MASKETI

“One thing is for sure, utaumia!”
That’s the line that recites itself in my mind each time I behold a lady of a certain calibre. I don’t know where I got it from, but I can promise you, with how much unseen activity goes on in my head, that production was an inevitable one. I like to believe I’m a critical thinker, and this blog is the hatchling of one of the thoughts that have been incubating ever since my brain grew a beard before my chin.

These are philosophies of my own making; The Philosophy of Skirts – so read with discretion yet an open mind, or not. It’s about time they distilled into ink. This is a rare blog because I got the title before I wrote the story. Masketi, which is slang Swahili for many skirts - sounded exhilarating in my head when I was thinking about what to call girls besides the normal terms like chics and chillez. I knew I wanted to write about girls and how their casting role in a young male adult like me cannot be wished away. It's the number of times boys tell each other, "Wasichana watakumaliza." It's how you go to town and you understand why they say, "Shauri yako kama ulioa mapema." Thus, this blog endeavors to show fellow young men my truth behind - not under - these skirts that have us lose our minds every waking day. How to break free from the mental shackles of every flailing skirt that twerks by - to sieve them and behold what's truly gracious.

And therefore,

LONG BLOG ALERT.

Better grab a croissant, this is about to be some good tea.

So mjango, what is beauty? The currency of the social world, clearly. It lies in the eyes of the beholder – but you must agree with me, and as you might see by the end of this piece, there’s a textbook version of it that this world has idolized. And ladies and gentlemen, I’m the vigilante who is going to hang its head on a stick.

I had secured my spot by the window in the middle of the shuttle when she passed outside the first time. She is the kind of girls you will not fail to notice for reasons soon to be revealed. Eventually, when she boarded, she sat next to me, maybe because that was the better seat left among the empty ones.

“What’s my love language? My love language is money,” was the first thing she said after warming up to me over small talk and my charming smile. How that small talk went from “This is your first time in this route it seems,” to the strength of uji power, over to “Want some Oreos?” and finally to love languages – I cannot fully account. Perhaps that goes on to prove once again that I have a charm that makes people open up.

“Money you say,” as I picked one piece of the offered Oreo, said a prayer under my breath, and partook with the friendliness I was determined to show.

“Kenyan men kwanza is a no. Dollars only.”

I was busy exclaiming in humor, partly to encourage her to say more and partly to hide the sulk feeling of being tagged together with over 20 million fellow Kenyan men. Suddenly, the energy changed, or did it just bud as it soon was to? The energy was screaming: ‘High maintenance!’

“But why? Kenyan men are God’s gift to female-kind.”
She snorted, “Kenyan men are just... In fact, African men. If it’s African, maybe West African, but one who deals in dollars.”

“Hupendi sura ya Kenyatta nini?”

“Lol! Being a dollar millionaire is different from being a shilling millionaire. Huge difference.”

“Fair enough, but why the premium on money? What happened to prioritizing a man who treats you right?”

“You can still have a man who has money and treats you right. In fact, men without money are the ones who develop your character massively.”

“Who hurt you?”

“Wueh! Wacha tu! I’d rather be hurt by someone who has money. Either way, being treated right is important, but someone who has money has the means to treat you right. Broke guys are full of sweet nothings na makasiriko.”

“Lugha muhimu!” I was speaking for myself and 10 million others. “You can have that man with dollars and be bored to hell. Money doesn’t translate to personality.”

“Well, he can use that money to express himself. But they are very busy. It’s nice to see them working hard for that money, but he’s likely not to have as much time for you. But at least when I want something, he comes through. I want to be able to say, ‘Babe, my girls and I are going to Watamu,’ and unlike other guys who’d be like, ‘Take care, safe journey,’ he first sends 50K and says, ‘That’s your fare, let me know what else you need.’”

I was still stuck there at take care, safe journey.

“Of course I get it. And I am not downplaying how important money is. Every girl loves baby girl treatment, and I’m sure it’s every man’s dream to offer that. But what men don’t like, and I hope you will understand this, is ladies who place a premium on that. Like, it shouldn’t be the money first. It shouldn't be that obvious. It’s needful, yes, but should not be what attracts you to me. Because I can tell you, men do know when you’re after money. And interestingly, with you, you’re not subtle about it.”

