Friendship Zone: Tribulations and Folly

Meet Venessa, a close lady friend of mine. We are having a date tonight. Our tête-à-tête runs a couple of years back, way back in high school. She wasn’t exactly drop dead gorgeous in that Marilyn Monroe’s fashion (not like Huddah, our local ‘celebrity’), but when she set her exterior anatomy in motion, few men could resist craning their necks for more; she swayed gently, cautiously. A deep sea in light currents.

I don’t fuss much about looks as a matter of fact; I will at any time of the day trade a Rihanna for Sarah Baartman (Google her!).

Now Venessa girl has been quite elusive over the past few weeks. Our friendship has remained steadily modest, but lately I noticed subtle currents building up – it has been a long time coming. Those sideways stares that lingered longer than normal had become sweetly disconcerting.

The initially plain phone chats had transformed into charged gooey zones. I could feel her pulsating heart when I read her e-mails (we started this habit way back when phones were a reserve for the lucky few and have stuck to it to date!) I noticed she wore a new perfume the last evening we met. She had sparkling smile too! A dentist somewhere must be thanked for this.

I prayed my intuitions were right, prayed hard that she sees a man in me but not a monk brother. I have read many chronicles about this sort of friendships.

There simply exists no innocent society between people of the opposite gender, they say. The woman has been known to play it safe, and hold to her end of the bargain, nice but detached. However, the man can never be trusted with such hypocrisies. Sooner or later he will strike the cupid nerve and if the woman had forgotten to recite her rosary, she will one morning wake up frantically searching for where she threw her panties! The wolf would be huddled in the furthest end of the bed, pretending to be sound asleep but inwardly grinning end to end, thanking the gods!

She finally appeared, late. I don’t do much of that – waiting – not with friends with meager benefits. But this was Venessa!

She strutted across the street, in her characteristic grace. For the first time, I felt nervous meeting her, felt that here before me was an incredibly attractive woman I have been too blind to notice. She had replaced her normal jeans pants with a maroon dress, those skimpy one arm affairs that firmly arrests a glorious ass. It did magic to her insidious curves. I was tempted to grab a handful of her posterior as she delicately sunk on my chest for a hug but harshly dismissed the idea. That would be indelicate, inappropriate.

“You are tense dude, are you pressed or something?”

“L.O.L, you kept me waiting, was holding my breath tight hoping you
wouldn’t disappoint like last time.” I chuckled, almost nervously. What was wrong with me!

“Hmm, Nairobi traffic, but here I am! Si unajua Jogoo road na majam zake! So what’s the plot?”

I get scared by that question easily! When a Nairobi chic, especially from Eastlands asks you for a plot, you RUN! It never ends well, especially when you let her take the lead. I have once been cornered by a stocky waiter sneaking out of a restaurant, leaving my date and the bills behind. I don’t know how he sniffed me out, perhaps I wasn’t the only transgressor he had met, or I reeked of suspicion – probably the later. It was an awful experience. I lost the girl and tainted my person.

“You forget it is our movie date?”

We catch up on Fridays for movies, mostly we treat it so casually, just a way of catching up and to kill time.

But this Friday felt different, she looked different, smelled different. I would be a fool to ignore all the cues. No wonder she looked at me with slightly raised eyebrows, quizzically and perhaps disenchanted.

You see, all women are the same. Regardless of the kind of friendship you harbor, they have expectations, albeit flimsy. She will expect you to pull out a Jet Lee when an enemy strikes (trust me, I attempted that once and risked a jaw). You become an Alejandro when her boyfriend beats her up; you transform to an ATM machine when she spots that offensively pricey necklace at Kiko Romeo.

So to avoid a sudden realization of an urgent appointment with a dentist, I surprised her and shocked myself with the idea of an Italian cuisine.

Trattoria Ristorante!

Other than the name, and that they serve Italian dines and wines, I completely new nothing about Ristorante (I love the music in the name!)

She pleasantly rubbed into the idea, praising their exotic fares to the heavens.

“I would definitely enjoy that dude! especially with you. So many memories about the place!”

“Have you been there before?” I asked, eyes popping.

“Oh yeah, a couple of times. Paul used to take me there, remember Paul?”

Of course I remember that batterer. He was her ex-boyfriend who treated her like trash. One day she knocked on my door at midnight crying, one eye red and swollen. I shook with rage and swore
vengeance, promised to protect her from that lunatic of a boyfriend. What can’t I do for her?

