By Tony Masikonde
Whoever lied to Kenyan women that an intimate relationship should only take them to the altar and to the bank; and that if it takes them to the kitchen and to bed, then they should say no to slavery, did them a huge disservice. As far as I am concerned, if you can’t cook and you are pathetic in bed, I have no business ‘wifing’. I also refuse to pay for substandard ‘services’”.
This was a post uploaded on one of the social networking sites by Brayo, he of a certain insurance firm. These are the guys who sell you a product that has your death factored in.
I knew Brayo was having ‘internal turmoil’, read flirting with the idea of breaking his relationship with his long-time partner Paula. Their relationship has gone from bad to worse in the last couple of years for just one thing.
GETTING MARRIED
Paula’s friends from college have been getting married one after the other. From the band of happy go girls that ruled entertainment spots, all the girls have been ‘wifed’.
Despite being single, Paula now has to calibrate her social habits alongside married women. ‘Well… what is wrong with that?’ one may ask. There is absolutely no hanky panky in that. But the problem is, every time she goes for those coffee dates with her pals, they talk about children and stuff married women would ordinarily focus on.
This now leaves Paula feeling like an orphan. Brayo had noticed that every time she is with the girls, she comes home brooding like an annoyed peacock.
On the eve of Labour Day, Paula went out with the ‘girls’…that is what they still insist on calling themselves.
Brayo, as usual, was catching pints at Nairobi West with the boys. Then the phone call came at around 11am. On the other end was Paula sobbing uncontrollably.
“Sweetie, what is the problem?” asked Brayo thinking that her menstrual cramps had gotten the better of her.
“How long shall I wait, Brian? How long? Huh?” Brayo’s phone is one of those cheap oriental imports, so the entire table could overhear the discussion.
“Baby, we are winding up; as I told you I was meeting a potential client,” Brayo attempted to placate her.
“You can even talk to Tony he is here, shall I give him the phone?” “No! You are such an idiot Brian.”
Now that got us startled. “What have I done now? I had mentioned to you that I will have a late evening,” Brayo attempted to defend himself.
“That is not the issue,” came a curt reply.
MUMBLED
“Do you think my life is one long DVD movie you can keep posing at every opportunity?”
Brayo can be daft indeed. By this time, he had not put two and two together. He had the temerity of asking, “What is it now, honey?” That question elicited another round of weeping from the other end.
“I want a baby!” Brayo’s eyes widened up; you would have thought someone had thrusted a hot crow bar in a very bad place in his body. “Can’t you see that you moron,” the admonishing continued.
Realising that Brayo was ill-prepared to handle the situation, I offered to broker peace reached for the phone.
“Can’t you advise your friend if indeed you are a true friend or you are only friends when it comes to drinking?” Paula asked me.
“I will talk to him,” I mumbled. “I promise…” Then she hang up.
The next thing I saw was that update on Brayo’s social page.
