At this time three years ago, I was a happy
man. I
was in a stable relationship with a lady I
loved
to bits and was just beginning to live my
dreams; I
couldn’t have asked for anything else. I
even
stopped following actress Megan Good on
Instagram
and believe me that was a huge sacrifice,
given what
that woman does to me. All was well.
Until that brisk Sunday afternoon; I had
just taken
a cold shower and was preparing to attend
this hip
hop event a friend had invited me to at
Sarakasi
Dome. Then she texted. It wasn’t one of
her usual
cheery “Hey boo. I miss you. What are you
up to?”
texts.
No. This one was cold. Curt. “We need to
talk.” I
will spare you the details because I’m
struggling to
beat a word limit here; all you need to know
is that
she had met someone else. Someone she
loved.
Someone who loved her back more than I
ever
could. He was of European descent. And he
drove a
Blue Subaru Legacy.
I moved on. I never really talked much
about it
after that. But a few celebrity situations in
the past
couple of years have caused me to reflect.
For
instance, I once read about singer Emmy
Kosgei
getting married to a certain Nigerian pastor
almost
double my old man’s age. And they called it
love.
Allure of foreign men
I also read somewhere that it was some
West
African oil tycoon bankrolling Vera Sidika’s
larger-
than-life lifestyle. Chic posts flashy new
pictures
every second on Instagram like it’s her job,
yet she
can still afford a half-a-million-shilling
weave, a
quarter-million-shilling pair of heels,
supposed fifty-
million-shilling skin-lightening surgery,
three nights at
the prestigious Villa Rosa Kempinski and a
holiday in
Dubai — if gossip sites are anything to go
by these
days.
Then I read again that one of my celebrity
crushes,
Habida, had said “Yes” to an Igbo mister and
relocated to the West; that Avril has
committed to
a foreign man and wedding bells are lurking
in the
shadows and that Jolene of Tahidi High had
received
a brand new Kompressor as a birthday
present from
her foreign sweetheart.
I read in silence. Profound— albeit
disturbed —
silence. And I wondered what it was that
these
bozos had that we,local men, didn’t. I
wondered
what it was that was driving our lovely
women
away from their motherland to foreigners.
I
wondered what a loud guy with an accent
sounding
like he had just swallowed a live frog and it
peed
in his mouth could possibly do/say to my
woman to
make her walk out my door and straight into
his
arms.
The ladies told me we don’t treat them
right, that
our Oga brodas are as romantic as it gets.
And I
retorted that I know I’m a douche myself,
but even
then, I pull out the seat for my dates every
once
in a while. And I’m a broke, good-for-
nothing son of
a mere high school teacher, but I’ve once
hired a
taxi to and from a date. Come to think of
it, I
never even got laid that night. Women!
Huh!
Outrageous demands
Some told me it was about the money; that
our
pockets just aren’t deep enough. Or that
we are too
mean to go all out. To these women, I told
the
story of a certain Phil [not his real name],
a former
campus chum of mine who moved his beloved
out of
the institution hostels into her own fully-
furnished,
two-bedroom apartment. With a 42’ inch
flat screen
television, state of the art sound system et
al. She
had these outrageous demands, which Phil
tried his
best to meet.
He dropped by unannounced one weekend and
found
her entertaining another man, all over the
couch he
had bought with his HELB money. That was
the ‘thank
you’ he got. He came to me seeking a
solution and I
remembered that one time he refused to
buy me a
bottle of beer. He spent that money on the
very girl
who had now broken his heart.
So I said good riddance and reminded him
about the
unwritten rule of bro’s before *you know
what*. He
broke my nose with a single swing. I didn’t
care. I
know I’m a bad friend. But you just do not
refuse to
buy me a beer then expect me to mourn with
you.
Karma is two-faced ugly *again, you know
what* son!
Lack of gratitude
When I thought really hard about it, I
realised
that maybe we weren’t the ones with the
problem.
It could just as easily be the women.
See, dating a modern day African girl is as
demanding as it is tiring. You’d think you
were pulling
an unmoving truck glued to your bottom.
You go out
of your way to make her happy but for her
lack of
gratitude, she will never acknowlege your
efforts.