However a week later I spotted the two enjoying ice cream amidst giggles, only for her to appear two days later sobbing again. This time with a bruised arm. She emphatically assured me she would never see him again. It was over.

I didn’t hear about him again, not until now. She probably kept her word. I seemed to spend more and more time with her since then. That is how I started learning of the growing fondness but fought to keep that demon at bay. It was scary just as it was exciting.

“Well you know I don’t like that name,” I retorted, quite seriously,

“Yeah I know you hate him, but people change you know” she replied, stealing a mischievous side glance. I was surprised at how she talked so freely about him, even with an edge of fondness! I threw her an icy glance and changed the topic. We were already inside the restaurant.

“Here we are. Trattoria it is. Shall we?” I pulled her a chair.

We had settled in Luna Lounge, under her meticulous suggestion. She elaborated on the magnificence of the lounge, an intimately charming ambiance against a background of fusion jazz. Holly heavens!

She exclaimed about the soothing nature of Chianti, marveled at the fineness of the Roman’s signature wine, Frascati and interrogated the notorious alcohol-kissed soda pop Lambrusco!

I was left to constant nodding and appreciation as she breezed through the list of that stuff. I think that kind of skill is for waiters and waitresses, no? She went on ranting ridiculous names. Luckily the waitress came for our orders. I pointed at Venessa with my lips.
“Ask that one.”

She was at it again. Throwing food and wine jargon like a daughter of a chef and a wine vendor. How do ladies master these things?

Our orders came faster than I expected. The service was excellent, the food great (whatever it was I was eating) mellowing a fine evening away with such a delicious date. I noted a couple of heads turn again and again in her direction. There are several “bonga points” that add up when swanking alongside a lady like Venessa.

I was enjoying her company to bits. I looked into her large white smarty eyes, drunk her in gulps and felt my pounding heart against the ribcage. The cupid arrow’s struck and burrowed deep in. I knew I had my unguarded moments but the fear of rejection kept looming, the worst feeling any man should ever bear! For a close friend it would be

This was the moment. I had over the years gone through this scene in my mind. The setting, the time and place all seem to synchronize.

I cleared my throat.”Venessa….there is something I ha….”

“Hey! Look who is coming this way!” She cut in excitedly.

She was beaming and looking behind me. Whoever it was, I was not very excited about the intrusion.

“Hey honey, what a surprise! I never imagine you would come here alone…well, with another friend.”


“Hi baby, I didn’t think I would find you here! So have you come alone too? This is Dre’, my close friend. I am sure I have told you about him. Dre’ meet Paul, my boyfriend.”

What guts! What betrayal! What insensitivity! I sat there, shocked, venomous as the two hugged. I gave him a frigid limp handshake, shooting him with eye bullets.

“Glad to meet you man, my girl has spoken quite a lot about you. I thought you come from another planet!” What cheek!


“Am good.” Was my somber response.

I felt stupid, used, useless.

Venessa cast me a sympathy look and asked for a minute with me.

The ‘repentant intruder’ insisted she should leave with him. He counted several thousand bills and placed them on the table.

“Thanks dude for keeping an eye on her. Best friend, ait?”

By Erick Njoroge (Guest Writer)


The Stapler Affairs

I haven’t trusted polls since I read that 62% of women had affairs during their lunch hour. I’ve never met a woman in my life who would give up lunch for sex.” – Erma Bombeck

“Can I use your stapler? Mine will not do the work properly.” That is how two office affairs started. I call them the ‘stapler affairs’. The General Petraeus incident had me thinking of why office affairs take place in the first place, but then my situation came to mind which means I am not one to throw the first stone.

They all look lovely in the office – the women that is. They are all at their very best. Only on those on days when they wear caps to the office, I know that in the course of the day, they will sneak out to have their hair done.

After sitting down to use the stapler, the stories start. Oh, women can talk. If I am in the mood or if one meets my basic credentials, I just sit back behind my desk, ignore the computer, the paperwork in front of me and concentrate on the spot between her eyes, never her twins (they will notice and walk out) and I just listen.

For the married, it usually starts with the maid. “She – the house help – did not agree with baby this morning, so I asked her to do the breakfast and I washed baby, dressed her  up and fed her breakfast”. I guess it never occurs to her that that is what baby wanted in the first place. She will see mom much later tonight, who will be too tired to play mom, and daddy will be around so mom will not be fun anyway. Or so I think is what is going through baby’s mind.

