Young things.

Its almost six, I have made it to the dusty road in record time.

I roll up my  windows, knowing fully well that there will be nothing but dust until I get home. I wonder why this road is yet to be tarmacked. Promises were made, measurements taken, blue and green plated vehicles were seen parked everywhere, pretences of work being done. Politicians, the scum of the earth.

The arduous six kilometres to my house makes me wonder why. Why I live here. Why I endure this. It must be foolishness, attachment to things at too high a cost, my time. The peace and quiet, the birds chirping all day, my lungs whispering a thank you every time I inhale, the space, wide open spaces where my young can play. Do I really need all this?

I am bobbing along, listening to Cess. I hear her voice, but register nothing. She is a soothing experience, a proper companion to this slow ride. I feel slightly envious, she is paid to laugh. From the time I tuned in, I have listened to her throaty laugh more than I have heard what she said. Some people just have it good, am I in the wrong trade?

There is an unusual number of cars, all inching along, fearing that the rough road will finally pull their machines apart. I suspect there must be an incident, maybe those bloody thugs have finally been shot down and the bodies put on display. I wish these were the days when flogging and possible hanging were an option, allowing the public to deliver swift judgement upon sticky fingered people.

We drive past the first barrier, nothing to see but a dust covered watchman who cannot be bothered to raise and lower the barrier with every passing car. I pity him, sitting there all day, having to deal with lorry drivers who refuse to pay the toll and offer bribes that can barely buy a soda. Cess is laughing again.

I am tired, and need to use the bathroom. I step on it, apologising to my car for the rough treatment. I pass many of them, as I look for the reason for this “traffic”.  Then I see it but do not believe it. Surely it cannot be dry season for all these people! I know kula na macho, eating with your eyes is a thing but I did not think it was literal! First I saw legs. Shapely mustard coloured legs. Too much of the legs were on display. There was five of them, meaning there were ten legs being ogled at. They all ended at the tip of hot pants, hot pants that held bottoms that were causing this snarl up. I mean come on! But wait, these must be bunnies, I doubt any parent from these here parts would allow their daughter outside the gate dressed like that.  They were walking slowly, deep in conversation and oblivious of the lack of dust. Had the cars been zooming like they usually did, they would be coughing and not laughing at whatever stories they were telling.

I guess gentlemen do exist, given the right incentive.

Image credits.

Power of thigh.

Never be too sure.

I am not sure why folk get surprised when people cheat. I am even more perplexed that videos of cheating couples still go viral. The ones of people getting “stuck” are shared quicker than Ebola, yet there are those who profess that man is basically good… punguzeni bangi please, smoke less weed!

Kwam aka va-jayjay aka the area has been the genesis of a lot of trouble, for both men and women. The fact that it is called sehemu nyeti, secret area should mean a lot to people, but I guess ignorance is bliss.

I get amused by the stunts people pull all in the name of kwam! It started with Biblical characters like David and his wanton desire for Bathsheba.  Surely, if he killed a man for Kwam, I do not think you can do any worse.

But that has not stopped people from making heroic attempts. Mmmmmh, my story begins.

Monica works at a law firm. She is one of those few who should be allowed to go forth and fill the world. She is tall, has proportional curves, dark skinned with not a blemish in sight, and she is sharp. Razor sharp. That is why she is the youngest at her firm and presents winning arguments that call for nothing short of an Oscar. She also has everyone’s attention. Including the office Kadinya, he who can’t keep in in his pants;  who also happens to be her direct line manager. It began with “you look good today”, “Sharp argument Monicah”, “we need to finish this before tomorrow, we shall be working late.” Followed by long uncomfortable stares, and the unnecessary lewd jokes. Soon, all meetings were lunch time meetings, then drinks with clients, then I will drop you home after work invitations that could not be declined. So Kadinya expects sexual favours, because he has been “coaching” her after hours and paying “personal attention” to her progress at her firm. Monica readily obliges, she dishes out her “goodies” quicker than he could handle. Kadinya is now pussy whipped, and will not give her space. She wonders what became of the no strings attached theory, she becomes bored and irritated. She files a complaint with HR, and plays victim.

The complaint became the focus of the company. Everyone, including clients know how Kadinya carried on with her, the evidence was overwhelming. Some said it was about time someone taught him a lesson, others said Monica was no angel either, that she allowed it. Her shiny halo quickly faded, her accolades called to question, she was now a dull shadow that all men actively avoid.

But that did not matter. She presently occupies his office, Kadinya lost his job. As people peddled the rumours and lapped up every morsel of gossip, Monica played her cards right and worked smart.  I wonder what Kadinya told his wife… there is no way to sugar coat “dismissed on grounds of sexual harassment.”  

Mark popularly known as Akuku by his friends for his lascivious nature has had more than his fair share of lovers. He prides himself in living on the edge, a man who enjoys a challenge. He cannot be bothered to court young belles, oh no! Those are many and far too easy. He enjoys chasing after married women. The more “married” they are, the more excited he gets. Mark will pry on them, selection done based on carats. The bigger and thicker, the more able she is, the more charming he becomes.

You will find him entertaining his boys at the more uptown restaurants. Always ordering by the bottle, sucking on a cigar, and being witty. He is nearly impossible to ignore, his tall athletic build always working to his advantage. He has eyes on a thick one this time, one who was worth his effort. She saw him, he watched her, she allowed it. They hit it off quickly, she only allowed him audience in public places. Usually after work drinks, or cocktails at official functions. He laboured hard for two months, her limited availability driving him to near destruction. This one was not like the rest, she was overly protective of her marriage, and he did not want to offend her. He played along, and begged for more. Selina was to him a mystery wrapped in inches of skin he wished to know. She was cryptic, save for her number and name, he knew little else. She even snub him on facebook. What a girl!

She finally came around, in the most unexpected fashion. A sudden text with an address, and a time; to come quickly because funch should not last more than a half hour. He experienced his first wham bam thank you Sir session, and could not believe it when she dressed and walked out. No cuddles, no pillow talk, it felt like he had just done a bank transaction. He was bewildered but strangely turned on. This happened all week, the sudden tryst’s, fuelled by lust and anticipation. Akuku had finally met his match, she was ruthless and unattached, as if she was on a mission.

Four months later, Selina bears a bump. She is proud of it and parades it to anyone with eyes. Akuku is dumped, and requested never to contact her again. He had fallen in love, she never did. All she wanted was his seed, the ring on her finger was real, but she had paid for it. Selina understood game, she knew the power of thigh, and used it to her advantage.

Evolution is real…. You might own the spear, but the hunt is no longer yours.

Image credits