By John Kariuki

Afew years ago my next door neighbours in a city estate were two bachelors in their 20s. The earliest these chaps would come home was midnight.

 They would then tune in their radio to a saucy late night show in which they were regular callers.

At other times they would simply howl good-naturedly after those late night nation-building activities in pubs. Often they would play reggae music, to ward off evil spirits they once told me.

But the strangest thing was that these chaps would occasionally prepare food late into the night! It would be frightening to listen to them slaughtering a cackling cockerel at one o’clock in the morning or scraping the ugali sufuria at the communal tap in the wee hours.

When these ‘Artur Brothers’, as we called them behind their backs, did their laundry, which was rare, it would be in a big way. Everything from their clothes to the window curtains would be washed and hung outside to dry. But these geeks would often forget to remove the clothing when they were dry or when it rained and some kind women in the block would do it for them.

When either of their girlfriend visited, the other bachelor would make himself scarce to give them space. But at some point we began seeing a change in this noble etiquette. It became apparent that either of the brothers could entertain whichever girl that came in the absence of the other brother!

And so one night the two brothers found each other out and settled this love triangle physically. It took the combined effort of all the men in the block to separate and escort them to the nearest police station with each threatening to eat the other’s liver.

Welcome to bachelorhood, a phase in which most men’s life is, arguably, at its wildest and most colourful. While Tim, a senior bachelor in Gilgil, may not engage in spectacular acts like the ‘Artur Brothers’, he is an oddball nonetheless. He admits raising people’s eyebrows all too often with his dress code.

"I think most of my wardrobe is at the drycleaner’s at any time!" he says glumly and adds: "I often pop into these shops, change into new clothes, leave the soiled ones there and go back to the streets!" His house, he says, has no utensils, cutlery save for a few glasses strategically kept for wine and water. "I take all meals in hotels and that’s the way I like it!"

Michael Kamau, a polished middle-aged bachelor who vows that he will marry the day women stop gossiping, thinks that there is unwarranted focus on single men.

"My mother and aunts frequently accuse me of shying from responsibility by not marrying," he says. "But I have no problem with the way I am. I don’t think there is anything I miss in my current status," he says.

Indeed, a woman who is his workmate and who declines to be named for the sake of privacy has a lot of admiration for him. "If there is any organised guy I have ever seen it is Michael!" she says. She praises him for maintaining his house in a better condition than most women and for a keen sense of colour coordination in his clothes and household goods. Unlike many bachelors who rely on junk food, Michael is a stickler for quality food, which he prepares himself.

She describes Michael as a perfectionist who even arranges the folds of his umbrella exactly the way they fit and remembers to water his potted plants. "It will be a big challenge for any woman to match his standards if and when he marries!" she sighs.

Then she lowers her voice and reveals that Michael has actually tried marriage three times but all the three brides had terrible shortcomings. "They could not iron his shirts to his satisfaction and they would be left with double creases. The women could not even make coffee that met his standards!" she says in amazement.

bubbly characters

But between the likes of the Artur Brothers and Michael are all categories of bumbling single men. Forget the archetypal single male teacher who, as legend puts it, would grow moulds in his unwashed ugali sufuria for sport and bid schoolgirls to keep house for him but be afraid of dozens of cheeky fellows who recycle dirty shirts, trousers and socks in a modern hippie culture.

Bachelors are often macho to a fault. Frequently nobody in their social circles knows where they hail from or their next of kin! And in this era of violent robberies and new diseases, friends gather in pubs without a clue of where to start when such fellows die in urban centres.

Many bachelors are daft when it comes to simple house etiquette, says Marion Kadzo, a housewife. "I can tell a bachelor from his queer habits like not removing their shoes and soiling my carpet or throwing orange pips all over!" she says. Other habits that elicit her angst are bachelors’ frequent habit of resting their feet on her coffee table when they visit and being clueless when she acts behind the scene to hook them up with potential brides. "I have been hooking up my single brothers with my unattached female friends but they don’t seem to get it!" she laments.

Mungai, a 35-year-old banker in Eldoret who has only recently left the bachelor’s club, gives his main reason for marrying as lack of proper food. "Bachelorhood is hell, man. You have the money but can only feed on spaghetti and beef stew or bread and coffee from Monday to Sunday!"

He says that his day starts at seven o’clock in the morning and ends at eight in the evening. "So, by the time I am out there are no green vegetables or fruits anywhere. When I started getting bouts of dizziness on account of malnutrition, I had to get a helper quickly!" he says.

But Collins Omondi, a 43-year-old computer programmer in Nakuru, thinks he has discovered the magic formula of avoiding death from starvation and enjoying his freedom. Every other weekend his girlfriend visits his house. "By some unwritten agreement, she does all the laundry and tidies up my place. She then goes to the market and replenishes my stock of vegetables and dry groceries," Omondi says. "I am not in a hurry to quit the club yet!"

While some bachelors may make great strides in their careers in this phase, others leave intriguing legacies on the social scene. Let’s face it; many bachelors take it as their solemn duty to conquer every damsel within sight and sow their wild oats with gusto in a characteristic string of one-night stands. Guarding their dates jealously and even fighting over them is often what distinguishes bachelors from married men in social places.

Amina, a single woman in Nyahururu, thinks that some bachelors are not socialised enough despite their age and often make an ass of themselves!

"There was a senior bachelor whom I dated briefly. This man exuded charm and had everything a woman would wish for. He had a good job, a nice house and a car.

I had heard stories of his nastiness but thought it was all lies. At one party, I spoke with a foreigner and this 50-something bachelor sulked. On our way home, he raised a furore accusing me of prostitution and collaborating with colonialists and such nonsense!

"He degenerated into teenage tantrums and ordered me out of his car and left me in the wilderness in the dead of the night!" Amina says.

From then, she gives a wide berth to all intellectually inclined and impractical bachelors and vets her dates well to ascertain that they can weather the relationship storms graciously.

And Angela, a teacher in Molo, remembers her encounter with an apparently well-read bachelor vividly. Fresh from college, she and a girl friend were on teaching practice in one school and befriended a bachelor teacher, on account of their single status.

"This man taught us the ropes and ensured that we were easily socialised. He became like a big brother to us!" Angela says.

But a big surprise was in store for them. One afternoon the man invited the girls for lunch at his house in the school compound. "After the meal, the chap disappeared into his bedroom. A moment later he came out, butt naked and his ‘member’ out and ready and asked us to cast lots and decide who would go in first for the ‘obvious’!

"We were extremely shocked. We stifled screams owing to the location of the house and the students who were now out and all over the compound!" Angela recalls.

"We were scandalised to see this man standing there like a hairy primate! We walked out of his house but we could not run owing to the students who were all over basking over the lunch break sunshine and watching us! We bravely kept our heads high and walked briskly towards the staffroom. It was the longest walk in our lives and we feared that the crazy fellow we had left behind might walk out, naked, in pursuit of us!"

Since then Angela has been wary of all bachelors regardless of their seemingly sophistication and education. "Essentially, every bachelors have an uncouth streak if you look keenly enough! I think that they want to protect this nasty side of their characters by being single!" Angela says.