In between, she had to look for the husband’s grey pair of socks and the strap for the  husband’s laptop case. My job is to remain absolutely silent and nod or smile at the appropriate moment. About thirty-two minutes later, the office assistant pops in to say the boss is looking for her. She jumps from her seat, shuffles the papers she had come to staple together and heads for the door, pulling down her blouse down over her lovely ass (that is the only time I look at her figure) and throws a ‘thank you’ over her shoulder for letting her use my stapler.

For the unmarried but in a relationship, the best times are when there is a popular soccer tournament. “Can I use your stapler? “Mine………. “. She will talk on and on about having her beau over with two of his friends joining just before the match, and how much beer they consume, the loud cheers or groans depending on how the match goes. She will talk of this being the only time that he gets to really eat her food, and then there is the massive lot of dishes to do after the match… until she notices her cell phone, which had been on vibration (how come). She shuffles the papers while shooting to her feet, heads for the door straightening her skirt over her lovely bottom and shoots a thank you over her shoulder.

If you are a patient listener, this can go on until such a time that it becomes some sort of dependence on her part. It is either what is happening at her home, the in-laws, the office politics although I try to discourage this, or just about anything. The opportunity to really talk to someone with no interruptions seems to give some huge of satisfaction on their part.

What is in it for me, you may ask. Aaahh, the overnight meetings arranged by head office to network with the regional heads. I have never understood why these meetings have to take place in big hotels away from head office. The further away, apparently, the better. After the usual morning session, comes tea and pleasant conversations in between, mid morning session to heavy lunch break with much more personal conversation comes next, the afternoon session to tea break and finally the evening session to late dinner with politely naughty conversation all round while most zero in on their respective targets.

After dinner, you know you have been chosen when you are asked to help carry her heavy case to her room, or she calls you to her room to help her open her case for her. She had not noticed the zip was jammed when she packed. If the zip is not jammed, then you know it is an invitation. Or she calls you to help her set jobo bombingup her PowerPoint presentation because the person who should have done the presentation did not turn up today.

Whichever means she gets you there, sooner or later, I will be massaging tired shoulders, next caressing smooth skin all over and desperate sex later. In the morning it is usually: “damn, the soap pieces are so small they will not be enough for both of us.” That is the cue to get up, throw a guilty edged “see you later at the hall” and dashing off to my room to shower and dress.

Should it be more than a one-day seminar, I might get summoned by the single one in a relationship or the married one – depending on who it was last night. Last night’s project usually likes to spend the second night in long conversions with the daughter and or son and husband or if single, in long conversations with the beau. The trick is to know when you are not needed. Until the next time.

That is my version of office affairs. At least what I have encountered in my working life, for the past twenty or so years. Office relationships have led to marriages, breakups or even divorce and I have seen it all.

The worst part is the guilt. It hits you with a force and pain that is too powerful to put into words. The married lady here-in was at some point thrown out by her husband who is now married to a house wife. My pain is that, I am one of the reasons or may be the main cause of the breakup. It hurts. It really hurts. I can only guess what is happening to the former couple, the child(ren) and the families and friends.

Look at the General’s case. PROTUS has lost a very capable Director of the Central Intelligence Agency; I do not even want to go into the respective spouses’ present state of mind. The children, going through school knowing what mommy did with that General. An investigative officer having his credentials questioned because why investigate in the first place? The general public is even at some point going to question the Feds’ invasion of their privacy. All this because of an office affair. It really is not worth the few minutes of fun.

I have done many bad things in my life and deep down I am very sorry for what I have done and also learnt a bitter lesson: no office romance or relationships and certainly, keep away from people in relationships or married ones. They still come for the stapler but I have learnt to ignore them and concentrate on paperwork on the desk, non-existent texts, or my screen top – even if it is a computer game. It is painful but then hey, it is better for both of us in the end.

By Mahe Goat – Guest Writer

Depreciating Assets

As a person, I am of the preference of not dating someone I have known for less than a year. No, it is not that I am a member of the ‘play-hard-to-get’ club – let’s face it, you just can’t fake some things, but I digress. I am just a person who believes that humans, unlike buildings, tend to be more of depreciating assets. The value of the first impression they give you is slowly eroded by the effect of time. Therefore, I feel the importance of moving the car beyond the showroom and checking out its performance on the road for a while.

