somewhat nosy. Other than that, there weren’t any signs of anything untoward about her. Besides, I thought it would be interesting to have a pair of girls living next door for a change.
The first couple of weeks were uneventful. We struck up a rapport. Kate gave up on her conquest after she realized that I had a significant other who she couldn’t compete with. We’d hang out once in a while. I used to help out with household stuff (changing bulbs, fixing electronics) and all that. They got a kitten and forced me to play with it. I hate cats. I find them to be very pretentious creatures. But this kitten really took to me, nibbling on my ears and all that. I even tried to help them potty train the kitten (thanks to @RookieKE) coz in the two weeks it was there, believe me the damn kitten made proper use of the carpet, the sofas, curtains and any other soft surface it could rub its nether quarters on.
A short while later, the kitten went missing, and Muriel (main bitch) accused me of (catnapping?) kidnapping the kitten. She even came to my flat to carry out a search for it. Why the hell would I kidnap a paka? Yaani ka nyau? NKT! That was the first sign that there would not be peace between us. It turns out that the fat one had actually sat on a cushion the kitten was hiding behind. Miraculously, it survived!
Later that evening I was at the local café buying chapos for dinner. The two chics arrived and began talking to the café owner (Mama Sue) about the kitten’s shenanigans, including describing quite graphically how it would defecate on their carpet and sofa, leaving the digz stinking to high heavens. In a café!! So I politely asked her to tone down on her language as people were eating.
No one tells me what to say, when to say it and how to say it! Mdomo ni yangu. Kama hupendi, meza wembe!
Muriel continued with her description at the top of her voice, leaving some customers so disgusted that two of them left without finishing their meals or paying for them.
Another pal (a dude) walked in, provided a welcome distraction and we started talking. He was telling me about a chic he had earlier had an altercation with on campus, and in the process of describing her, Muriel overheard our conversation and assumed that we were talking about her.
You stupid motherf***ers, sons of b*****s….
At that point, I simply left the café with my chapos and went home. Such petty domestics I can do without.
A few minutes later, Muriel walks into my digz to “borrow” some drinking water (they were experiencing some water issues at theirs) I told her that I was not amused by the things she said in the café, and I would greatly appreciate an apology. I don’t talk to people using such abusive language and I certainly do not appreciate it being used at me. She claimed that she was joking and that I can’t take a joke. She added that she would not apologize since no one tells her how to control her mouth. So I asked her to leave my digz immediately and shut the door on her way out, which she did.
We didn’t speak for several days after that. I couldn’t understand what was so difficult about a simple apology that could have ended this situation. Apology or no apology, I hoped that she got the point and would behave herself in future.
About two weeks later we were on talking terms again and normal neighbourly relations were restored. One Friday night I got home to find that my electricity had been disconnected (I forgot to pay the bill) and I couldn’t use my laptop for some stuff I needed to do. So I went over and asked if I could charge my laptop and phone, and they agreed. Shortly afterwards my significant other came over, and another pal invited us over for dinner and drinks. Muriel asked if she could borrow my laptop overnight to do an IT project since she was having some issues with hers. I agreed on condition that she returned it to me as soon as she was done with it, regardless of the hour of the night. She should flash me and I’d go to the balcony to fetch it. I’m very overprotective over my laptop and I never ever lend it to anyone. (In fact some people joke that I have an unhealthy attachment to said laptop which I’ve fondly nicknamed Cathy). After that, my S.O. and I left.
We got back to my place about 4am and seeing as their lights were off, I didn’t want to wake up Muriel to get back my laptop, so I decided to get it in the morning. Come Saturday 8am, I went next door and knocked. And knocked and knocked some more, but they weren’t in. So I called Kate who told me that they had left and would only return in the evening. I asked why they left without returning my laptop. All she said was that I should get it back in the evening. I told her that I was leaving the same day to spend the holidays with my family, I had a doctor’s appointment and I didn’t want to leave without the laptop coz I couldn’t see myself coming back once I’d left. I called and texted Muriel several times but she wasn’t bothered to answer her phone.
The girls didn’t even show up that evening! They returned on Sunday morning at 3am, raising a ruckus that woke up almost the entire building. I must say that while under the influence of alcohol, they tend to be extremely rowdy.
Sunday morning 8am, I went and knocked next door. Muriel opened and I went in. I asked why she inconvenienced me to that extent without having the courtesy to even send me a text to inform me of when they would be back.
I don’t have time for this sh*t right now! Kwani you think your laptop is made of what? Take it and get the f**k out of my house! …But wait I save my project first…
(Detour: the “IT” project that she’d been working on, this nyang’au actually went into my personal documents, got pictures that I had taken with certain chics hapa na pale, photoshopped the faces and put hers and her boyfriend’s!! How shameless can one be?)
