By Kenneth Muimi
Nairobi is a mean landscape. It is a bland, decrepit speck of concrete spit. Aye, it is a place of dispirited souls and uncultured creatures. It sticks out as a city of contrasts without character, a bubble without lather, a slope on a slippery end. Nothing is clear-cut, everything is disparaging. It is narrow-visioned on its extreme end, and on its softer side, it is a loud vexation.
When it comes to near death experiences in Nairobi, one is never short of options, one of which dating. Dating in this city ceased being a social activity between forlorn lovers and morphed into an occurrence whereby humans beings live off the edge of their nails. It is beautiful, it is sad and it is obscenely hilarious depending on what side of the fence you sit on. It is no ones fault really, but then again, it is everyone’s fault. There is something primal and risqué about the dating scene in Nairobi that gives it an appearance of an extreme sport, everyone is guilty, few are innocent and ultimately, the winner carries it all home. Nairobi is where the chief of hedonists, deadbeats and other kinds of dead ends and odds make their bones from. There is no better way to get squared or have your ass kicked in this town other than ask out a Nairobian, male or female.
There was a time when men were a competition to themselves, the social scene was blood and gore, an amphitheater of splintered bones and torn sinews and broken hearts, until the last man stood- but it was always a manly affair. All a man had to do was to have money, anything with four wheels and a stank pissy attitude and birds in this city would be doodling over them. A man with money in Nairobi was a man walking into a knife fight with a double-barreled shotgun or a frigging bazooka. Not anymore. The script was rewritten, the tables turned and Rhumba turned into Gengetone, and no one could say they saw it coming. It started with a woman.
See men are no longer just a competition to themselves. Women threw themselves into the fray and I tell you, negroes in this town are chasing frisbees and boomerangs. Women are brazenly nicking girls right under the noses of these city cats without the slightest hue of a care. The number of men that have girlfriends who have girlfriends or are girlfriends to other girls should be declared an atrocity in Nairobi. Birds are running the shit show on these sides. Methinks that Nairobi cats are generally a clueless lot on what to do with a woman both in the emotional and in the physical sense. A man thinks that what he carries in his loins is enough to make the world and women go round. Women know what women want. They know what fucking boxes to tick emotionally, physically and even psychologically. Most of the chaps in this city hardly go beyond the physical with a lass and even in the physical aspect, they leave most women empty, and this is where the birds step in and show up. A sister in such a circle tells me of how when she needs a hit or a simple lay, a guy is most likely to be on her speed dial because men are cheap and simple but when she needs an all round care package which entails being strummed up until she tingles with a twang or being frisked like a visa applicant entrée in the American Embassy- she will hit up a fellow mama. I know of a social triangle where a lass is dealing hands with another girl and a clueless chap. The girl calls her more, sends her more money. The bugger calls less, sends less money and half expects that he has a girlfriend somewhere in Nairobi, it’s a delusion on stilts.
Throw in the byline tags and the labels. People are clustered based on labels- fucking Virgos, bleeding Libras, fucked up Aries and every other sodded sign pegged on the sea tide, the moons gravitational pull, and the alignment of the stars in the sky. People and their ability to be dated is pegged on supernatural bodies at a time that we can’t even control the hawkers in CBD. What kind of cursed clusterfuckery is this? Wambo, Pinchez from Oyole has no frigging clue about what day his birthday is, heck, he doesn’t even know on what days the moon shows or the different shapes it takes, and he probably doesn’t give a whistle blast about it. He didn’t grate your heart because he is a heartless Libra – barely even; he is just a communal boyfriend that is general with his cookie perks. He is a male puta, pretty simple…
Throw in the feminists, throw in the radical ones and it is a total shit show. Every darned thing is a bloody knife fight; I can’t cook for a man, I can’t call a man, I can’t blah, blah, blah, blah, a man this, a man that, patriarchy, heal, normalize, who hurt you? The corny parlance from these bloodhounds is enough to drive any fuckwit mad. It is smothered with faux concern and laced with a wokeness that will never lift a finger to crush a mite. Most of these damsels are hags on wheels, from the word go. You will never know peace. Relationships are meant to be simple but there is no simplicity with a hardened feminist. You stand a better chance at pulling a Moses hitting a rock and getting water from it than finding happiness with one of these crackpots. Your whole relationship will be a caterwauling, in-pursuit-of-happiness flick, just without the happy ending.
Nairobi County is flooded with hordes of uptight males. The extreme lefties call them male chauvinists, I call them uptight tools. These ones are the flipside of hardened feminists. They follow Amerix on Twitter and call him master and teacher, swarming around his socials like ticks to a cows titties. These nitwits would rather die of hunger than step into a kitchen and slice an onion for a salsa, or buy a woman flowers, or even be seen in town carrying a box of Pizza. Theirs is a world of such rigid bylaws that a Jewish Pharisee would look like a bloody liberal in it. They see every woman as a hired hand or a hairbrained mule, feel like they should be worshipped, bathed, steamed and garbed in royal regalia for the seemingly innocuous act of wielding a dingus. They are the most hard-lined bastards you can ever come across. You simply cannot reason with this ilk. They would easily give a woman a black eye for some inane shit and the only language they understand when it comes to women is “penetrate”, ask Amerix whatever the fuck that means. They run their houses like a juvenile center for hardened delinquents. And they know shit about faithfulness, or loyalty, or sensitivity, you know, amiable characteristics. They are as randy as a fawn on heat and will make a pass at anything in a skirt or curve because deep down they have this confounded belief that they are the frigging salt of the earth.
The city is an urban noir of empty rhetoric on reels. Everything is antagonistically surreal. It’s a hit or miss affair. Everyone is either a busybody, an uptight religious fanatic, a loose liberal with no morals or ties (a hoe), a dud, a tool, a fool, all the above and on the rare occasion that heaven smiles on earth, a human being with a good shoulder on their heads. There are no in betweeners.
Nairobi is always a melee in motion if you ask me and eventually when the humdrum settles, people will be asked to pick, not their dance partners, but their poison..