One of the best things that ever happened to me is to go through the University of Nairobi, to study no better a course than Bachelor of Arts. Given that BA is taught at the Main campus located at the heart of the city, it gave me an opportunity to learn many things about the modern woman at a considerably young age. At least I know that know that our future wives will cheat on us effortlessly. They will be drinking with us in night clubs to the wee hours of the morning.
They will cheat on us, not because we will fall short in the bedroom or we can’t love them good enough, or even provide but for sheer adventure. They will cheat at the conferences they will be attending, with the boss, with the randy colleague or the random the guy they will be meeting God knows where. They will cheat without any guilty burden or conscience.
Given, I came straight from the village to the university; it means my world view was going to be invariably informed by the village mindset on how women should behave. My guardian old man, a man whose wisdom I so much cherish, did a great a job on sitting down and telling me to always learn to live within my means, the consequences of premarital sex and the ever relevant issue of marrying outside my tribe.
Four years ago, when I joined the university and I unlearnt many things. The society clearly had completely changed, and for worse. And the main culprit is education. Educating the woman kind and consequently liberating her changed the world. Given the better gains of formal education cannot be gainsaid; I will dwell on the negative tidbits that I know will earn me more female enemies who take this blog too seriously. That means prolonged singlehood for me.
A few facts from the outset; women of my age in the 20s believe there is absolutely no problem with having multiple male sexual partners. Secondly, they are a materialistic lot (OK, women are biologically designed to like shiny things-it is among the 43 things they share with fish). Thirdly, they hate domestic work, many can’t or hate washing even their own clothes and cooking ugali is abuse of highest order. However they know the places that sell the best fries and well dried chicken along Moi Avenue. They are quite a handful lot, if you can ask me.
I was quite a generous chap when in campus. Occasionally, when I had enough loose change in my wallet, time on my hands and feeling sufficiently goodhearted, I would invite some of my close female friends for supper. They always turned up and they kept time. I am a good cook as long as it is Ugali and beef involved. Wherever, we met as boys or a group, I was the designated person to leash out the best ugali. There must be some Luhyia blood in me.
Ordinarily they would arrive and after a little chat, I could get down to the business of cooking in the small, really despicable rooms (I can at last afford to talk nasty about those campus rooms) that could hardly host more than three people. They used to climb onto the bed that served as seats and the dining table before other roles followed. The women, mostly in twos, could sit on the bed, mostly talking about the colour of their nails, hairstyles or watching some really boring movie on my laptop.
Frankly, the villager in me always felt emasculated. The women could not even offer to cut the onions. With my ever running nose, and the onions always chose to be tear-inducing when they were around. Think of a tall man in a small room cutting onions, the nose threatening to burst with mucus and tears rolling down his eyes. In retrospect, the tears were a protestation to what I was doing to my manhood.
I would do all the work, unconcernedly and my cheeky male friends would show up conveniently when I was serving the food. Under such circumstances, they hardly said NO. They could join the party, go on to seduce the women with success rate of 90%. They were always quick with women, that way or the women were loose. Not that I was a toothless prick who couldn’t seduce them, but nature has a way of always giving the worst dilemmas in my dating attempts while I was in campus.
Once they were full-they were always full-we guys from Western Kenya always serve to everyone’s fill.-they dropped the plate, and none ever offered to go and wash the utensils. None whatsoever. My male friends predictably disappeared suffering from the early bachelorhood inability to wash utensils. Disturbingly, these women always never even suggested wetting the sufuria that cooked ugali.
The following morning or several days later when washing the utensils, I always hated myself. There was a repulsive resentment that always engulfed me. It made me loathe the women of my generation. Not that there place is the kitchen, but I don’t believe that even men have abandoned their gender assigned role, domestic or otherwise. So why have women chosen to neglect this part thatdefined their womanity, continuously eludes me.
Then there were those hostel parties. If you think some Ampex speakers and 1400ml of Kibao Vodka cannot sustain a party of 20 individuals, try college students. Together with my colleagues, we used to have routine parties occasioned on how broke or horny some of us were.
Whenever we were broke, the only viable option was to buy some spirits or whisk from the supermarket and drink from our rooms and smoking something (certainly not cigarettes). Treating a college girl in Nairobi can be scandalously prohibitive. Virtually every campus lady preferred partying in Westlands and Langata in our latter days in campus. That meant buying an insulting Ksh 200 or those things they call shots that go for Ksh 250 a shot. Yet she needs ten of those to feel high, just slightly. If you dared asked a campus lady where she likes partying that was a costly financial blunder. So the only way we used to beat this is being creative.