I am sure we all know this story, we have been through it countless number of times, and we identify with it. When we first meet people, the first couple of months are simply magical. They seem to get an A in everything. The guy calls often, texts every morning and evening. He seems to remember everything about you that you say. For those initial moments you seem to be the most important person to him. He is also very committed to making things work, he does all the possible things he has heard from church, read from books or been advised to do. He is a picture of perfection; you can’t seem to find anything wrong. The lady too is a lovely being, she is oh so sweet, says all the right things at the right time, her looks are nearly almost always perfect, she is not the pushy one or the one who drives you insane…you feel like you have landed gold.

cartoonstock.comTime passes and the story becomes interesting…rather more dramatic. The dude starts to strain to call you, text you and even meet you. He used to have time to meet you or would make it but as time goes by, eh things get thick and he can’t manage to meet you for one or two reasons. Then…wait for it…the sweet Eve begins to lash out at Adam. Oops…the perfect mirror breaks, the illusion begins to fall apart. The Adam you once trusted becomes a disappointment, they become the reason you are frustrated half the time, and the reality of the fakeness of it comes. You begin to wonder why you liked this Eve and when she picked up the talent of pissing you off every so often. Her once clean slate now has oily sticky smudges that cannot go away. There begins the rising of temperatures, the complaints escalating, each one trying hard to get back the illusion version that they had liked so much. Sadly, the illusion will never resurrect…it was just a fallacy.

However, even in all the dissolution, there are rays of hope. You still remain because there are still some burning splints that keep you there. Even in the mess of it all, you notice that he is still a kind man; he apologizes for his errors and tries to make up for it. He still cares about you and panics when ‘criminal groups’ are prowling the town and you are within Moi Avenue. He is still protective of you. He remembers the details of your life like you told him yesterday. She, on the other hand is caring;she is the one who helps you look for that job, attends your gigs, she even helps set up and set down, and she is your fan. She finds a way to help you out when you are stuck and doesn’t mind that you are a ‘sufferer’. She is still a great listener, and if you’ve pissed her off, you learn to give her a little time.

The great lesson of it all is simply that character is consistent; it is the consistency of choices made by a person, the ability to sustain a certain mode of operation. The things that are truly in a person’s nature remain evident even when other things fall apart. The things they were doing to impress you begin to suffer failure as they were not their true character. It is at this point that you begin to ask if you can survive them. You begin to understand how to deal with their incredible mood swings. You begin to learn to be on time – if you are dating people like me who strive to keep time and look like a red boiling tomato when someone is late J, I won’t lie – patience is not Fearless Nazirite’s strong attribute. You begin to alter some things in your relationship to suit the present human.

I guess we really are like catime_will_tellrs. Every single car depreciates once it’s off the showroom. The difference in a good one and a bad one is its general performance on the road, even with its evident failures when compared to others. It the same way humans are once they are off the grace period. In much the same way, some people afford Bentleys and others afford Toyotas. I can stand perfectionists and moody characters, heck I have lived with them all my life, I am a bright personality, and it’s difficult to keep me pissed. Their moods may irritate me, but it’s not too big an issue, I will still laugh and have fun with my moody people rather effortlessly. My roomie on the other hand cannot stand a moody person J. I find it hard to romantically cope with a talkative person (even though I am such a story teller) – I like my men reserved and predictable, a sense of solitude in them. Now give such a man to my roomie, eer…she may not make it. She is quite the solitude solace herself… In the end, the perfect picture may have depreciated, the illusions fallen apart, but you need to know that their bad breath will not kill you, hence my preference for taking my one year getting to know the real person behind the effort. I want to know I like what is there when you are just being you. I need to know a man’s bad breath shall not kill me …then I can wake up next to him and know I shall surely not die…

By Fearless Nazirite – Guest Writer

Angel, where are you?

I am forty-four years of age, with a good job having risen from an office assistant to the regional administrator, an old system sixth form drop-out. I am the first born in a family of six siblings all whom have ‘settled’. I am single and unattached, with no children of my own.

I am here today because I need help from you ladies and gentlemen of this site. I want to love and be loved in return. So, no fancy English or clichés; I will say it as it is therefore buckle up for it is going to be a bumpy ride.

I have had about ten relationships since I turned eighteen but all have ended, some acrimoniously, but most by mutual agreement and consent. In that regard, I have written down the main reasons that, in my opinion, led to the parting of ways and hope that out there somewhere, there could be an angel who meets the character traits that I am looking for.

Hair. Yes ladies. Hair. I hate those, may I call them things, which women put on over their hair. Nothing disgusts me more than a woman patting her head trying to reach an itch under the “thing.”

