Your modern-day Nairobi lass is innately wired for hardship, or she deeply suffers from the Stockholm’s syndrome, some unnamed malady or worse still she is reeling from the side effects of mental abuse until she is by far and large dysfunctional about love- irredeemable. She is from the onset packaged trouble. She will send you to love the brown bottle and if you are lucky to happen to have a mother who still prays for you back in the village, for an orphan like me, she will send you to a fucking grave.
Here is why.
I believe that good men will never thrive in Nairobi, take that baloney of good naturedness away from here son, these women don’t need it. Your typical daily see Nairobi lass is so accustomed to difficult men that she doesn’t know what to do with a good one when she finds him. The man that pulls chairs, opens car doors, windows, baby locks and all that shebang which turns the world of many a girls round is not the right man for your regular Nairobi girl- she will break him without remorse because she is from the onset set up to expect the worst and be so cozy with it that anything else apart from it is treated as a hostility.
Most of these damsels are so broken that it will take nothing short of a practical baptism by either the Hebrew lad, or his cousin John the Baptist himself to mend the broken pieces. You will further need a fiery purification by the holy spirit and a restoration of the heart by the man upstairs to convince a lass in Nairobi that love can be reciprocated with love, kind with kind and that a man that wholly devotes himself to you is a man, and not a lesser man but one that has matured in deed and in mindset. But they won’t hear you, they yearn for the broken man and will entertain him because of the thrill of adventure and the adrenaline that comes with being kept on your toes.
Nairobi women are used to being hurt. They don’t trust their men (and technically they shouldn’t, these are sleazy bastards), they cope with them and get accustomed to their wild ways, nothing symbiotic here, only a relationship of convenience that grows on them like an acquired taste. It is wicked, it is twisted and largely frustrating for a man who has gathered his act, shaped up (like all men should do once in their lives) and decided that he has an underlying call to make the world a better place which simply means he needs to stop acting like a dog and transform into a lamb. This ill-timed venture will pair him with a rapacious cur that will send him packing to his former ways because men are humans with brittle spirits. Reformed men match energies. Good is reciprocated with good, evil simply makes monsters out of them and there are many a good-men gone bad because of the wiles of a woman.
There is a parlance on the street that denotes a man who devotes himself to his woman as a simp. It means a man who can be controlled and manipulated because the toxic side of Nairobi considers anything good as an abomination. The men that buy flowers, the ones that woo their women as a prince would a princess are jested at first by the crowd, then by the very woman they are trying to win over. There is something canny about wholesomely falling in love with a girl in Nairobi which turns them into manipulative demons that are as undeserving of love and affection as they are of any other thing.
Sis, if your man is a sinner, sainthood won’t change him not unless you are who is a stickler for lost causes. If he acts like King Solomon and his Harems, be twice the sinner and ruthlessly as cold, the medicine for fire is hot water. Be a Jezebel or Lilith, or both, anything to even the odds. Ungrateful souls do not deserve saints, they demand for demons, and that is in the Bible.
But if the man was brought up right and treats you like a princess with flowers and all that claptrap that your Nairobi chap struggles with, match his vibe, share his energy and be a comforting space.
Here is the last one for the rule book, if he is trash, be a trashcan, be a tramp be worse 3 times over because he deserves it, we reward evil with evil because all is fair in love and war, and this is war. But if he elevates, then raise him up like a champagne glass.
Anyway, it’s a festive, be merry, break each others hearts into shards. January is a patch up month. We are the morticians that will embalm you into a proper presentation for masses that give absolute fucks but you won’t know about it because you will be dead in your own folly.
PS; The reverse is true, there are good women dovetailed with bad men, which could be the majority, and that’s mighty fine. Njeri Kenyada can pen a piece about it. Harambee Estate is a shoutout for my old womans last home…
Photo by Obi Onyeador on Unsplash