After talking sh*t like that, she thought I’d give her time to save her project? I grabbed the laptop, slammed it shut, chucked her flashdisk and handed it back to her. Obviously unamused, she started yanking power cables from the wall and in the process, she actually ripped apart a power cable! I took a good look and realized that it was her own laptop power cable that she had ripped up. So I simply smiled, picked up my cable and left her flat. I got into mine, shut the door and went into the kitchen to make breakfast.
Punde si punde, the two chics, accompanied by some random chic I’d never seen before, stormed into my flat. Short bitch threw a magazine right into my face, hitting me with the hard edge.
(Detour: I must emphasize that I have been unwell for the past few months, specifically my head, and they knew about it. Hitting me on the head felt like being struck by a Mike Tyson punch. It was definitely uncalled for)
Gimme my f***ing magazines, you f***ing son of a bitch!
I told her, as politely as I possibly could (given the circumstances) to behave herself but she insisted on talking shit, and at that point I got pissed off. I took one of her magazines and threw it off my balcony. The other one I attempted to throw through the main door. Little did I know that the other random chic was hidden behind the curtain, and the magazine hit her. She then stormed in and both attacked me, hitting me with magazines on the head!!
IN MY HOUSE! Where I pay rent and rest my head to sleep every night. Ati ninachapwa na wanawake wajinga? Aibu gani hii?
They didn’t see it coming. They really didn’t.
I grabbed the annoying little short bitch by the collar and unleashed an open handed pimp slap!
Followed swiftly by a M.I.B.S. (Mucus Inducing Bitch Slap)
And one more slap for good measure!
The second random bitch, seeing as things were thick and ferocious slaps were being unleashed, attempted to bolt out of my digz, forgetting that there was a step on the door. She tripped and fell over, hitting her head on the wall adjacent to the door. I grabbed the still-dazed short bitch by the back of the collar and the waist and threw her right through the door, landing squarely on top of the other bitch. The fat one had by now scampered for safety.
The commotion that followed after was huge, with neighbours flocking to get a good viewing of the fracas going on.
Malaya nyinyi! Tokeni!
I screamed before slamming the door on the injured bitches, much to the amusement of the neighbours who all disliked them, and were more than glad that someone had taken the initiative to teach them some manners.
Shortly afterwards, I discussed the said events on Twitter, angering a few female tweeps who were disgusted that I had raised a hand against a woman. (that was before they knew the full story) There was some backlash, some asked how I could possibly take pride in beating a woman. My significant other even threatened to break up with me, asking that if I could feel nothing after beating up those tu-ng’ombes next door, what guarantee did she have that I wouldn’t hit her in future? Nimeshaonyesha dalili. (It took a lot of convincing before she calmed down.)
Ladies, that is where you go wrong. I won’t lie and say that I didn’t enjoy slapping the living daylights out of the short bitch. I enjoyed it immensely. It was a long time coming. Whether my reaction was justifiable is another story altogether. I think it was, seeing as I acted in self defence, and I was overpowered by three women who were striking my head. I’m not a violent man by nature. I can barely remember the last time I was involved in a fight with anyone. I have never in my life struck a lady. In fact, there is absolutely no excuse whatsoever for a man hitting a lady.
My dictionary describes a lady as “a woman who is refined, polite, and well-spoken”. A lady is an honour that one has to earn. By virtue of being born with female organs doesn’t guarantee one of attaining lady status. You’ve got to act like a lady to be treated like one. (Same applies to gentleman, as compared to simply “man”)
A bitch is described as “a woman who is thoroughly disliked/a malicious, unpleasant, selfish person, esp. a woman/a lewd woman/someone who is belligerent and unreasonable, or displays rudely intrusive or aggressive behavior.”
Whether you want to admit it or not, there are bitches out there. Several actually. Such women with seriously vile mouths, malicious and evil behaviour are commonly described as being bitches.
At the point where you provoke an otherwise rational, level headed person (sometimes physically) severally and repeatedly, be it a man or a woman, to the point where he/she reacts with violence, I really don’t think there is anyone else to blame but yourself. You brought this upon yourself and deserved what you got. Therefore, I have absolutely no regret whatsoever for what I did that morning.
This however is by no means a defence of men who make a hobby out of physically abusing women (what has come to be known as Chris Brown-ing) Those ones ought to be whipped.
But if you think that is the end of this story, it’s not. Mambo bado! Part three is coming up…soon.
What’s on my Playlist?
Burning down the house – Tom Jones feat The Cardigans