“Will you eat love in a relationship? Mtakula mapenzi? Love is not all that drives a relationship...”

“I don’t disagree.”

“Love runs out, that’s one thing I’ve come to know. Money helps you to be able to build the goals you both have, and that gives a sense of companionship that fuels things. Because you’re working towards something together. In fact, love thrives where money is.”

By this time, we were burning rubber on the tarmac; we were so engrossed in the conversation, we had forgotten we were strangers a few minutes ago. If not for the stereo playing in the background, everyone would have tuned in to our podcast by force.

“Again, I don’t disagree. In fact, I know too well that love is not enough to sustain a relationship. But my point is, money can’t be the first thing that you like about me. Speaking for all men, unless he has attached his esteem to his money, I’m sure we like to know, as the individual I am, I’ve got something on you. Because, God forbid, imagine something happens and I go from riches to rags, will you still stay?”

A brief pause then, “Yes.”

“You paused first.”

“That’s because I was thinking – that of course I know there are bad days. And if you’ve been with me and treated me right in your riches, we will work together in your low moments. Because it’s not as if I am sitting my ass down waiting to be spoiled by someone. I am a woman on my own, I have a business, and I make my own money. On some days, I want to spoil my man too.”

“You mentioned your boyfriend. I want you to picture him broke right now. Because it’s easy to say things abstractly. Will you still stay?”

She laughed.

“You would like for your daughter to get married to a broke man?”

“Okay, of course nobody would want that. You wouldn’t want your daughter to go and sleep hungry in another man’s house. But you see, that’s not the first thing I’d be looking out for when she comes and says, ‘Dad, this is the one.’ I’d be keen to know his values, his personality, and to genuinely know whether he treats her right.”

“You see, how can she treat her without money?”

“No, by treating her right I mean treating her with respect. You can go to hell with that money for all I care, because of what use will it be when you beat my daughter to death with all your millions?”

Silence.

I sipped my uji power to see if it had cooled down. I hear there’s nothing my generation fears more than hot porridge and running out of data bundles.

“Fair point. But someone who loves you spends on you. I want to go out on dates. Dress up in my skimpy dresses, do my makeup, glow up, and show up. When I say I’m going partying with my girls, my boyfriend pays for our ride and sends money for drinks.”

“You’re a baddie, ain’t you?”

Chuckles, “No lie, I am. When you see my IG, you’ll understand.”

And she was right, I did eventually, and boy oh boy! A virtual trip to thighland indeed, characterized by skin tones like sandy beaches. Who wouldn’t want to wash ashore to that? Or is it a sweet trap I dare to call, Watamu? Face beats and everything fancy. Wherever there was a table, it was decorated with champagne, Martell, and above.

Is she pretty? Yes. She is. She’s the type that would have men panting like dogs. She’s the type that would appear in a room, and all the attention goes to her. She radiates everything high, from heels, to class, to mindset. You don’t need for her to say that money is her love language to know that. Her very presence is expensive by the sight of it. If we were to be taxed for looking at her, some, in fact most, would go bankrupt.

*****

So let’s pause there abit and take you back to when I was a teenager. Because I enrolled myself in a class for these lessons way back, and each waking moment of growing up has me proving them to be true.

One day, I got wind of what some of my peers were saying about me. They had classified what my type was, and I can summarize it as, “My type was the prettiest girl in the room.” Normally, that is characterized by a light skin tone, for starters. So word was, if your skin color was a shade darker, just disqualify yourself before I do. Was I offended? No! Was it true? It was a truth that had started fading away by that time – they just didn’t know it yet. They didn’t know that I had discovered and was working my way out of that thirst trap men so often find themselves in. Changing your true north based on the prettiest thing that passes by.

In a recent blog, I said I was taught that looks matter – I don’t disagree. What that had me do - and the self-worth I had attached to myself - was to set my bar too high in the superficial. I must admit, I have a taste and an eye for good things. My perfectionist nature drives me toward wanting nothing less. And therefore, whatever I behold must measure up to my idea of perfect. However, that can be misleading if it’s coming from a place of pride, like mine was.

