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There’s this annoying, repetitive moan that Kenyan men aren’t gentlemen. What Kenyan women fail to understand is, the standard of chivalry varies from one culture to another.
Kenyan women expect their men to duplicate the Mexican chivalry they see in soap operas. Question is: Do the complaining women have lady-like vava voom to inspire local men to up their game?
Girls, grass could be greener on the other side of the fence, but the water bill there is bloody high! Put succinctly, you attract what you are. I’m afraid, there’re no gentlemen for wannabe divas, gold-diggers, hecklers and jokers who gossip down to dusk.
Come on girls! Don’t expect champagne experience on a beer budget. I mean, it’s like demanding pink champagne at a village kiosk, where you’re lucky to get a bottle of soda!
Talking of jokers and gold-diggers, I recently met one at a supermarket. From the corner of my eye, I noticed her curiously stealing glances at me as I was passing by — as if I were the lost NYS millions and had been found.
To arrest my attention, she giggled to her friend (you know women!) and beckoned me. Being a practising gentleman, I stopped and sauntered by. “Excuse me sir, sorry to ask, hope you won’t be offended. Which cologne is that you’re wearing,” she softly asked. I scratched my head and regrettably told her I have five and couldn’t clearly remember the one I had used that morning.
“Pleeease, just try to remember. Awww...Oh my gosh! I really like it,” she purred and pleaded, while rapidly fanning herself using her palm (that thing Nairobi women do when they bump into a celebrity), as if to suggest I had just set her on fire.
Before I could scratch my head further, she squeezed in a compliment for the piece of leather on my back in the name of a jacket. Just when I was clearing my throat to mumble, “Thank you”, she hurled in yet another compliment for my haircut and sideburns, claiming they reminded her of a certain Pablo. A cool cat she dated way back.
With the shyness of a lizard, I almost took off. Her charms became too much for me, prompting me to start, err, blushing and doodling on the ground using the tip of my shoe, telling her to stop it (teasing me). Oops, scratch that. I’ve lied. Actually, my knees become weak.
I began feeling like peeing and s#!ting on myself out of panic because of her devastating beauty. Well, I know someone is reading this and wondering, “Why didn’t you walk away or even pee on yourself to make her leave you alone?”
Well, how did you expect me to walk away, yet I have just said my knees were weak? As far as peeing on myself is concerned, where were you when I desperately needed such advice?
To cut a long story short, she asked for my phone number and requested me to text her the cologne’s name, once I got home. I did. But later, she began ‘giggling’ in my inbox, if you know what I mean.
Just when I mentioned I’m half Nigerian and Okeke is my other name, her level of enthusiasm shot up and in me, I suspect, she instantly saw a son of a Nigerian oil tycoon with lots of money.
On the second day after meeting, she — kaboom! — dropped the bombshell: “Lend me Sh10k, pleeease. I’ll pay before the weekend”. I felt the way a woman would when asked for sex by a stranger! But seeing as Pope Francis’ message on forgiveness is still fresh on my mind, I have forgiven her.
But seriously women, if you’re her type, just know Mungu anakuona. Meanwhile, I leave you in the hands of Peter Ndoria, again, for two weeks as I will be engaged elsewhere.
