The non-complex 90s girls

In the 90s, our girls appreciated almost meaningless presents that, at face value, seemed insignificant. [iStockphoto]

The girls of the 90s were not complicated in all aspects of life. They could adapt to anything, at any moment, without making a mountain out of a molehill— a stark contrast to the current generation, commonly referred to as Gen Z.

In the 90s, our girls appreciated almost meaningless presents that, at face value, seemed insignificant. Simple gifts were enough to make them pledge love and loyalty; they never attached love to material things.

During an evening stroll, a pack of chewing gum—mainly Big-G—was enough to marinate the walk of love. Another treat, Goody Goody, a slender chewing gum, served as a perfect token. A well-written letter was considered a treasure, and the sweet nothings written within were kept in safe custody.

Back then, women didn’t make a fuss over small gifts. There were no cell phones to buy for them, no airtime or mobile data to purchase, and none of the incessant complaints about running out of gas.

Girls rarely had their own houses, nor did they rent away from their parents' homes—it was unheard of. Such a move would have attracted the wrath of parents and villagers, and even involved the chief for disciplinary action.

Some of the gifts we gave our women then seem ridiculous by today’s standards: a set of three-colored petticoats from a local dressmaker, or plastic shoes, which were seen as magnificent gifts. Upon receiving these gifts, the girls truly expressed their love in the wildest ways. Beauty products were affordable, but not as varied as they are today.

Hair products, for example, were considered luxuries for the wealthy. A simple iron comb and milking jelly were enough to spruce up their hair, while the rich bought Hair Glo, the best product at the time.

By extension, we had very affordable love that did not break our pockets. It was love that didn’t leave us scratching our heads, especially in the village. The girls of the 90s walked long distances. They could dwarf wildebeests in terms of endurance, traversing terrains to reach us. Today, Uber and taxis rake in a fortune transporting them to boys' houses or entertainment joints.

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Compared to the current generation of women, we had the best of times. My friend, Robert Biu, from the village of Ndeiya in Limuru, told me that courting a girl these days is a pocket-denting venture.

“We buy so much to prove our love,” Biu said. “We take them on tours, buy things we don’t even buy for ourselves. They don’t take tea in ordinary hotels—they want cappuccino and espresso. They want goat ribs washed down with exquisite wine and whiskey.”

Biu lamented how love has become tied to cash and material possessions. He noted that many beautiful women, even those without jobs, have made begging a full-time endeavor. “If it's not gas that has run out, it’s her Wi-Fi that needs topping up. If it’s not electricity tokens, she’s out of data or airtime, and 2K urgently, all paid for by the boyfriend,” Biu added.

I told Biu how easy things were back in our day. We would take our girls to the hilly sides of Ndeiya to watch the sun sink into the horizon with nothing more than a hard, small cake called kangumu, which cost five shillings.

“Nothing oiled the wheels of love like gnawing kangumu after trekking for kilometers while enjoying each other’s company. At the end of the day, a cup of tea at a smoky, ordinary hotel accompanied by a piece of mandazi was enough,” I said.

This simple act left our love interests drooling and eagerly awaiting the next Sunday outing for a similar treat.

My then love was no exception. She was not complicated. I used to take her to Mai Mahiu Road, and there was no need to catch a matatu. Walking through the panya routes, watching truckers navigate the tricky road, was romantic in itself.

Today, as the saying goes, "There is no romance without finance." Love has become completely monetized.