Men... Manly Men!

Lesson. ‘Men’ is really not a generic word. Because men are not the same. Men are different. Yes. Some men may pay the rent, but some just defer. Equally, some men are indifferent.

So every time I hear women (oh, these ones are all the same!) complain that they do not understand men, I chuckle. It is like saying, ‘I don’t understand animals’. You see, all are different.

So Man A is different from Man B and Man D may actually love Man U more than you! Yes, different. Just the way fingerprints are never the same (and if you checked some women’s bodies carefully, boy, will you see a man’s fingerprints all over them)!

Women are the same since they all like to order expensive wine and also like to whine. And they all sing ‘You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman’ when they are buying sanitary pads.

Some men have beards whilst some have faces as smooth as a new born baby’s behind. Some men love women’s behinds whilst others say they think the breasts are the reason they fall in love.

When we speak of love, some men are clueless. Some men are hopeless romantics whilst others are well… hopeless. If you told some men that you love them, we may need a search party and a Commission of Inquiry to establish their whereabouts moments after those words escape from your lips.

Some men use their lips to kiss. Others use them to lie.

Some men know that when you lie with a woman, you need staying power. Some merit a mention in the lyrics of the Alanis Morissete hit ‘Ironic’ as they would be watching soccer and claim they love extra-time when they suffer from pre-mature ejaculation.

Some men acknowledge that the last resurrection was Christ's whilst others are not in denial and pop Viagra once in a blue moon.

If you look closely, you will realize that some man came up with H20 Bling couture water. Yes. Whilst in rural and urban Kenya, some men go down on all fours to taste dirty waters, others do it differently and get the expensive kind. And advertisers know that some men are suckers and won't know the relation between water and nookie hence the sex-themed adverts targeting such men.

Some men dye their hair whilst others who appreciate that dying is the end of a normal process embrace their aging and don’t mind having wrinkles that look like the contours of the Rift Valley as seen from a Fly 540 that is experiencing turbulence.

Some men are knights in shining armour whilst some will give you a ngeta in the night even if you were in distress.

Some men are the biggest joke in the country. In a country that includes Dr. Alfred Mutua that says a lot about such men. Every woman has once encountered such jokes when they are begging to be taken back after reaching ‘Amazing Grace’ levels. By which I mean, when they are saying ‘Was blind but now I see!’ If only women wouldn’t splash hot water in their eyes after they admit that. But you see, women are all the same!

I disagree with the Guinness slogan that there is a drop of greatness in every man. They could have really strung me along with ‘there is a hole of sweetness in every woman!’

Or a whole lot of sweetness.

‘Some men are stupid whilst some are bachelors’, you will hear some men guffaw. These are the same clique of men who have been circulating those stickers that your innocent eyes see in matatus proclaiming ‘I don’t kiss and tell… I fcuk and brag’.

Some men are Prince Charming personified and will even bake a cake with not a single string attached. To them, breakfast in bed really means food on a tray. Taste Bud Men, you could call them. On the other hand, some men are just bad men. Where else did ‘breakfast of champions’ come from? How else could non church-going men really love Morning Glory?

Some men are called Sam whilst others are quite something. Still, others are the sum of all your fears. Some are shepherds and some are cowards.

Some men circumvent the truth. Some are uncircumcised whilst others just decide to buy actual wallets. Some men become Popes whilst others can only dream of wearing the funny hat on a different head. Heck, some men even think the saying 'Two heads are better than one' is about their bodies.

We should just call a spade a spade and not a Soil Redistribution Implement. Next time you see a person start a speech by saying ‘Ladies and Gentlemen’, remind him that not all men are gentle. Next time someone uses the word ‘men-folk’, please frown and say it out loud ‘I beg your pardon?’

Next time you meet a man who insists that you sing the lyrics of ‘Cater To You’, just take it like Every Woman. And don’t forget that some men listen to Abba whilst others are not at all sado-masochists proving once again that men are brewed differently.

There are men and there are manly men. End of lesson.

