I know the condemnation I’ll receive for saying this, but ever since I grew bland and was blundered, my fountain of counsel has been limited to Andrew Kibe, I do not identify with his overbearing thoughts on masculinity but most of what he says can be afforded as flexible. I also give ear to Amerix sometimes but when my conscience steps in I get to look up to my old man.
My old man grew up in an era when showing of affection was a built on as a sign of ‘weak man’ but in his over thirty years of marriage to my mum, (a good woman that one), he never forgot their anniversaries, her birthdays or any day that celebrated women. He would pick her flowers, sometimes books, drove her out occasionally for lunch dates or random shopping and he has never succumbed to the modern polarizing ideologies on relationships especially the Luhyia one of ‘Bibi Mdogo’ anyway that’s a story for another day.
So, a few months ago minding my own I met the perfect girl or rather my soul mate, and boy trust me this time I meant it, it’s like we had met in a different time if you know what I mean even though I don’t know what I mean, but I’m trying to deliver an uttermost sincerity of how mind blowing she was. She was fireworks, she lit up my world forget about Beyonce’s drunk in love, I was addicted, it was just her in my system, you could say an overdose of love. She was a freak but yet reserved, she had this seductive contours and dangerous curves, and honestly she was perfect to the core.

We would sit and talk of having a thousand kids like ‘Akuku Danger’, not sure if you guys remember him, he was like the modern day Father Abraham. We would have this midnight walks, yes we would, welcome to the party, in Kitale we also embrace the foreign concepts. She was dynamic and I loved her and in return she almost loved me or maybe she did, I don’t know but all I know is she loved Mike more, something that I learnt later on and not that I’m bitter about it.
We had been dating for a period longer than a pregnancy term, and man trust me I have or had that natural imperative of selecting a woman with optimal traits. So out of topic but do you know love sickness was a real and legitimate diagnosis back in the eighteenth century explains my situation.
So one evening my girlfriend and I decide to go for drinks, she invited her best female friend and I on the other hand invited my drinking buddy Mike. Mike and I had nothing in common and I mean literally nothing, he still wore his trousers not below the waist but below… never mind but honestly it’s the 21st century who still does that.

He had dreadlocks, I’m not Kaluma that infamous MP who associates dreadlocks with vices, but I love creative and clean dreads, dude’s was that smell after a sheep has been rained on and he had this big talks on how he wants to purchase a beamer… like dude get some work first you know.
We get into this joint and I ask for nyama choma, like Mejja says ‘leo niko out na nimekuja kutesa’, we keep the booze coming and coming until gin started tasting merrier then I knew it was time to go.
So here we are, two dudes and two skirts, my girlfriend insists we go home with Mike because her friend will be bored. Like I know me I said yes, and just like that ‘sisi juu ya nduthi’ to my place. There is nothing to eat and since no one is hungry we decide to smoke joints before we retire to bed.
Mike gets cossy with my girlfriend’s friend and just like that my girl snaps and says she wants to sleep and she heads to the room. I follow her immediately and help her into one of her comfortable T-shirts, then I remove her laptop from the bed that she was using earlier during the day for her project.

As I tuck her in she grabs my hand and she says, “Mike usiendee,” and I’m offended on why she mistakes me for Mike…like who can mistake a short dude with a bald head for that guy… so I say, “Babe ni mimi, si Mike,” and she responds, “Mimi Nataka tu Mike,” and that’s how I learnt the bad man is the better man….

From close sources the two have been on vices, like when Lil Wayne says in Mona Lisa that you can get snaked, you can get faked out by the girl that you feeling. I admitted I loved her on my mother’s name; I bet I would have loved her harder.



Are You a Fashion Designer? Get Your Business Featured Right Now!


Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here