A peek into the boy-sterous mind

With Joseph Maina

Friday evening caught me relaxing on the balcony with my comptroller, enjoying the cool breeze. Outside, Jimmy and a group of neighbourhood boys were standing at the gate, discussing cars, football, schoolwork and similar banal matters.

Moments into the teenagers’ banter, a bunch of neighbourhood women trooped out of Mama Ken’s house after their weekly chama meeting. Looking jovial and dressed to kill, the ladies cavorted past the lads, chatting and laughing as though the world belonged to them.

Unknown to the women, their very presence, coupled with their good looks, served to completely arrest the boys’ attention. Moments after they disappeared round the bend, the boys engaged in a heated discussion, and it had nothing to do with calculus or the Pythagoras theorem. Neither did they discuss our country’s economy or the next premier league match.

For the next half hour, the boys discussed these women at length. So, there I sat, bristling with stupefied horror as the lads gave voice to their raging adolescent hormones. The debate was peppered with adult jokes as the teenagers discussed these women, some of who are old enough to be their headmistresses.

“Dudes, did you check out Mama Jemo?” Jimmy was telling the group.

“Yeah,” the boys roared back in unison.

Encouraged by this acclamation, Jimmy engaged gears. Before you knew it, he had cobbled together a rancid little chronicle that revolved around Mama Jemo, who happens to be his best friend’s mother.

“Nywele yake ni noma sana!” he went on, eliciting more noise as the boys screamed with delight.

THE BOMB

I wouldn’t know what was stewing in their heads, but marijuana abuse was a clear possibility.

A boy named Roba spoke next. “Heh! Kwanza umecheki vyenye amedunga hiyo skirt?” he piped in his recently broken voice.

“Yenyewe huyo masa amebeba ile mbaya,”another one remarked, and a boy named Sam promptly agreed with this assessment.

“Manze, that mama is the bomb. Have you seen the way she swings her (insert an extremely earthy word here)?”

His peers welcomed the comment with bawdy whistles and barroom delight. One of the boys went as far as clapping while praising the genius in Sam.

“Wasee, hata Mama Sera ni msupuu joh!”one of the boys bombastically told the gang, referring to the local Sunday school teacher.

“Kwanza ako na (insert another dirty word here) ya nguvu sana,” another one crowed, capping the remark with a throaty cackle.

Thank heavens Mama Jemo was too far away to hear this ribald description of her ‘gifts’, as she would have probably called her lawyer.

But, for all their filthy talk, I must admit that the boys had a point. Okay, I hate to say this because I am a parent and a happily married man, but I must admit that Mama Jemo is quite “gifted”, if you know what I mean. Nature has been inordinately kind to this lady; she is extremely smart, has this arrestingly cute smile and walks and talks like a real beauty queen. Her lovely hair has occasionally featured in my dreams, and there is something about her big (censored) that issues a ‘warrant of unrest’.

Still, I was rabidly maddened at the boys’ snarky description of her, but, to my utter dismay, the ‘boy-sterous’ discussion did not end there. One of the boys did not think highly of Mama Deno.

“Ah, huyo masa amechapa!” he said dryly. “Kwani wewe hujacheki hizo (insert a word that should only be used in a bar after you have had your sixteenth drink) zake?” he exclaimed with derision, and the boys broke into gruff laughter.

“Lakini teke zake ziko yuu!” one of them crowed back.

The boys cheered him on, their voices choking with an almost animal expectancy. They then discussed Mama Oti, Mama Moha and Mama Saimo; and the discussion was anything but kosher. Most of their remarks were so filthy that I almost called the police.

Then, after what seemed like eternity, the ebullient discussion eventually came to an end, with Mama Saimo emerging the most ‘gifted’” woman in my part of the county. Thankfully, Mama Jimmy was not among the women under discussion.

“These boys should be caned,” I told Mama Jimmy.

“Ah, si wanaume wote mko hivyo?” she challenged, saying that the boys were simply being men. I reserved my comment.

So there you have it, fellow taxpayers. Behind every successful woman in my county is a bunch of boys harbouring a couple of pornographic ideas.