I admit it was pride because a time came when I would bluntly ostracize skirts I didn’t deem pretty enough. I mean, I had no reservations or kindness about it. My eyes were locked on the prettiest in the room, and that was it. I remember being in funkies where I was getting so much attention from all colors of God’s creation, and I bulldozed past them. Again, right now I am not even proud to say that. Looking back, the least I know I could have done is just be nice, listen to what they had to say, sit and at least get to know them. And if I really had to go somewhere else, I’d then do so respectfully.

Every opportunity to interact in functions had me following the same script. Gathering conquests and living up to my name. Or at least I thought I did. At some point, I was part of a clique of four where I was the only guy. These girls were adored in their worlds. I? I thought, now this is my class. At the time, I thought they were really my friends. As far as our moments lasted, we had a splendid time. Right about the same time, I happened to be introduced to other skirts by chance – this was fate in action. I paid little attention to them, but anyway, we were acquainted.

Stay with me mjango.

While I was set on the prettiest, I was an advocate for being a gentleman. That meant while others were chasing fleeting sensations on the dancefloor, you’d find me seated outside, chatting up my chosen damsel in otherwise intelligent conversations. They were cherry-picked. Like the grapes used to make wine, it had to be perfect because its destiny was bound for years in a bottle – to appreciate in value the more it stayed corked. Its very existence is the weight of history. It will be a trophy on a wine shelf, to be desired and beheld more than the desire to be drunk.

Friends, today as I stand as an adult, none, and I say none, of those so-called cherries are even in the appendix pages of my phone book. They haven’t been for wine years. They ran stale too quick. They were roses, beautiful from afar, but a sting in waiting at close range. On the flip side, the gentle souls that I said I made little to no effort to befriend somehow experienced a metamorphosis and soon became the butterflies in my stomach. While it may sound a bit tainting to say I wasn’t paying so much attention to them at the start, they have forgiven me for that – because now I have made them know that their testimony in my life is worthier than our beginnings. I was arguing with one of them the other day over the number of years we’ve known each other. We’ve started to lose count.

I decided to apply humility on my eyes from then on, so I’d start looking for a beautiful energy more than I look for a pretty face. I started redefining what beauty really is – past the conventional misguidance of the MTV world. One might argue that I lowered my standards, but I like to think I actually upgraded to a higher state of mind. Beauty does lie in the eyes of the beholder, and I decided I will change how I behold. So now, this is how I behold:

Prettiest in the room
Yea, let’s start with the obvious. This girl is the kind of girl even other girls acknowledge as pretty. Fun fact, girls don’t give each other compliments cheaply unless they are kissing ass. But if you find a girl in the street who complements another, that’s genuine. She’s an alpha – when she walks into the room, all other females bow. I choose to use the word pretty for a reason; in my classification, pretty is more superficial and aesthetic. It’s more of what we see, not perceive. Note my choice of words. She’s considered pretty because while she may be easy on the eyes, her appearance carries a stunning effect. A ‘gaddamn’ effect. Sometimes sexy.

And the thing about them, she knows she's pretty. This is now the game changer because when everyone almost wants to lay down like a carpet so she can walk on top of them, that thing will not go unregistered in her mind. And most of them, not all - take it to their heads. Sometimes they lack a humble effect.

And because of the heightened status they have acquired in the minds of most, people often assume they cannot be single, while some are the loneliest beings more than a koala. Sometimes men who date them don’t believe they can be loyal because of all the attention they get.

Unfortunately, however, the general order for these cinderellas is that their price is too high. Because the higher the demand, the higher the price. This is not to say they don’t have a right to walk with a price tag at the helm of their mini skirts. Go to the highest bidder by all means, babygirl, you deserve it.

And funny thing is, we indeed live in a jungle. I don’t blame them because we men - have had a part to play in the setting of those prices. How? You ask? Because we are all about conquests, and the strongest man wins – every man will be scrambling to flex their muscles.

Fortunately and unfortunately, these days the only worthy muscle is money. You cannot compete with a guy who buys her wigs worth wan andred zousands, takes her out on dinners to JW Marriott and the likes – every weekend, pays her rent not in Roysambu but in Siaya Park apartments in Kileleshwa, pays for her trips around the world so she can have content to vlog because she’s an influencer – she posts for us that she has visited five countries in three days, and she’s too tired to edit the reels so we can see that she had a photoshoot in the Namibian desert, was at a party in Lagos, and there were dollar bills all over the floor no one seemed to care about – they were splashed on the pole dancers, attended an Afronation concert in Portugal where big African artistes performed including our own Sauti Sol, attended a pool party in Ibiza before jetting back to the 254 for Ruger’s concert.

