For the better part of the day, since morning actually, the Lounge has been in turmoil; ever since we all submitted our letters to our future spouses. (I will not bother posting mine here because I was labelled a chauvinist, ignorant and a host of other words I can’t remember by Essie.) The argument has been a nonstop affair. You see, the whole reason why the Lounge is so amazing is because we have all these great writers that all share diverse views on a number of topics. The problem is, as expected, we tend to over-think stuff. And today was no different. Today’s argument was sparked by Ian. Yes, Ian Duncan. Then somehow it spiraled into a debate about feminism which very quickly went to The Independent Nairobi Woman, hence, Naiman.
You see, Naiman is supposed to be this independent woman that doesn’t believe in men; she isn’t gay, for the record. She just doesn’t need a man. The Naiman is the woman who walks up to you and you start shivering, apparently. She can fix her own computer (sorry nerds), her own lights, she knows what bolt fits where on her bed, how the thermostat on her iron box works and how it behaves when the iron box (and or instant shower head) is utilizing too much power, how to create a wi-fi hotspot- not from her phone- from her router, how to fix the leaking sink and of course, how to jump start her car. She doesn’t need a man. The Naiman is superwoman. She wields the power; she can go drinking out all night with her friends and expect to come home to find cooked food, the kids in bed and the house smelling like Jesus’ feet walked there- no stink whatsoever- especially in the toilet. And in the morning, you apparently have to be loving enough to change the kids’ diapers, clean make the breakfast, nurse her back to health (never mind her problem is a hangover) and make sure you collaborate her story with the boss when she tells him, sobbing, that she feels sick.
Bear with me, the Naiman sounds like an absolutely lovable woman so far; we should correct that. Let’s retrace her roots.
You see, the Naiman was once a girl. This girl is intelligent. She has the brains. She got all the right scores in high school. She may not have been as bright as you were; perhaps she got a C+. She managed to get into college- at this point it doesn’t really matter if she got an A. She made it into college. And that is when you met her. You wowed her; she was your life- and you were hers. You can’t really remember using any pickup lines. Who cares anyway? Her heart melted for you. You were inseparable; in fact, most of your friends looked up to both of you. You were the model couple. Your HELB, for which you now have to part with some money regardless whether you received or not, was spent with her. She made you happy. You didn’t care.
Then you graduated. You were happy for a few months. Then she suddenly told you, I can’t see you. Actually, she says, you are the love of her life but she can’t see you anymore. You remember you once told her love can’t buy her food; it stuns you how you were just predicting your demise. (If you are lucky enough to work things out at this point and convince her you will be by her side in a year, you are lucky. Especially if she loves you- you have just given her hope and she will wait for you.)
But now, you have no job, you have no prospect of doing anything. And she has the world at her feet; after all, she is young. Okay, correction, she is young, hot and wild, as her friends tell her. You see, she has finally landed a job, at least which is what her friends tell her. And to compound things, she has a job. It doesn’t pay very well, but she soon notices that every man in the office is giving her more attention than you have in the past four months. After a while, you receive an SMS, “I am sorry, I just can’t deal with this.” You call back. She picks, then she tells you to stop bothering her because she is out with friends and you are making her embarrassed. You quit calling after it happens a couple of times. You try your best to forget her, and finally, you decide, “This is not worth it.”
But she goes on.
She declares herself independent when she gets her pay rise. At this point, she decides to get her own house. She has no responsibility to anyone after all. She goes out on a daily basis- her newly acquired circle of female friends validate it. They go out week in, week out. Nobody really knows how they manage to get to work the next day. At this point, she is 24. More importantly, she is on the lookout for Mollis. Her vagina has had more poundings than an Akorino drum. But who cares? She is still young, hot and wild. She insists on protection. She is safe. At this point, she resents any man that cannot get her wailing to Jesus.
Then she gets to 28. Her circle of female friends slowly declines; until she is left with Angie- they all have an Angie, or Debbie or some other fancy name- who doesn’t seem like she will stop soon. Angie tells her she doesn’t have to be lonely and broke; she can be lonely, but at least she can’t be broke. Her dead weight job doesn’t matter. Angie introduces her to Magunga. Magunga is loaded. He takes her out and makes her forget stuff. He checked her out at a massage parlor once and when he left she could still feel his eyes on her. It doesn’t take very long; Magunga parts her legs faster than a Kalenjin cow on heat.
In 9 months, she has something that resembles someone she has come to hate and loathe over the past 9 months. In fact, they are calling her Mama Kim now.
Mama Kim is smart; she went to campus after all. She doesn’t need any man, remember? (Despite the numerous chances Magunga has offered to marry her- he is simply beneath her. When she does a little digging she finds out that Magunga isn’t her type.) Anyway, she cares for Kim. She is there for him. She feeds him on her tits, she waits the full six months the doctor said before she forcefully makes Kim quit after applying hot pepper on her breasts, which hurts more than Odom’s death hurt the Kardashians. She goes back to work.
But the bosses at work do not understand she has a small baby at home; actually, she doesn’t trust her house help, whom she pays peanuts (Yes, Jesus gave up so much for us because He was worth nothing). She is determined. In fact, her boss gives her another pay rise. One look at her breasts tells her no wonder no man wants her. She wants a father figure for Kim. He has been too inquisitive of late. So Mama Kim goes to a doctor, if she can afford it, and declares she doesn’t want her tits on her navel’s level. She revamps herself.
With her new form, she remembers all those sweethearts she turned away back then; she starts with you, but you are happily helping your wife make supper for the kids and you can’t wait for them to get into bed so you can do it in the kitchen. In fact, you helped them do their homework quickly so you would have her all to yourself. Then she tries Alexas; that guy she always hanged out with, who was always so jealous of you. He took her out shopping and never asked for anything, other than a kiss ob Instagram, after which he was always sent back to the Brother Hood. But no, he has a wife now too.
She grows desperate; never mind that the Akorino drum gave in a long time ago and burst, while her vagina still wants a pounding. She joins all these online pages; perhaps someone hot blooded will pick her up, but all she does is to encourage herself and perverts who think a sugar mummy is their solution. She tries the church, but all the pastor is interested in doing is planting a seed in her that will cost her 310 Ksh. She gives up the church as well. By now, her tits are almost somewhere between her knees.
So she turns to Maina Kageni who tells her everything will be okay, when he himself hasn’t even figured out his/her sexuality, on Morning Radio, to which Wakanae responds, “Kama unataka bwana, nyenyekea.”
People laugh, and so does your college boyfriend when he listens to the audio on Whatsapp but doesn’t recognize your battered voice, as well as Kim who has grown so distant of his mom he thinks this is just one of those women, but Wakanae doesn’t. You suddenly realize he has a point. And he isn’t talking about church, where for so long you have tried to seduce the pastor and choir boys and God knows who else. She is just a Naiman after all.