It will always start slow; you on your best
behaviour
and she playing ridiculously hard to get. You
will
take her to lunch, probably at Galitos
(because that’s
where all the ‘cool cats are’); buy her
chocolates
and ice cream on her birthday; take her for
evening
coffee at Gibson’s; meet her friends and
act like
you’re the nicest character on earth,
tolerating all
their bullsh*t and non-stop gossip; you will
even take
her out once in a while for a good time,
where you
may end up spending much more than you
bargained
for ‘cause these girls “don’t do cheap
liquor” then
hire a cab and drop her drunken butt back
home as
you walk.
‘Used and dumped’
Then she will begin feeling and hanging
around you
more; getting touchy-freely with you all
the time,
calling you sweet names. The goodnight
hugs will
turn into pecks and then, with time, full-
blown kisses.
Then she will finally open the doors of her
kingdom
and you will slide in majestically, almost like
a
veteran soldier heading out to war with a
Third
World country, with the precision of a
butcher.
She will M0AN and scrεam your name with a
few
inferences to the glorious Man Above and
you will
feel accomplished, proud and more like a
man than
you ever had before. And a voice inside you
will—
almost boastfully— say. “Yes, say my name,
Baby.
Say my name. You smart. You loyal!”
She will agree to a relationship the next
morning.
Count yourself lucky if she doesn’t ask the
one
question no man wants to hear after a
R0MP. Hmm
“So what are we?” To which my response is
always
BFFs (best friends forever). I’ve been
punched by a
lady before though, so gentlemen don’t try
this at
home. I know enough men who have been
used and
dumped.
A couple months or so into the relationship
and all
hell will break loose. She sees you talking to
another
mami for two seconds and she goes red. You
don’t
pick her calls, even if you were just in the
bathroom,
and it’s World War III. You can’t go out
with your
boys as much anymore; she says she should
be your
number one priority, and that she deserves
your
undivided attention.
Always criticising, fault-finding
No matter what you do, she will always find
a way
to carve an argument out of it. You will do
your best
to make her happy but it will never be
enough. She
will even start comparing your relationship
to that of
her neighbour Tim and best friend Daisy,
yeah, the
same one who opens hεr lεgs to anything
that drives
and has an ATM card.
She will want you to take her shopping, to
the salon,
even to the market. Not because she
fancies your
company these days, only so you pay for
anything
she sets her evil eyes on; Which is —
basically —
everything. See, I’ve come to realise that
MOST
African ladies are lazy gold-digging twats.
Again, I
said MOST…chill out “Kilimani” Mums.
Neediness and gold-digging
And that is why even a bigwig will say ‘Yes’
to any
man so long as he can charter a helicopter
for a
whole weekend to Mt Kenya. African ladies
want to
secure their futures (which is not a bad
thing,
depending on how you look at it). It’s never
just
about loving or caring about her anymore.
It’s now
about what you bring to the table; even if
she brings
nothing herself. Leeches!
Now as far as I’m concerned, African men
are
trying. African men are working their bμms
off,
feeding bimbos who do nothing but sit
around in the
house all day wearing yoga pants. We’re
holding up
our ends of the bargain. Then these very
lazy, needy
nitwits will be the first to walk out the door
at the
tiniest sign of trouble, throwing all the
blame on the
poor guy – and jumping into the arms of the
next
rich bozo that comes along.
There are African women who know the real
meaning
of the overused word ‘hustle’. Those who
understand
the struggle that comes with paying their
own rent.
But there’s the vast majority that just
wants to be
fed off someone else’s sweat with silver
spoons.
I have said it before and have no trouble
saying it
again; gentlemen, you are wasting your
time if you’re
going out with a woman who won’t even pay
her own
bus fare; order herself the first drink at a
club; buy
you a mere 200-shilling-watch on your
birthday but
will be so quick to send you a reminder —
two weeks
before her own birthday — about that
necklace you
promised her; and a woman that, in this age
and era,
still texts you silly messages like “duuuhhh
(or is it,
daahhh?)”, “OMG”, “Xaxa” and “K”. There
you have it
ladies. African men are not the problem,
you are!
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