Scent. I have a very sensitive nose. Body odor, certain sprays, perfume, roll on, et al drive me right up the wall if not to my liking. Many are the occasions I have had to send underlings home to have a bath and change the perfume they are wearing for I simply could not work. It at some point even became an excuse for the women who wanted a morning or afternoon off to look up and put on a spray that they would know I would not like.

Music. I have a weakness for Michael Joseph Jackson and music of the eighties and early nineties. I can stand only a few local musicians like Czars, the Boomba train kid, E-Sir (RIP) and Kikuyu artists who did their thing in the sixties and early seventies. The result is that if you play any other music in my presence, I become restless and will most probably let off steam in a manner that might offend one.

FM stations. If it is not Classic105, Kiss100, EasyFM or BBC World Service, do not switch on the radio in my presence. I hate those local tribal FM stations with a passion. Many a time I have walked out at home, even back in the village for these are the main stations played.

I love action movies and legal series. I mean those with few if any mushy mushy scenes. Examples are 24, Suits, Strike Back, Boston Legal, 007 and so on. While other men go out and drink or do drugs for entertainment or simply as a way to relax, I put these on and can watch them all night or a whole weekend.

Dress code. I am very open with that. Wear anything you feel comfortable in, just not that stocking on the head. At least not in public and please, change night dresses once a year. What drives me crazy is a lovely woman going to the shop early in the morning to buy breakfast items wearing a stocking over her thing over her hair and a tattered nightdress.

Children. I do not want children of my own. However, I can play daddy for your daughter with ease. During the days of wars by a known and ‘banned criminal organization’ in Kirinyaga, one old man advised me not to join a group that was then a white-collar arm of the local organization. This saved me from being delivered to the “Hague” like the rest of them. He passed away later but before he did, he used to entrust his young daughter to me.

I soon discovered I like playing daddy where she was concerned. Babie, a delightful sixteen year girl is now so dear to me that I can kill for her. Babie’s mom and I had a brief affair but it did not work out although on discovering my entrusted relationship with Babie, she lets me visit and allows Babie to visit during holidays, mid-term breaks and I am also registered as her step father at her school.

Status. I do not mind your level of education or how much you make every month. I am also a spend thrift so I feel that we should have a joint account where all my income goes into and I feel that for our future’s sake, you ought to strictly control every shilling spent.

Meals. A decent meal once a day is all I ask for.

Figure. Again I do not mind but if you look like Rihanna, slender, small breasts, long legs, the better.

So, that’s me. However, to get some sort of balance, I did call up some of my past enamors and asked them what in their respective opinion was the good and the bad in me that led to our parting ways.

The good. The entire lot of them loved my dress code although old fashioned. Always in neatly pressed suits and especially shirts. Always in highly polished leather shoes no matter how old they were.

Ambition. Most gave me credit for having a highly ambitious mind especially where my job is concerned.

One at a time. I did not have another relationship while having one with each one. I never two-timed and always concentrated on one woman at a time. I also seemed to genuinely like children especially the girls but would go to any length to prevent having children of my own.

I do not drink, smoke, or do drugs. I did do cannabis sativa in the late eighties but this was because I repeated in a bush high school where this was compulsory.

The sex. The fact that I have a fetish for going down on my enamors is what came out clearly from all; I also love caressing and messaging women skin. It is so soft and delightful to touch. This seems to be the major thing they miss in their respective relationships after we parted ways. Otherwise I am just an average one-round-per-night-then-roll-over-and-sleep-in-a-snoring-fit-bloke to paraphrase Ms. Mutoko where matters sex are concerned.

The bad. They all accused me of being a snob. This came out in my choice of music and television stations. I cannot stand Naija movies, tribal FM stations, the Royal Media Group stations, Mexican and Asian soaps and the likes. The worst part was that I would develop an instant dislike for people who professed to enjoy the stations and therefore the snob tag.

Again, in as far as snobbery is concerned, I seem to be the only person each lady knew that did not like being at home – back in the village or ‘gichagi’ as is known in Kenya. Most would question me closely and it turns out as young boy, I never got over moving from town to gichagi. I therefore developed a disliking for anything ‘gichagi’ including the people and their respective habits and characteristics. The result is that I do not even have a cube or house in my father’s homestead.

Moody. I was accused of being a loner. So close yet so distant and would often disappear into myself and my movies. Any time I put on 24 or any action movie or television series, the lady would immediately know that I was no longer in the house – physical presence notwithstanding.

