The highs and lows of being a tall man

Is it just me, or are matatus designed by short sadists out to revenge on the tall and big-bodied?  

For how long must we, tall and well-fed people, suffer before the government intervenes? I am sick and tired of this callous insensitivity to our peculiar frames.

And speaking of tall people. I am tall. As tall as they come. Towering is the word, with tall perks to boot.

For instance, all women whether in Isibania or Istanbul   will always pick a tall dude over one who is slightly taller than the simiti on the floor.

Tall men scarcely have confidence issues. We are cool.

Women prefer tall men (and who are dark like Michael Power) with the assumption that all of us are, well endowed… where it matters!

Of course the truth will be shy of their expectations, but who cares? Biologically, we are better in the Darwinian sense and if women had one wish to  God, it would be He supplies more cool and tall men.  

Tall men are respected. Especially, if they exude that cool demeanour. Security guards are more respectful towards us, more so, if we are well dressed. In the past, we were entrusted with leadership duties, more out of our ability to intimidate than leadership skills in politics and the military. Works all the time: All American Presidents-Obama included - have been tall except, is it four?

 President Uhuru Kenyatta is tall. So was retired President Moi, with Kibaki being the exception to the rule.

 In dark alleys of Nairobi, thugs will think twice before roughly massaging the long neck up there.  We are also presumed ‘loaded like a gun.’

Indeed, the number of times the bills is sent my way, even when I am the one on the ‘broke side of life’, is startling. Ladies, naturally assume that tall men are invariably well heeled. Except of course those I have disappointed. Scientifically, it has been proven that tall people have a higher IQ and you’re free to conduct your own survey and share the findings. 

Merciful awkwardness

And that is where the party ends for “tall buggers.’ Beyond here, the number of times I am asked how tall I am is appalling. I often retort ‘where?’ to a good chuckle. Again, works all the time. I can’t hug shorter women without some regrettable and merciful awkwardness. At any photo moment, I am asked to lie across in the front or stand at the back.

 I had to order a special bed that is more than six feet.

Even bathtubs in five-star hotels are more or less made with fiver-footers in mind.  There are hardly enough long-sleeved shirts to fit my elongated arms. And there is the repugnant expectation that I am good in sports, more so basketball. For the record, I have never played any physical game besides running away from tear canisters during riots. And yeah, eating is a very physical exercise for me. Presently, the aforesaid matatu seats that cannot even fit toddlers are driving me nuts. Yet they expect an adult with a chin as hard as a buffalo hide to fit there.

Even airplanes no longer care for their taller passengers.  

Last thing, though, here is to hope nobody asks me ‘how the weather is up there?’ from today, moving forward. I will turn their face into Ketchup.   That question is so  September  1990.

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@nyanchwani