Pros and Cons

It is the tragedy of this life that once in a while we have to eke a living! For those of us who are extremely lazy and wouldn’t be bothered to lift a muscle each morning, it is oft a rude awakening after college to find that the next stage of life involves some form of servitude.

Me? Well, I think it is important that one caries out a SWOT analysis before he takes on a job.

Secretaries? Check. Workload? Check. Office near window? Check. Tea girl? Check.

It also helps if your job title is pronounceable. I have met persons calling themselves ‘Ethnomusicologists’ or some tongue twister else…. If all fails, settle for some abbreviations.

Like ‘AUE’. You can then only giggle as people google what that means. Another Useless Employee. After all, don’t we all call our CEO, the Crappy Eternal Optimist?

Whilst some policemen die on the job, there are jobs you can live for.

Take body painting. Or waxing. Or gynaecology. Or farming.

Farming? Oooooh yes. I was fascinated by people who indicated their occupations as PEASANT FARMER and always wanted to be a farmer especially since I was informed that every farmer gets a hoe. And you all know what happens to tea farmers after KTDA pays them their bonus.

Which brings me to Judy. One way to describe someone’s work is by saying what they do not do. Judy has never played rugby but she sure could get a position on that team. Judy is not a flanker or prop. Judy is not a barrister (maybe a solicitor). Judy be pretty woman.

Getting warmer? OK... when I first asked her what she does for a living, a smile smeared itself across her face and she simply whispered: I am a pro.

I asked: A professional what?

Her cell phone rung. ‘Sorry, am with a client’, she answered and hang up.

I frowned. Was she a professional con? She was the potential client, not I. I hoped it was mere phone etiquette. As she held the cell phone, she realized she could answer me quicker. She showed me a text message.

Turns out, she needed legal services and had been referred to me by someone. This Pretty Woman!

I asked: So how is business?

‘The economic crunch has brought us to our knees,’ she said conjuring images of a pun in my head.

‘I need help,’ she continued. ‘Someone made payment to me in kind and not cash’.

‘What kind?’

‘200 acres of land,’ she said triggering whistle from me and a suppressed Holy Molly.

‘You must be good!’ I teased.

‘Told you I am a pro,’ she said and looking directly in my eyes she added. ‘I hope you aren’t good!’

‘Why?’

‘I hear lawyers are either terrific in bed and terrible in court; or terrible in bed and terrific in court’.

‘Just your luck. I don’t play tennis!’

‘Well… I need you to handle the transfer of the property to my name,’ she said.

‘I could refer you to a good property lawyer,’ I offered.

‘You could, but it won’t help me. Am broke…’ her voice faltered. ‘I was hoping you could handle it pro bono. Please.’

Now why didn’t I become a stock broker? I would be gambling away with people’s moneys. Hell... I could be the Government Spokesman and perhaps do a better job whilst at it. I would get the President and First Lady on Oprah. Or I would scribble ‘You’ve been Punk’d’ at the end of each Presidential Press Conference and wave it at journalists.

‘Please!’ she repeated in whisper-mode. ‘I have no money at all! The only thing I could pay you with is this…’ Pause. Dips her hand I her rather expensive handbag and hands me a card.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s a voucher.’ she replies.

I look at the voucher and laugh. It even has the initials MBS after her name. She must be good to be awarded a Moran of the Burning Spear award. She puts me out of my misery by pointing at the initials and saying: Mind Blowing Sex.

‘I have heard of Judy Boucher… but this… is crazy. Judy Voucher!’

That property transaction took place pro bono (as opposed to pro bone-her). Judy insists the offer still stands and the day I wish to utilize it, I should. I wonder what she has done with a 200 acre farm. I wonder if the farm has a bush. I wonder if she has trimmed the bush. I wonder if it’s ever a wet bush. It should be if it’s irrigated constantly. I wonder if she has built a house with a front lawn. Does she mow the lawn? I only wonder.

I should never have left the seminary. The secretaries were virgins, or so we believed; the workload didn't involve dealing with pleasant farmers like Judy, the view from my window was magnificent and the tea girl... was a pretty woman.