Spendthrift. I have very little power in holding and investing my hard-earned cash. A very impulsive spender was another recurring accusation.

Children. Nobody seems to understand the reason why I do not want to have children of my own yet I seem to be so good with children, even to the extent of being a very good step-father.

The general dislike involved being a workaholic or using my job as an excuse to a function where I was not having fun. Many a day I would leave the house or home on the pretext that I was going to work even on Sundays, public holidays or during family get together functions.

My relationship with God does not also seem to come out clearly. I cannot stand local but like American and British Gospel music. I even bought a Women of Faith VCD once. I also cannot stand local preachers but I remember having fun listening to a Briton Reverend who visited our local Anglican Church. I also attend church when my step-daughter asks me to accompany her. The rest of the time I simply cannot be bothered. It is usually so boring and I find myself looking at the women and the dress code for the men.

There you have it. That is Mahe Goat for you. Do not feel constrained to comment. Let me have it all and if there is someone out there who can stand me, give me a call and I will promise heaven.

By Mahe Goat – Guest Writer


Me and Mine

A while back, I posted a comment on Project 44. I did not expect to get a follow-up e-mail but I did! It read like this;  ‘…And now that you are praying for a wife, maybe you can be a guest writer on our blog and tell us what exactly Adams are looking for in Eves?..’ After a hearty laughter, I became worried! I had this morbid fear that she was (knowingly or unknowingly) partaking something stronger than the ARVs and formalin that ‘spice’ our little treats. Then I thought, what the heck! I might as well have a go at it. And in doing so, I’ll probably have a better look at myself, from a different angle, your angle. I’ll probably get some backlash, something to tantalize my mind, question me, and get those thinking juices flowing. And maybe, just maybe, this is the forum that will facilitate my chancing upon her, that is, assuming that, God indeed purposed me to marry

I have conditions; any self-respecting Adam would (or should). Something to hide behind….

  1. That I speak for no man. I was born alone, live in my skin and might probably have no death-mate.
  2. That I know very little, if anything. Let it be known, that I only came number 1 in class two. That I have never led anything, anything that meant something since then and that even on the said occasion, I was heavily ‘motivated’ by my mother’s slipper.
  3. That if indeed I had knowledge, at 34, I’d already be married and directing the (excess) energy generated in my nether region, into more worthy causes.
  4. That I have made many mistakes in my life, taken wrong turns and what’s even more likely, is that I’ll make many more. This write-up may actually be a ‘mistake’ in its own right.

Deal? Therefore, without further ado, after using so many words to say very little, let ‘us’ get into it.

Man is selfish. You might want it put in a more diplomatic manner, something softer. I say, a cow remains a cow, from whatever angle you look at it. I am selfish, you are selfish, we all are selfish! When we undertake selfless ventures, we do so with some little form of selfishness. Yes! It’s like when we use the phrase ‘giving back to the community’, ‘I have done something noble, something Godly’, it is also to feel good about ourselves. Someone once told me that giving is receiving and my mind interpreted it to mean, ‘anyone expecting something in return for giving, wants more than they have given!’ That cannot be fair! ‘Gerrit’?

Please, before you condemn me as a charlatan, hear me out. Why am I saying this? Being the selfish individual that I am, I want to live a decent life. A life with little pleasures, a long life, a pleasant life. It is in this regard that I’ve always (and might always) needed help. When I was a baby I needed my parents, now that I have pubic hair I need a wife (hopefully, one with pubic hair of her own) and when I grow senile I’ll need my children. All these to help serve a purpose in my (selfish) life. Agreed?

Now, here is the thing. I know that the people I have/will need, are selfish themselves. My parents are selfish, my wife will be selfish and my kids will be selfish too. My parents probably had me (I hope that I was a planned pregnancy) to fit in with their crowd, to feel good that other than buying good clothes and eating good food, they were undertaking a worthy venture, that they were looking out for themselves in their old age. The canes they dished out prove this! They wanted to mold me into what they wanted. ‘Gerrit’?

My wife will be selfish. I hope she is. Any selfless woman would denote a lack of complete DNA, something I don’t want passed on to my offspring. She will want a good life. A life with bills paid, a life with (a lot) of compliments and gifts, a secure and safe life, a warm bed, a life where she accomplishes her goals and serves her purpose a comfortable life. For fear of saying something I might pay for later, I’ve put down just but a few of the things the complicated fairer sex might want in their lives. No man has ever understood a woman, I won’t to attempt to be the first.

