SHIKAMANA

I was having a drink with a fellow sometime this weekend. As usual, we punctuated the money-talk with chit chats of our respective butter-halves.

“What made you ask her out?”

“Haha. C’mon now. Does that really happen anymore?”

“You know, for someone with such little faith in relations, you’ve had quite a number”

“Your sister has marks to show that, huh”

“Haha. Nice. Really though. Why her. What’s so big about her?”

Warrup, my good people!

This convo re-featured in my mind this morning. At friggin 3am! Anyway. Why her, huh. Ever wonder why a fellow stalls when he’s asked this kinda question? (Like I’m doing right now). It’s because he pro’ly isn’t sure what to say. To hell with the “I’m with you for a myriad of reasons, mami” response he’d pro’ly give. See that’s the thing with men. Words come awfully easy. Rebuttals are cache-d. And when you blush, in his mind, “Phew! Close one”.

Men are stray. Most need a friggin leash. Direction. That ought to explain why left to him, he’ll pro’ly not make any solid move; any solid commitment. And ladies kinda figured that out. That’s why she will lead/ guide you into a relation, and before you know it, you’re calling her Baby.

So why her? I’ll answer for fellows that are too pussy to take their whiskey neat (like Brucey), fellows that are too pussy to say No (like Brucey), fellows that sweep eeeeverything under the rag (LIKE BRUCEY).

It’s Her because she was the one Bold enough to say what was on her mind. The elephant in the room when you’re out with her some place. She’s wondering what your intentions with her are. You’re praying to God she doesn’t ask. You deflect. And deflect some more. She gets too drunk to bring it up. Poor you if she doesn’t drink. Because it’s the sober ones that will have their way with you (ah, you know what I mean). It’s the sober that will look right at you and slap you with “What are we doing here.”

A fellow isn’t wired to say No to a lady. Our fathers taught us better. So what if technically she’s the one asking you out. Big friggin deal if in retrospect you’d duck. She’s bright. You’re not. Umeshikwa. Shikamana.

 

Appreciating faith!

did you ever realize that other than father’s day there is not any other day that is set aside to appreciate the man?

Men are always bashed endlessly for good reason and sometimes for not so good reason. This appreciation is coming from a single lady so y’all need to cut me some slack for not being in a fulfilling relationship with one of these special species God put on earth for us. I dream everyday to meet that one great man that will blow me off my feet; don’t get me wrong i’ve met me one or two before but just like all things everything comes to an end but that’s not the point.my struggling constantly fantasizing love life is not the point 😉

Yesterday i came across a post called “there are men”. i was so blown away by the faith of this writer the least i could do was emulate them but give a more realistic approach (from my point of view). i know this is coming from a woman but men write about women all the time. Thanks for giving me this pass.

Men are really complicated, I’m not here to understand them,i could never. Just appreciate them. Men will just like any other human being respond to how you react to them. A man will judge you according to how you dress and speak; how you carry yourself infront of his friends and his family. How you talk to him and the things you say to him. Ladies, these men are looking for virtuous women. A lady who’s not only good when she lays on her back but is even better when she stands on her feet. A man wants a woman he can trust to bear and raise his kids, a woman who has at least an idea of the world she lives in; a woman who will respect herself more than she respects him because he knows that if a woman respects herself she automatically respects him. A man wants a woman who can sit at home and take care of his home when he is out hustling or out drinking; he doesn’t want his boy as his life partner at least the straight ones don’t. A man wants a gentle,loving,compassionate person to spend the rest of his life with. Lets face it.African men were raised by African women, they don’t expect you to act any less than one. A man wants you to listen to him. Give him his position in the home as the head of the home, someone to let him lead. Ladies, you could be the C.E.O of a multi million dollar company but the way nature fashioned men they are the protectors and providers. Even though you make more than him, the way he’s wired he still wants to feel like the provider.

I know i’m beginning to sound like a cosmo relationship column but lets cut the men some slack. lets let them make mistakes, they’re humans not fictional characters without flaws. Try and see the effort he puts in anything, thats what they want most of the time. Nobody is perfect, they won’t know you like them or find them sexy if you don’t tell them. With the same love you tell them how you love how his brow creases when he is deep in thought is the same love you should find to tell him that when he forgets to call you when he said he would you feel like he forgets you. be gentle, be kind. Don’t use him as a tool to feed your ego and forget that his ego needs to be fed too. Act like an African woman. don’t let the media fool you into believing what African men want has changed. They still want a lady that dresses appropriately, cooks well and is home oriented. Someone who will stay up with his child when they are sick and someone who will make him food for his hangover and serve it to him in bed when his head is pounding. Instead of NAGGING about how he never takes you out. What makes women special is their ability to accommodate and be patient, use that gift every so often. Love for us is more hands on than for them, that”s what makes us more ferocious and stronger than them.When you love him, be loyal and make it unconditional. Accept him and he will adore you.

