“Why are we arguing?” She asks.
“We are not arguing. We are just debating.” I say.
“Debating about what? It’s a fact. If a man wants kids and his fiancé doesn’t, she is the woman. She knows best what she wants.”
“Then that means she doesn’t love him enough. If she truly loved him she would be willing to sacrifice her own desires or say, lack of the desire for a child and just have them for the sake of her soon to be husband who wants children of his own.”
“You know you’re not a woman and you don’t know what you’re saying. If a woman doesn’t realise that she doesn’t want kids in advance, then she will realise that she didn’t want them when it’s too late.”
“What do you mean when it is too late?” I ask.
She sighs, “You have never seen a woman who treats her kids like crap, have you?”
“So she treats her own fruit of the womb like that because she realised that she didn’t want them? What happened to the type of women who valued having children?”
“I don’t know. You men should have thought of that before you started being irresponsible and treating us like dish rags!”
“Now what does that have to do with kids? You’re now beefing up with your unborn children just because you say we let go of our manly selves?”
“I guess it’s what we call the causal effect huh? There are some things that just happen as a result of other things.”
“Oh! I see. So all that for what? So that you can chase your big dreams?”
“Do you have a problem with us dreaming?”
“Dreaming in your sleep? No!” I laugh.
She clicks, “You know what I mean! Did that sound like a joke to you?”
“No ma’am. And I have no problem with a woman chasing her ambitions. But does having children hinder her from getting to where she wants? Really?”
“It depends. But to some, yea. It does.”
Throwing my hands up. “Ah! Fine. So the party that gives rise to new generations has boycotted that God given duty. God I hope you’re seeing this.”
She chuckles, “You should be ashamed. There is a speck in your eye.”
“I took a bath this morning. You’re pulling my leg.”
Laughing, “I don’t mean that you silly. You ask God to see us… Why don’t you want to accept that all these began with you, men! I mean, what’s the point of having children who will end up being fatherless after all?”
“Are you accusing us of siring children then committing suicide afterwards?”
“Hell no! I am accusing you all for irresponsibility! You are good in siring, oh yes we know almost all of you are gifted in that. Even at your teenage years we know you people are already equipped with the 4-1-1 about making babies in the best way. Kudos! But how well do you people stay with us faithfully to raise these kids of your… huh?”
Whispering, “Calm down now. You’re too loud. You’re going to cause a scene here. Calm down please.”
She folds her hands on her chest and leans at the back of her seat, “Eish!”
A vacuum suddenly forms in between us. Void of words, I sit with my arms towered all the way up to my beardy chin. I can’t look at her in the eyes, well, because they are still freshly venomous. I could get poisoned by looking at her still recovering from the pinnacle of her rage. It’s 4.01pm in Java along Agh Khan Walk. We are here to grab a quick bite before the clouds could finish forming a black alliance against the CBD. By the way, by saying ‘we’ I mean Cindy and I. She was just from her catering class at a college along Moi Avenue. We had not met in what felt like dog years but in essence, it had only been about ten days.
“Were you counting the days?” She asked.
“No… No” Trying not to sound guilty, “I was… Okay I just have a good memory it seems.”
“Ouw! Okay, then you must also remember the last time we met, which was ten days ago as your ‘good memory’ says, our day didn’t end like it was meant to.”
I nodded only. Not because I wanted to though. I didn’t want to seem rude. I never want to remember that day. Now it’s happening all over again and the déjà vu is killing me. She gets quickly tempered especially when we have conversations that arouse her feminism – of which I am totally not against. Come on I’m really trying to be honest here. I like her though, because she speaks intelligently. I like intelligent ladies. The intelligence of a woman can be noted from her confidence in the midst of a challenge, eloquence and colour of passion that forms on her face when she speaks. It’s still not a battle between the looks and her intelligence though. It should never be.
The last time we met she came from class with moods all over her posture.
Since I try to be a good man, I asked, “What’s up with you? You look like a yellow banana that just had a green nightmare.”
Chuckles. Silence. I assume she doesn’t want to talk about it.
“What is usually the problem with men?” She asks and poses with hands folded on her chest and a bend on her neck. I know it’s not a good sign when she is in that posture. In fact it’s not a good sign if any woman is in that posture.
Before I could say anything, “Don’t even ask. I know what you want to ask. That what is also always my problem with men huh?”
It was not what I was going to ask but hey, it can be a good question for her to answer.
I say, “Well, yea.”
“Imagine this lousy lecturer tried to flirt with me? And the way he is way past my age and looks like he has, what! Three kids? What does he take me for a slut?”
My obnoxious mind wanted to answer with, “Are you?”
I am glad I didn’t but it still ended with her taking offence. Now here we are today again. The conversation was supposed to be, I don’t know, just like any other conversation that can lead to a debate? It ended up being an argument not because it was actually an argument, but because she was greatly offended by my opinion.
My opinion about the modern woman who either doesn’t have a child in her list of desires or having children is way below the position in her rank of wants like it used to be. Her reasons for that range from untrustworthy men as fathers or even as merely husbands and the recent burning desire to make it in life. I acknowledge that both are valid reasons.
The man has lost sight of the road of responsibility. He now steers the wheel towards the direction his manhood will dare to point. The corruption of manly responsibility has for sure been seen to trickle down from fathers to sons like a genetic disease. Only God’s finest boy children are the ones who have developed the immunity against that. In other words, not all men have loose wires in them. However there are some that ran before us and others that walk amongst us who still tarnish our manly names in the feminine world.
The cry and motions for gender equality and similar opportunity has fired up the woman for what she at one time didn’t ever imagine she’d ever have. She never thought she could build empires under her name. She never imagined she’d run a town, star in a show or ever have her own gun that she’d call the shots with. How wonderful it is to see that. However guess what, it all got way beyond her heart into her head when the so called manly figures in her life began to fail her on the other end. One after another, they fell into what, like Cindy calls: disgrace.
“That made us more ambitious.” Quote Cindy.
As a result of all that baked into a pie and slammed on the woman’s face, see? She is now slowly though perhaps unawares – losing the desire she is probably supposed to have for children. Though not as crystal, it looks like she is punishing her unborn. Or rather as Cindy put it, “I guess it’s the causal effect huh?”
“Now why are you quite?” She asks.
Quickly sitting up, “Like you didn’t need time to calm down?”
Blaring, “Come on! I was not angry!”
I should have told her that her tone was still selling her out. Ah! Anyway…
“Cindy we have to leave. It’s going to rain cats and dogs and every other pet we know.” I said.
“Why are we arguing?” She asks.