How then do I choose this woman over the rest? How do I pick out one (not that I have any to pick from, it sounded good to say it though!) and marry her selfish needs to my own?  WISDOM! No?

Where do you get wisdom? In my quest for wisdom, I’ve read books, many books, from Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves to some book I’d not want to remember, one that our chemistry teacher tried to teach us from; from erotica (hehehe this one always has made my heart beating a little faster and trousers a little tighter) to cook books. I have interacted with a lot of people; from Wangui, who led me through a roller-coaster of emotions in my pre-teen years to Soldier, who just won’t let me pass through the gate in peace. From prostitutes to priests……

I have come to the conclusion that Wisdom can only be gotten from God. That it is a gift He bestows on whom He wills. That any other purported source of wisdom is questionable. That I can try to imitate the things done by (purported) wise men in any given situation but will only come to the realization that, it might have worked out for them, given their circumstances which may have been way different from mine. That, it’s only in obeying God’s word and getting down on my knees, seeking His will. (For praying without first doing what God tells you to do, may be an exercise in futility and I don’t want to try finding that out).

In the beginning was the Word, the Word was with God and the Word was God. The Bible has been a good ‘guide’ in many aspects of my life. It would have been, for ALL aspects but then, and like I said earlier, I’ve made foolish decisions in life. It has something even for someone seeking a wife!

This is what I pray for, this is what I think this Adam is looking for in an Eve: I want a (short) woman, who is always on her knees, seeking God and the wisdom that comes from Him!

That will be a marriage of (selfish) wants and needs, in a wise way. A common purpose. For the rest of our lives.

By Guestwriter

PS: If there be any such woman out there, please get in touch

The Path We Deviated From

Somewhere along the way, most deviated from the path. Lost direction. Turned priorities upside down. Began paying attention to irrelevant statistics, appearances and wealth. We locked personality and character out. We flushed simplicity and character down the drain. It’s all gone now. We are without direction.

A guy who drives a Range Rover Sport, wears Hugo Boss suits and lives in a leafy suburb, can rest assured of a lady of his dreams and ‘marriage’. A lady with a pretty face , delicately rounded body- 34-24-36- is not short of suitors. Bachelors seeking high political and corporate offices are frowned upon. My point: As days go by we are slowly losing the point of marriage. Partner suitability is now based on wealth, appearances and other irrelevant factors hence the increasing divorce rates.

Marriage should know, no matter what a crappy day one had, when you get home and look into each others eyes, you have a reason to smile. Marriage should not imprison individual’s dreams and aspirations but rather it should lend an extra hand to achieve dreams. It should not involve sacrificing passions, ambitions and lifestyles. It should add to self care. Tighten the grip to what one holds dear.

Marriage should not be an end to adventure and exploration. It should create new experiences. New experiences and adventure. Procreation is not the sole purpose of marriage. It should be a plus. A cherry on the cake. Marriage should be an icing on the cake. The cake of companionship and partnership. It should not be settling down. It should be a continuation of the lives of individuals with a little more spice.

Marriage should not necessarily be a stage in life. It should not be a rite of passage. It should be an option. A choice. Without coercion. So should suitable partners. Marriage purpose is union of hearts not fusion of groins. It should not be based on status or appearances but on compatibility.

Marriage should not be a ‘life sentence’ curtailing freedom. It should instead be a measure of how strong two free souls can be. It should not be a one man’s show financially, it hinders development. It should be a team effort. Willing team effort. Individuals’ families should not dictate on marriage. Theirs is to watch from the sidelines. Spectators. Pasts should remain in the past. Only the present should determine the future.

Marriage should be sincera (sincere). With clear eyes and a clear heart. It should bring happiness, joy, life and strength. Unfortunately, it mostly brings unhappiness, insincerity, stress and death.

However, life always offers us chances. A chance to redeem ourselves. A chance to get back to the path we deviated from.

Sound track: Afro- Les Wanyika.  (Heard this song today morning, it doesn’t get better)

By isincera – Guest Writer

Read isincera’s blog at


For bread lovers, it is a joy to eat the wholesome pieces of baked flour. The connoisseurs will know their types of bread: rye, breadstick, loaves, naan, brown, white, sourdough, etc; the varieties are many. What many bread eaters and lovers will not mention are breadcrumbs. Yes, breadcrumbs will only be mentioned in reference to when they cover a succulent piece of meat, fish or other dish. In essence, the breadcrumbs are mostly neither here nor there.