In summary, leave skin care girls alone.

And because I know some of you are already thinking our problem with these pretty girls is just that we cannot afford them. Well, fair point. But I dare to show you that there’s more. Looking for love or friendship shouldn’t feel like a shitting contest or trying too hard. I looked at the amount of time I spent in a gold rush and the results they yielded – I had more dust than gold to show for it. So it’s not for lack of trying, mjango. I just decided I am not going to try too hard to impress, and the moment I perceive that that’s what it will take, I will tap out before the match; it's not worth my time and two cents.

I agree that a man should challenge himself, but only if he deems it worthy. And if it falls on barren ground, then he should be humble enough to let it go. I still challenge myself. I once happened to sit at the same table with a gorgeous girl. The kind every one is fighting to sit next to. Initially, I had paid not much attention to her presence before we happened to sit at the same table. But she came and sat next to me, and the conversation caught fire. I was amazed at how brilliant and self-aware she was. Being a man who deems himself so as well, to say I was impressed is an understatement. She challenged me in so many ways, asking bold questions no one has ever asked me. I remember her saying, “You’re swallowing a lot of saliva,” because I was lost for words to answer her sharp questions. She seemed to be overtaken by my ingenuity as well.

It’s how I thought we had hit things off on a wonderful note. I couldn’t imagine any better way to start a friendship or whatever that was poised to be. Now, of course, there’s a catch. At the start of the conversation, there was banter surrounding if she’d date a man who is not that well off; say, a man who is just in a comfortable position. He can afford y’all a simple nice life, not the extravagant being flaunted out here. She said, of course, what she is mostly keen on is someone who gives her time and attention, and someone who is like-minded. That meant someone who is as brilliant as she is, and they are able to hold mature and intelligent conversations.

And therefore, did we talk about how our fiery conversations needed to happen more often? Yes. Did I catch her saying I should organize or play my part as the man in ensuring we meet again and go out and do all the fun things we realized we had in common? Yes. Did she compliment my looks on her own without compulsion? Yes, a hundred times. Did I, with the much intentionality I have nurtured, take her number and reach out that evening? A definite yes! Did she take hours to reply? A very wicked yes. Was she the same girl who expressed zeal in a like-minded person? A witchcraft yes. And now was she the one who clearly was blue-ticking me as I watched her update her statuses? Oh, burn in hell, yes! Did I think that perhaps she was not a text person, and therefore, I attempted to call her much, much later in an effort to even query our next meet-up? A mourning yes. Did she not pick up? A climaxing yes. Did she not courteously return the call later or text saying, 'Hey, Pole'? A very pregnant yes! Did I proceed to salvage my pride by deleting her number and laugh at the irony of life? An 'Oh God! It's a Leprechaun baby' yes!

And therefore, when I see some of these daughters of Queen Sheba, I know the wisdom of King Solomon is not all that smites them, but equally, the gold beneath his royal seat, the gold underneath his bed, the gold on his ring and neck, and the gold on the belt circling his gracious manhood.

Cute
I’ll make this one simple. Though harder to explain, this is the girl who is quite easy on the eyes. While she may not have anything extremely outstanding, she just looks sweet. Like you would want to cuddle her up, and she would pur like a cat. She has a gentle smile, sparkling eyes, and a soft, approachable vibe. Her features are balanced and natural, giving her an innocent and warm appearance. It’s her subtle, genuine appeal that makes her look irresistibly cute. I’d say, it’s the soft spot between pretty and beautiful.

Beautiful
My brothers and sisters, this is the epitome. The Grand Canyon.
Beautiful is different from pretty. People use the words interchangeably, but I have demarcated them based on or beyond physical appearance. I said pretty is more of what you see, and beautiful? Beautiful is more of what you perceive.

