Money and the Easter honeys

There are Easter bunnies, supposedly, cute fluffy rabbit-like creatures with cute noses that amuse kids. They belong to the stuff of white myth, like the Urine Fairy who when you stop peeing in bed as a kid, sneaks in, in the wee hours, pardon the pun, and leaves a purse of silver shillings under one’s pillow. But the Easter honey, my men, is a very real creature.

Look around you, where you are reading this piece right now. If it is sunny, or there are grains of sand between your toes, or anywhere not your house but you are paying for this ‘Easter holiday’ through the hairs of your nose, you have just been fixed by that Easter honey over there. Yes the one sipping the rainbow coloured pina colada.

As we said last week, life is a bitch for the man who likes them. And you do not even have to be on a beach. There are fellows who pay for trysts, and whose shoulders and back ache all the time they are ever popping into one or the other massage parlours. I know a fellow who has made this an after work routine.

Yeah, he is a senior bachelor in a highly stressful, 10 to 12-hour a day job, no time to date or socialise, so he goes digital to certain sites and picks a different ‘parlour’, Monday to Friday, for stress relief at two grand a pop, pun up. Yes, he should man up and face his insecurities and reckless path. But our concern for today is just about the money. That is forty thousand for paid trysts a month, an expense as major as the rent he pays for his pad, his tax, savings, fuel and what he gives to his ageing mom. OMG!

Then there is the brand of honey who is out to take a man off his money in a big way, and does everything she can to achieve this. True story – I know a mzungu who was living in the Ukraine as an expatriate manager for years, and fell in love with a local lass there.

When he was transferred to Tanzania in 2010, this lady, Yulia, made him swear to come back in six months and marry her. She asked him for money to shop for a house outside Kiev, meantime, where they could live together during his holidays.

Maybe it was madness, maybe love, maybe he was 50, but he took out life savings for Yulia, 20 years his junior, and she bought the dacha. But when he returned six months later, he found her ‘brother’ in the house, who strongly advised him, in no uncertain terms, that should his face ever be seen again in the Ukraine, anywhere, he would get early retirement in a six-foot hole outside his dacha. End of story.

Most honey hustlers are small fish compared to a shark like Yulia. But even little piranhas can chew you up. There are those honeys who when they find a man, just want to sit their bottoms in the house and be fed and clothed all the days of their lives, like a pet mouse. There are those money honeys who make it a family affair. Younger sisters crowd your house, you are paying fees for her brothers, and medical bills via M-pesa to forever sick parents. Then, the low end raccoons, ever demanding money for the salon to ‘look good for you’ and airtime ‘so I can call you anytime, all the time, sweetie.’ Some even want your bonga points.

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