Do your best ladies, have some faith that there is more good than bad in the man you’re with. Cut him some slack, stop complaining and start appreciating. have some faith. When you appreciate the little that God has given you he trusts you with more! Appreciate the real man God has given you and stop wishing for someone else’s fantasies. Men are so important to us, we need them in so many ways than we could ever think. they are our strength, our support and our other halfs. appreciate them. Appreciate their efforts. Because when you look out the window and see hundreds of men slaving everyday; guess who they’re doing it for?

URAFIKI 2.0

Warrup fatties 🙂

For as long as I can recall, I’ve been running into a myriad of troubles with marafiki.

Yester-evening, I sought to know why.

Shiko represents the kinda friendships that are unhealthy. Or so I believe. The kind that let you be You. However rubbish You is. I mean, this mathe puts up with piles, and PILES of You. Albeit with a TRUCK-LOAD of Noise! Heh. Boss, you make too much noise!

I digress.

Friendships, in my world, are all about Three things; Loyalty, Simplicity and Sweep-under-rag.

Loyalty: You’re my friend? You’re Mine. Sounds class-five innit? Well, I still live under parents’ roof, so I’m allowed to be class-five.

Simplicity: “Be eaze”. I’ve lived by that simple doctrine ever since I can recall. Pardon me if I assume everyone else does as well.

Sweep-under-rag: Arguments are pointless to me. Nothing good ever comes out of confrontations. Arguing with a friend is like removing band-aid from an unhealed cut. So what if that buddy borrows money and never refunds. Ignore that. Look at the bigger picture. They’re always there when it counts, no?

Thing is though, I’m tired of merry-go-rounds. The new-bff-every-six-months thing isn’t quite working for me no more. So here I am. Stuck with these two annoying powerpuff mathes, for a while. Fuck. I’m even losing weight just thinking of the work I’m to put in 😦

But hey. Seems the new way to do friendships is to Compromise huh.

Even shitty thing is it’s not any better with men. An un-replied text warrants a “umenitupa”. An ignored phone-call deserves a second, then a third try. A weekend without a shout makes the friend assume there’s an issue.

Christ. Let’s all wear skirts then.

Sigh. Here’s to doing-better, I guess 😦

MEAT PIE AND COFFEE.

Here’s the thing about traffic and Music. It’s sheer serenity. That courts all sorts of Emotions. More so in this daily bread. I mean rain. Daily rain. Jay C what’s good!

Warrup my fat people 🙂

Have we forgotten what dating is all about? I mean, growing up, we had this picture about what going on a date was all about. That picture was closely tied to some considerable ounces of fear; of butterflies in tummies, not funny feelings our pants. When did that fear fade out? I blame that fading to black for the Death of Dating. We were supposed to fill Coffee Houses. To fill restaurants. Not bars. Liquor got in the way of Love. Liquor ushered Lust into our lives. And pants.

I bet this was the kind of weather our parents courted to. The kind of weather they went on coffee dates to. Sober. When “I love you, Keziah” was first said, I bet it was over hot, steamy coffee. I bet when mother blushed, it wasn’t because of no Sambucca shot.

Meat pie and coffee mean a shit load more to our parents than good-taste. They symbolize Love. They symbolize get-to-know. I bet every slice of pie stinks of nostalgia to mother. And that, my good people, is what Life ought to be all about. No?

I bet father got to know mother’s dreams at the-then Dormans. I bet he found out she wanted one more child on a day this cloudy.

I bet.. Nah. Let me call it quits right here.

Let’s bring the Old School back to life. Our women keep yelling about something. We think it’s nothing. But what if it’s something. Less of the liquor aided meet-ups. More of the get-to-know-her.

Less of Jack Daniels & Coke. More of Meat Pies and Coffee.

D’accord? D’accord.

GAL A BUBBLE.

Warrup!

So the past couple weeks I’ve gotten flack for lazing off this scene. My mother’s been insulted, my father cursed! Okay I’m kidding. But you get the point. See that’s the thing with humans. Routines. I made my she-goat of a wife (Log out Conso, this is not for you!) get used to Sundays with me. So on the Sunday I can’t pull it off, Heh! So yeah, what was my point? Yeah, (we nyeudhis) were used to my Saturday posts.

Anyway.

We all know how passionate I get when I talk about my (imaginary) daughter. Malaika. We all know.

So a couple weeks ago, one of you sends a link to that Gal-a-bubble vid. Heh! Yani tuseme I’ve been getting short-changed for fucking twenty five years?! People can do things like that? I was that guy showing my colleagues what was “out there”. If homes are broken on that account, thank me later?

A day, okay maybe two days later, it came to mind. That was someone’s daughter shaking her thingamajigs while someone else was pouring liquor on her derriere. Then Malaika came to mind. I called my friend up. That Jack Daniels had to be Had.

Thing about growth. It’s not dramatic. Lord knows you don’t get an ISO Cert (Shouts to City Council). Growth lands on your laps in all shapes and sizes. The fat(tie) size being thinking of your Malaika before you toy with a girl’s emotions. The fat(tie) size being listening to your queen of a sister go on and on, and on and on about her Wedding dress et al. (I LOVE that lady). The fat(tie) size being actually keeping your wife’s birth-date in mind, without the help of reminders.

Stop “aww”-ing me, girl, Bubble!