Era of the scared man

By Benson Riungu

I have had occasion to remark that if my great forebear, Kanyonga, he who was the proud husband and undisputed lord to 16 wives and countless children, came back to life today, he would be so dismayed by what he saw that he would demand to immediately die again.

Unless, that is, he reincarnated as a female. These are difficult times for the male of the species. If they are not being blinded and killed by lethal drinks with names like Sacramento Spirits, they are being forced to watch as the privileges their ancestors considered God-given are taken away and given to the womenfolk.

My village, Uturine, is as hard hit by this phenomenon as any in this country. If, in the past couple of weeks, you have not heard about mass burials of victims of killer brews in my village, it is only because there are no men left to die in dramatic fashion.

What we have left are zombies whose womenfolk long ceased thinking of them as men. I have told you about my relative who recently disappeared from home after his wife left him because he had ceased to play his role as a man. There is also the case of another relative who, after disappearing for many months, sneaked back home when the wife and children were away tilling in the shamba, broke into his own house and stole his own clothes.

Devastating as deadly brews are to the social standing and self-esteem of men, however, perhaps an even greater challenge is coming from a totally unexpected quarter. After decades of concentrating effort and resources on the advancement of the girl-child, many in my village were quite unprepared for the final result and how radically it affected gender relations.

Few young men, many of whom were almost always in a booze-induced daze, gave a second thought when their wives started talking about taking advantage of the parallel degree craze or joining a mid-level college to further their education.

Then reports started trickling back into the village about women who, after joining a university or college and tasting freedom for the first time in their lives, were behaving like a starving man let loose in a hotel kitchen.

It is such a report that was weighing down on Njulio (the local version of Julius) when he staggered into Undecided Leisure Resort, our one and only watering hole, recently.

“I don’t know what the world is coming to,” he declared after calming his nerves with a deep swallow of the contents of a plastic bottle that, save for the label, could have been Sacramento Spirits.

Many of us had also heard the rumours and so knew what he was referring to. Njulio’s wife had only married him because, owing to boredom after secondary school, she had allowed him to knock her up one Sunday evening in the bushes near her home.

He had little choice but to marry the girl after the deed. Between the vigilant sisters at the secondary school she attended, a stern father and early motherhood, Njani (Jane) never had a chance to really ‘live’.

INCREDIBLE FREEDOMS

Njulio’s combined income from teaching at the local primary school, a handful of tea bushes and the milk from his single cow was insufficient to provide anything beyond the minimum necessities, especially considering that he also loves his daily drink.

Some time ago, however, he reluctantly gave in to Njani’s pleas and pressure from friends and relatives and took out a co-operative loan to take her to a teachers’ college. That was when Njani discovered incredible freedoms and men with money to splash on starry-eyed women.

Away from the censorious eyes of villagers, she could do as she wished. It is even rumoured that she has had occasion to swim in the warm waters of the Indian Ocean while purportedly on an official college tour.

It is rumours of behaviour such as Njani’s that have men worried.