He says he is done with women. Not that now he has changed his orientation, if you get what I mean. But he’s fed up with relating with women. He has seen the best of hell through one woman. So no more skirts for him. Period.
I have never taken myself seriously when I say that I am done with ladies. Like, it’s time to focus on the self because girls having taken that space leave a mess like a dog left starved in your bedroom for days. That’s because I know myself as a man and women are the reason we are called men. Otherwise we’d be a world of human beings who have nuts in our pants and we’d just be called people, not men. I’ll always sneak back to the feminine world and dare to ‘kidnap’ one young las plucking flowers in a vast springfield.
Typically because I want to feel like a man. I want to be the man. Other men cannot call you the man just by flexing your muscles. They’re not turned on by that. You’re the man when they see you carry on your shoulder a damsel you have hunted using your wits and strength. The bigger the game meat, the bigger the respect. And all men want respect.
Since I learnt that, every mjango who’d tell me they’re done with women, I’d say bullshit. Like this brother of mine from another mother. We have been hunting buddies for a good period of time in our youth. We have helped each other bag big game meat in the Mara of campus. We met when we were decorated hunters of what we considered as the most expensive hunt we had ever made. (Little did we know we hadn’t seen the best of the Savannah yet.) So there we were, like two generals who had met in a bar. Talking about the war we went through in the different arena of our lives to get the loves we had at the time. We poured more beer when we unsheathed the joy and compatibility we realised in our loves.
Life is funny though. We lost our prideful possessions at the same time – to the eventualities of life. Let’s just say a pandemic that affects relationships swept over the earth that season from around August 2018. Our games began behaving untamable like they yearned for the wild again. We let them go. We believed in our efforts to get even greater game meat.
The day came when I saw him mark his target in the wild again. It would be a good score for any man, even me, no lie. But that was his target. He was about to earn my respect again. I was present when he sported her. Having earned the title of General amongst men means sometimes, game meat will hunt for you, not you hunting for them. He’d not adore those like he would the type that he chased down a rabbit hole.
This particular one refused to leave the rabbit hole for long. Like the bloodhound he is, his zeal and hunger grew even greater because nothing tastes better than a hard earned hunt. I told him she was worth the struggle. So fetch brother, fetch.
That must have been late in 2019 towards early 2020. She would pay him a visit from time to time and it was adorable to see. It was easy to conclude that at that rate, the score was near but fact was the game was far from over. I saw the way he’d walk through the night clad in a shining armour of bravery to escort her back to her house or run favours for her. He openly waged war with the rain, prominent in this Western region to do whatsoever her highness pleased.
I remember a day she spent the night and I did most of the cooking. The silent rule was, brother, concentrate on entertaining her majesty, don’t worry about cooking. She’s our guest, but your trophy and yours alone. He had done the same for me. I was more motivated because as a brother, I had approved of her personality. You see, mwanamke tabia, shepu ni majaliwa. We were way beyond the sole shepu consideration.
Have you ever waited for the team you support to score a goal? That one goal that one time France needed to win the World Cup? That’s how I waited for his goal. Like it was mine. One day he came back to the house after dark had crawled in with what I didn’t immediately read as a long face. I thought, finally, the shot was made today.
“Amesema yeye story za relationship hawezi sahi.”
An emergency committee meeting was convened to discuss that statement. The thing was that she had residues of her previous engagements to deal with. But she was backing the horse with a tag written, ‘But we can still be friends.’ I saw the poor general rip off the stars on his chest and retire to bed.
He closed that chapter and closed it for good.
Now a pandemic that struck the real world caved in. I’d ask for a status report from time to time while we were home and he’d talk about the greener pastures he had discovered. He was wreaking havoc in the Eastern side of the Savannah with Thor’s hammer. His is an outstanding record even I haven’t come close to beating. But he never talked about her highness. The only time he mentioned her was saying she reached out and they would have long phone calls he was torn between appreciating and disregarding. Other times he’d switch off his phone to avoid her calls because it would scare off the new catches in his ranch. Yea, catches!