Some of you might wonder what bread has to do with Eve and Adam and I might be tempted to say, “a lot”. I was in a relationship for two years, give or take, because actually in hindsight, I can no longer say when the relationship started – I can only (vividly) recall when it was no more. Now, I am probably partly to blame for not sticking up for myself more, demanding more for myself, etc but I want to look at the log in the other eye and ignore the speck in mine. Truth be told, I am not a great fan of bread, especially not white bread but I can recognize a good loaf when I see one. It just so happens that in this relationship, the bread-knife was see-sawing on the loaf and instead of getting wholesome slices, I was getting crumbs. I will admit that I put up with the crumbs, until the day I woke up and realized that there was no loaf, just dried remnants.

To make a long story short, this was a long distance relationship; we were introduced by a mutual friend and as life would have it, we ended up having to be miles away from each other. As it goes with these sorts of relationships, a lot of effort goes into keeping the relationship afloat, given the distance and time spent apart. Since you’re only hearing my side of the story and may not have the benefit of listening to his side of the story, you will just have to believe me when I say that I put my all into it – I was knee deep in those boots, working it away with more hope than assurance that this was all worth it. In hindsight, I was getting breadcrumbs: all I got from my ‘virtual-half’ were emails, chat messages or text messages and very little human interaction. A lot of words were said but there was little action to show I was in a relationship with a real flesh and blood Adam. The online communication was safe and although a lot of time was committed to it, it was just that – time. If he knew what he wanted from the relationship, he would have done more – we would have done more. Instead it was lazy, convenient communication throughout and in the end, it just didn’t do it. I realized this after many, many moons had passed.

Some of us are in relationships where we are getting breadcrumbs instead of enjoying the bread that we deserve. Now, many might ask how we can tell if we are enjoying the loaf or all we are seeing are breadcrumbs. Well, I guess relationships are different and maybe you might have to put up with breadcrumbs for a while. What is unacceptable is prolonged spells of breadcrumbs. Here are a few that come to my mind when I think of breadcrumbs and relationships.

When the person you are romantically linked with is finding time to spend with everyone else and their cat and little quality time with you, that is breadcrumb time. This is especially when he or she is spending such time with ‘just friends’ of the opposite sex.

Breadcrumbs is when you are dating someone who is emotionally unavailable – yes, you will definitely be on the receiving end of the crumbs if s/he is married or already with someone else or if his only way of expressing his (her?) emotions to you is between the sheets. Now, it takes some time and wisdom to learn to detect emotionally unavailable people but sometimes it is just staring you in the face and you’re just making excuses for him or her.

Breadcrumbs is when a significant other tells you stuff but you do not feel it; for example, s/he tells you that you mean a lot to her/him, she/he loves you etc.  but to you, they are just mere words because there are no actions to back up those words.  Ever heard of that song by Extreme, More Than Words?

Breadcrumbs is when there is a lot of attention showered on you once in a blue moon. You are dating someone, they treat you so well but it is so sporadic, more like throwing something at you to keep you around longer.

Breadcrumbs is when the person you’re dating cannot let go of his or her ex – remember when Project 44 wrote about the smoldering embers? Enough said!

Respect is a fundamental element in the sanity of any relationship and when you’re getting less than the respect you deserve in a relationship, only crumbs of that relationship are falling on your plate. Now, no one is asking that Adam or Eve lays down a red carpet for each other (laying down a carpet of rose petals once in a lifetime will not hurt ;)), simple acts of respect will suffice.

Breadcrumbs is when one party is making 90% of the effort to keep the relationship afloat. I think the writing would be on the wall for such a situation and all the ‘90% party’ has to do is read it. Breadcrumbs is also when you do your part in keep the relationship alive and kicking, but your effort simply doesn’t seem to be appreciated. I think there is a strong link between bread crumbs and signs – you know those vital signs that one ought to be able to read about a relationship.

A healthy relationship is one where two individuals come together to share life but also recognize that they are not joined at the hip and are separate individuals. Breadcrumbs is when one party in the relationship is manipulative, controlling and even unfortunately, abusive.  Actually, this is less than crumbs – it is actually bread dust if there was ever such a thing!

Breadcrumbs are when the Eve or Adam you are with cannot keep their word – inconsistency is almost always a red flag. Sometimes we try to give things a chance, to see whether the flag will flap in a different direction; sometimes we just have to accept that even if the flag flaps in a different direction, it is still a red flag.

Bread can make crumbs, but crumbs make no loaves.

By B.S. – Guest Writer