By Tony M
‘Really Tony," my woman friend said the other Saturday after another evening of smoky den ‘dining’ complete with the loud lads and a CECAFA game of soccer on, "you really can’t keep hanging out in joints like this. It’s not your level." "It’s mid January," I protested weakly. "Where do you want me to go? The Intercontinental?"
At that moment, like a light bulb going off in the head, or God bothering Samuel in the middle of the night, Clara Nyamu’s words came floating eerily across my mind.
‘Women do not like holes in the walls where a Ken wa Maria is blaring on the stereo, as flies busily buzz, over the nyama and irio, as you booze.’ Well, something akin to that. (I don’t exactly keep Clara’s pieces as Collector’s Items, although they’re handy as late night chips-and-sausage wrappers).
So then, the old age question: Why do women feel that when they ‘fikad’ a certain stage of ‘pice’ (status), then they must pull ‘petho’ (prestige)? As a former woman in another lifetime, (where I was such a good nun I got the ultimate reward in reincarnation, to become a man of fun) I’ll tell you. It’s because the ladies have a linear way of thinking when it comes to matters of ‘jist’.
When the girls leave high school and, therefore, the innocent ways of soft drinks and the like, they’ll drink mostly at little parties or ‘getaways’ they organise themselves (cheap camps). There are those who will sip at Smirnoff Ice or malts. And there is the wild bunch that will quickly chug down hard drinks until they are piddling on themselves and throwing up in the branches of whatever woods they have gone camping in.
In college, these girls discover the club scene, and the ultimate in social status is to be seen going out every Saturday night. While the college lads are just happy to be getting any liquor they can, with the six pack beer can top of the fix, the ladies just have to "go out". On these onerous occasions, places like Taco’s and all those other Kimathi Street pubs and clubs are much loved.
The ‘A’ list
But then, what happens when the young lady has ‘cleared’ college, and gets her first ki-barua? The logic of linear comes into play, and the former habituÈ of Zeeps will now sneer at her pal. "Oh, Zeeps! You still go there? That is so not A-List".
And where is this supposed A-List joint? It is taking tequilas at Tanagier, or sipping wine (red) at Wine Bar. Beer has suddenly become oh-so-blah; brown bottles a distant blur in the new upgraded lady’s memory.
If, per chance, after some time the said lady should make a meal out of her career, and is still somewhat single, this is when the Lady Frankenstein of this linear logic rolls out. This is where the women all become mini-Oprahs.
What to wear, where to live, creams to nullify the wear and tear… suddenly the successful single woman has become a know-it-all behemoth. If you ask a successful man for his secrets, he’ll tell you only on his area of expertise — in my case, the ladies ways of logic! Ask the same of a woman, and you get a package of the universal laws and secrets of sweet success. Sheesh!
At some level of this linearity, the women have become stay-at-homes, and have the urge to ‘entertain’ in the house. This is where the dinner invite comes in. Others who are couples have near ‘dinner chamas’, where the gangs of couples are forever in this one’s or the other’s place.
The desire behind these dinners is, of course, the dream that someday, one may become le grande society hostess. As for men, one will have a drink at The Stanley with a Philip Ochieng, and the next minute the feller will be at Njoroge’s in Dagoretti Corner eating choma before going off to his house in Ngong, or Karen. Just ask Mr Njonjo when he ate kamongo at Osuga’s with the Premier.