The whistle for schools to reopen blew. Her highness and her course mates were among the very first to report back. General, new commander in chief of the Eastern Savannah came later. His flock back in Eastern was missing him like daily bread.
On a phone call he said he had plenty of reports to tell and that I should make time and head over to catch up. Stories about how he conquered giants ensued. Amidst the stories were fist bumps of congratulations, wewe ndio ule msee and respect my G. Then after all that, he finished with, “Her highness is back.”
The rate at which she was trying to make entry back into his territory was not negligible. He admitted that he was falling for the charms but he was not sure he should. He was half-hearted about it. He was biting the cookie with his lips only.
I said, “Brother, make up your mind. And make it up real well. But until you do, it’s not advisable to take anything to the next level.”
I understood his half-hearted state. Here was a woman you once bridged valleys for and she said no. You can never unearth that no from a man’s heart. It will always scream in the tombs of his soul. On top of that, he had strings attached to a damsel he bagged over the past season.
The game changed when she said that she loves him. Oh you bet that’s a hell of a game changer. She’d frequently go to his place. The talking increased. Surely a no I don’t love you back wasn’t going to be his response. But maybe, it should have been.
When you do not mean something, you’ll feel your heart shitting you. The stomach in your heart will rumble. Now this is common amongst men. We choose to ignore it. Ignore and override. That’s why my friend and fan sent me a post that says,
‘Men can say they love you even when they don’t.’
It’s the deception of the present day that almost cannot be helped. Because we like to be seen to be scoring goals. Even if the goalkeeper makes it easy for us, we will still push the ball into the back of the net so that it can be said we scored. We rarely have the guts to say, no I’m not scoring. It’s too easy. Or it just isn’t in my heart to kick the damn ball. It doesn’t excite me to score on this goal post.
It’s not the goal post really, it’s the team. It’s the team that either I don’t consider as a big league worthy of my stats and capabilities. It’s not a team that puts me up for a challenge. Playing the low league feels like just going for a ride. In fact, sometimes low league teams can score themselves. In the real world, that’s a girl saying ‘I love you’ before the guy does. That’s the girl saying, ‘Let’s get married’ before the guy does. Sweetheart, shoot the small shots like making us spot you by intentionally passing in our rear view mirror. Chances are we will slow the car down just to make sure the rear view mirror is not on drugs of any kind. If it’s not, we might just Tokyo drift the car around and chase you down the highway. When we corner you into an alley, we will gently and sexily grab you, throw you into the back seat and drive off. We will keep you around probably until you develop stockholm syndrome.
Anyway, when we play against a big team, we are in our element. We suddenly develop super powers that we use to shine against them. Like my brother. A man who’s afraid of being rained on suddenly can journey through the rain for just one girl. We develop a tenderness that is not common to men. It’s like our hearts start to hang out of our chests making it so vulnerable to as little as a scratch. I saw him, a once ‘Me akishanikulisha bluetick, ni hivo. Nimeleft,’ was now ‘Labda ako busy, ntamtext tu tena.’
We cultivate the perfect goal to score in this big league because their defence is like the Chinese army. Big leagues don’t help you score quickly. The thrill is in the chase. It’s however not as intentional for them. They naturally just have their own defences because even they know they’re a big deal. They don’t need no man to chase them to have them believe that. So no quick goals. Quick goals will feel like, you know, jizzing in one minute. Man cannot just hold his jizz past one minute. Serious by the way.
When we have dribbled past your defence, even you admit that there’s no more defence but your goal keeper. Now your defence is so strong because you know as a lady, naturally your goalkeeper is weak. You’re more emotional than we are. That goal keeper is the only thing standing between us and the door of your heart. After which when we enter, it is game over and happily ever after. You might need exorcism if you ever want to get over us in the event of a break up.
Just like her highness will need, soon.