Saturday, February 21, 2015
Is a man who knows tomorrow’s news
He’s smart, slick and quick with his tongue
His books tell of a curious mind and he likes his full bodied wine
brewed in the folds and valleys that tell stories of Greek Mythology
The author of my tomorrow
Is a golden voiced story teller
He loves the arts and ancient history is his forte
Sheba, Cleopatra and Tutankhamun are names characteristic of his lingua
Telling of Kings and queens now fallen,
Then, names that shook kingdoms
But tomorrow he, the author, will be the King of my kingdom
The author of my tomorrow
Loves to laugh
Deep hearty quirky bursts of deep and dangerous loving
Stories dotted with triumphant boy tales of starry nights in the village
Telling of a past that’s bold enough to desire new memories
Tugging at hearts and revving golden oldies into sheer insanity
Loving, laughing, and lurking underneath, wanton
The author of my Tomorrow
Exists in my dreams and I’ve seen him on the street
But even in unreal reality, His tongue I taste with mine
His eyes; the mirror in which I see every breathing moment
The rise and fall of his chest guides my very breathing…
His hands, guide me to the path of glorious satiety
Me. Him. Us. We.
Tomorrow, Singing hymns of our jagged forever afters
Dreaming new dreams; making new memories….
Sunday, February 1, 2015
The highlight of my weekend was an abrasive young man who offered to buy me a Toyota Vitz.
The gentleman in question was obviously from a very well to do family. On any other day, I wouldn't have known it but he went on and on about his VX, his millions, how he went to the President's former school and, if I agreed to be with him, our children would go to a certain school which was not and can never be a polling station. (No Academies here)
My problem wasn't that he wanted to buy me a vitz, (well maybe a little) it was the realisation that a man needed to launch 'economic warfare' to win over a strangely quiet lady listening to DJ Adrian on a Friday night. He spoke flawless sheng and insisted he didn't have to wear 'Bling' to show that he is a well educated, wealthy young man.
Naturally I was put off, but engaged him just to understand why money had to be such a central part of wooing.
In retrospect, Perhaps I was looking at this late night discussion the wrong way. Perhaps this wasn't even a discussion to be held in the backdrop of DJ Adrian's spinning in a rugby bar. Perhaps we, women of today have made sure that money is central to a conversation about love ... or lust, whichever suits you better.
The conversation, if raising our voices over the glaring music can be referred to as such, surprised me as much as it entertained me . How much really is cash a factor when a man meets a woman, or ( if you were raising placards in Beijing, when a woman meets a man?)
I'm all for comfort and a wealthy life because the Good Book preaches Success. What's wrong with a foreign trip once a year to an exotic location; or shopping on the highstreet with my daughter (sometimes) in tow? But, that a man shoves his millions down my throat
(Not quite literally and a little exaggerated ) isn't the most attractive thing I have encountered recently.
As an unmarried woman.( FYI after 30 you stop being single and start being unmarried)
Nairobi has it's fair share of amazing men, dead beat dads and the usual double dealing wenches (used here in the masculine as I cannot freely use the word I would like to use) all of whom I and many other ladies have encountered, but the choice to stay single makes absolute sense until a boy brought up well comes along. Either that or, I'm told, sometimes wives have teach them to grow up as well.
My young new friend told me 'There are no women made for marriage in Nairobi anymore'. Because all they care is about money and status. I asked him whose fault it was, if his idea of asking a woman out was to share his bank account details.
I've had the same conversation in the past with a young college boy who says he couldn't date a college girl because they're already spoilt by big cars, big money and shopping trips which a regular college boy would not afford.
But how much are we really part of that conversation?
I'm a hard working woman, and I'm told that's a problem; sometimes.
I've heard a story about a lady who sold her Prado and bought a Nissan March in order to 'Repackage herself' for marriage.
Thing is though, boyscand girls are brought up the same way, we go to the same schools, start jobs at the same salaries and grow at the same pace. So why should I be less ambitious? Why did this young man assume I didn't have a car (read Vitz) and getting me one would be the beginning of a beautiful courtship?
Questions about money can never be conclusively addressed, and I bid him goodbye, however, I was plesantly surprised when he asked to walk me out.
I didn't drive out in a Vitz.
In other news; The Oreo is an incredible thing, but that's a story for another day.