The prettiest girl in the room can be beautiful. The prettiest girl in the room can be cute and all that. The key thing, however, is to perceive the aura and energy. Noting that a beautiful girl, while she may be easy on the eyes, you feel her beauty more in your soul than you do in your eyes. Yes, you can see her, and you like what you see, but you like it more because of what you feel. And what you feel is because of the energy she radiates through her personality and very existence. Her energy is humble and warm; not microwaved water warm, more of cake warm. Ever eaten warm cake? You eat it with your nose before you eat with your mouth.

Most beautiful girls, I will tell you, are not necessarily the prettiest in the room. You might miss them if you don’t look keenly. You can dismiss them if you have prideful eyes. This was the mistake I made with these friends I paid little attention to. It's like beautiful girls have a beauty beyond their face, another angelic face that your eyes can't see but your spirit can.

Once again, even girls know when they see a beautiful girl. Beholding them makes you feel like their loveliness is hugging you in the heart.

You see, even explaining it is hard. That’s why when I behold one, I find myself saying, “There’s just something about you.” You might think it’s her smile, her eyes, her laughter, her voice... While all that could be the ingredients of the sauce, there’s a secret ingredient that cannot be voiced. You taste that sauce, and you can feel every ingredient you can think of, but you can tell there’s one extra thing that’s giving it the kick. You try to taste it again, hoping this time you’ll identify it, but you can’t. You end up having the entire bowl and storming the kitchen to pour in the entire pot.

Have you ever had guys say, “Ni mrembo tu, and that’s it.” In my experience, that’s just a pretty girl. Good-looking, but no kick. And allow me to say, people say beauty fades, but I say, pretty fades, beauty doesn’t. Because a beautiful girl is not so just because of how she looks, but because of... I don’t know. Yea, even I don’t know. But there’s just something about her. Each time you are just going about your business and you behold her, you find yourself saying, “You are just beautiful.” Because it’s not coming from your eyes. Neither is it coming from your balls.

When you think of her, you smile. You constantly admire her for reasons you cannot fully list. You’re happy to just see her and can sit all day just watching. On your video calls, you’re busy taking screenshots of her because you can’t help yourself - you think you'll catch that beauty on freeze and decode it later. Whenever you’re cozy and cuddly, you just want to peck her forehead and cheeks because she feels irresistibly lovely.

Hear this. Recently, we were about to interview an intern virtually in the office. We joined the meeting early and waited for the candidate to join. She did so, and immediately she turned on her camera, something lit in the room. I could see my colleagues’ eyes glow (and she’s a lady, how much more for us, the gents). It was more than the eyes, it was more than the smile, it was more than the way she spoke. It was a humble radiance.

And fun fact, by the way, call it a footnote in my philosophy of skirts. There’s something I call ‘Kienyeji version.' Everyone, now all girls in this case, have a kienyeji version. The rawest version of themselves. Best seen when they’ve just woken up. No makeup, no wig or weave, no eye shadow, no mascara, no lipstick, no eye pencil, no bra – because those hangers have us fooled out here. Just pajamas and matuta. Young man, when you’re drooling over that ‘pretty’ girl, endeavor to one time take a peek at her kienyeji version and ask yourself whether you’ll still love what you see. You know there is what God did, and there is what money can do brothers. I have seen money transform a certain influencer who became famous for interviewing influential people on Youtube. Now she’s tormenting the poor souls with her Instagram OOTD reels, flaunting those lavish, barely-there outfits that have minds wandering into forbidden territory.

Notice that the word 'pretty' over there was in quotes because point is, sometimes they are purely synthetic.

In my observation, a beautiful girl rarely has much to make up for. Her premium is in exuding a decorous aura. She uses humility and simplicity to do that. She doesn’t even try. She just is. She's authentic. She's real.

With this girl, you don’t just love what you see, you love what you perceive. There’s an effortless grace about her, a quiet confidence that draws you in beyond the surface. It’s as if her beauty is an extension of her soul, resonating in every gesture and glance. That’s the essence of true beauty: it’s felt, not just seen, a silent invitation to look deeper and discover more than meets the eye.

Tems, the artiste, is a perfect example – her magnetic presence and understated elegance embody this kind of genuine beauty that transcends superficiality.

Masketi Chapter 91 Verse 1

Songs of Mjango: The Philosophy of Skirts

He who dwells in the secret camp of the beautiful, shall abide under the skirts of eternal admiration and lovely reverence. Oh Lord, I want - to be among the number.