How about buying cheap some cheap Napoleon, coke and pouring it into whisk bottles, apparently nobody ever used to figure this out-trust Bon-I to make the best cocktail. With as little Ksh 1500, we could have a miraculously night-long party akin to the Proverbial Jesus feeding 5000 guys two fish and two breads( at least we now know they were not Luos or Luhyias). With some borrowed speakers and a relatively bigger room of a student leader we were always good to go.
Given how randy some of us could be, we always knew the kind of girls to invite to such parties. Girls with a tendency to let it go after a few shots. Every one of us knew whom to call. They always showed up, if they were not attending other parties elsewhere in senior male hostels. These tricks were universally common in the university.
The evening begun with drinking undiluted hard liquor and smoking really bad stuff. By the time, I was a fourth year; I was astounded by the high number of women who smoked crack. It was baffling. Some were too innocent and too kind to even think about them along such lines. Some were hardly a surprise. The dancing begun and predictably, the men could disappear with the women randomly to their rooms before coming back; the man with a stupid conquest smile on the face, and the lady suddenly quiet before resuming wild partying-as if nothing had happened.
You only had to go to some room to pick something like a phone charger only to stumble two unlikely individuals getting it on, rather wildly. It always left me wondering where the world is going to.
Suffice to say that this is not a fair representation of the women in campus. At such a Friday night, some women were in church for kesha or fellowship. I would have taken them too seriously only that some even went ahead to fall pregnant and the father disappeared like magic. The women I trusted the most ended up disappointing me the most. I wouldn’t explain how but I will move to make this article much longer.
The reason for the two flashbacks is the woman I am dealing with out here. She is liberal. She is a football fan, and rugby for various reasons. She listens to hip-hop. She drives. She can’t cook even if I was on ICU dying. She sleeps with more than three men. The problem is not the three men, rather she sees absolutely no problem. She is married, but she doesn’t mind fooling around. She can’t wash, even her own clothes for christ-sake.
I am not trying to justify that the woman’s place is the kitchen or that men have monopoly over cheating. Far from it. I am not rationalizing any gender stereotype or building on certain assumption. I am about to offer my two-cent academic insight in to what education has done to women.
One, education made women desire to be men. That is why they picked all the bad traits of masculinity. They have an unusual passion for sports. They now drink harder than men, cheat more than men, are vulgar and all the bad things that men do. They are yet to start farting loudly in public. Or even pick their noses. Some are ugly drivers and others can get physical.
While some of these are survival strategies in a beastly masculine society, they set their bar too low. Men are not the best yardstick of rationalizing bad behaviour. Anytime I hear the line ‘BUT MEN DO IT’ I feel like punching someone woman on the face. Two wrongs don’t make right. And here it is not a case of sour grapes or they are outsmarting men at their own game, more so on the cheating front.
What education did is that it changed the mindset of women to think like men. It made women perceive sex as a physical exercise like men. For men of my generation, sex has become a physical work out, more often than not void of any intimacy. Not that our fathers were any different but they looked at things quite differently. Now more and more women are detaching feelings from sex, quicker that a politician fails to connect his rhetoric to reality after an election.
More and more women in towns are dating many men; some for sex, some for emotional comfort and a good number for financial gains. The number of women for whom rent is paid in town in exchange for sex is startling. And to think they are not prostitutes…. It leaves me worried what our women have become. Is it that times are hard or men are foolish?
As soon as women detached feelings from sex, it became a jungle. We live one day at a time. Sex loses even its procreationary role; given most women believe in abortion and morning after pills ( I just saw an aborted foetus at the Donholm roundabout when coming to town. It is no longer a big deal.
Let us talk about alcohol. More women are drinking alcohol than ever before. The number of women in night clubs is a bad indicator of the kind of future that awaits the men who believe in a marriage. If they are going to be our wives, we are doomed. I find it exceptionally odd when I am sharing hang-over stories with a woman. I find insulting when a woman is taking Guinness Kubwa and I am having my Tuskers. I loathe when a young woman tells me that she hates the fact that she is drunk but not as high as she would like to feel.
I lose hope every time I convince a lady on the first day in a club to go with me to my place. Not that I take them there anyway. I hate (and many men do) when a woman gives a number promptly in a club without even begging. I don’t enjoy a lap dances that I hardly hassled for or any ass-dancing my way without any hard work. The women have become, too willing, some too loose-yet they are not prostitutes but they are enjoying it.
I can only blame education for liberating too much and the few things we enjoyed as men we can no longer enjoy them. They cheat like us, may be too much. Drink as much and like men in the past, they don’t give a damn. I bemoaned the Kenyan men when my Sudanese friend Duot declared that he is marrying in January.
“I know you are certainly marrying a Kenyan,” I quipped.
“Never, ever. Kenyan women know too much and don’t possess the true traits of an African wife. Given I have a big family and friends, she will definitely hate me since I might not accord her sufficient attention.”
“I can’t blame them. That is how they have been brought up.”