I’m just a girl.

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She is lovable. She has curves. She originates from the inclines of Mount Kenya, where women are destined to be naturally beautiful. Each man adores her. Man when it comes to behaviour, she is the kind of woman you can’t thank your predecessors for.

Each morning I bring a stool to the gallery (balcony). Here is my most loved spot. She is the purpose for it all. From this tower I enjoy a couple of things: the morning warm sun and also watching her sway her behind.

We just share one thing; our morning custom. Consistently she awakens do yoga to keep her body fit and firm while I wake up, sit on my standard spot just to gaze at her fundamendos. It is one thing I appreciate with little strain.

The excellence of having neighbors is that you may get a catch. If it is a nice hood the better. Be that as it may, once more, even a poor hood must have a decent girl, no less than one. Also, it is for the not cowardly men to chase. It is for the gutsy men to get their bow and shoot the bolt.

On my case, notwithstanding, it is distinctive. We don’t talk. She is so excellent and mouthwatering yet we don’t even talk. We are simply improbable foe neighbors. It is is as it should be. She is hitched. I can’t vibe a wedded lady; I will basically confine myself, and besides get my transformer slashed like in the Nyeri cases.

See, I can’t clarify enough. I begrudge her yet she is somebody’s wife. Furthermore, that idea alone kills me. Yet, without a doubt we share with her to her man, the two of us in distinctive ways.

It is fit for a man to have a sweetheart or wife, whatever suits him at that specific period. It is better. A perfect partner implies a considerable measure. She may turn your life around. She may round up your life into a lovely dispatch.

A partner is your confidant. When you are upset or depressed you run into his/her arms and hide in there, shunning the rest of the world, and feeling the warmth of their bodies. It is one thing that makes us want to be with someone; to kill the loneliness and offer each other emotional support.

A girl’s creed

It is a sunny day and we meet in town with my girlfriend for a moment or two.  Man, I just love her. The town is clamoring with niggers everywhere.

Let me say it is some kind of date. We are to meet at around two and as a man I show up early, in fact thirty minutes earlier. I take a few strolls in town as I wait for that mysterious call from her after I tell her I am already in town. All I need to hear from is ‘babe I’m in town’; a call which comes three hours later though.

I hold tight and play by her principles. While I drift around I choose to catch some space in some joint and get a bottle of Alvaro to steam my nerves. I hardly hear texts come in when I am on the road. So when I sit down I discover that she had replied my text, replied with like twenty subsequent texts asking me why I was not replying her texts. It was a display of angst.

I am no expert of time but why keep me sitting tight for three hours? Wait, do you know what excuse she sent me on text? Hell no, ‘beb nko kwa jam uku Thika Road. I hate Nairobi…blah blah blah. Some shitty stuff.

It is the text I hadn’t replied. So I decide to buzz her only to realize that she is still at home doing I don’t know manicure or pedicure, hell knows what. I just  hear a mom in the background, ‘are you really going to town ama nkutume kwa Githinji?’

She later shows up. It is just about five and I have had a range of beverages, simply had an enjoyable moment all for myself. I had nothing left for her than boredom. She arrives and with very little remorse expects me to laugh or smile. Man, I have almost zero tolerance for bullshit.

Suddenly another instance pops up. Have you ever felt like a cheap sauce? Or like a torn thong that you keep admiring but can’t wear it? Or like a piece of used tissue paper?  Indeed, it is appalling.

So we are strolling across the streets to Agha Khan Walk from Afya Center to meet some gentleman. It is sunny and the torrid ball is unleashing every one of its beams on my head. No much discussion happens between us, one of us is either ill-humored or simply exhausted

I am tall and I stroll in straight fast strides. She is behind me by a couple steps. And then we cross the street to Kencom. Abruptly she sees some dim tall nigger like me, I think some friend or something, directly over the street.

I look back just to see her backpedaling to that nigger. All things considered, in some way or another  I get intimidated. A man in suit! Damn, go slow brother on my girl. My girl! Sometimes your girl can slip away under your nose. And I sense that as I wait across the road in some open parking lot behind Kencom

What’s more, they talk and talk and talk. She appears as though she is getting a charge out of all of it while I am enduring those hot rays. I mean it is sunny. My hair is bubbling and turning out to be wavy, like I got some curly kit on my head. I sweat everywhere on my body while they make the most of their ‘little chat’.

It is a parking area, remember. So the security people get alarmed when they see me doing futile rounds like a hooligan who wants to raise a ruckus out of them. In the face now I resemble a mammoth and the gatekeepers pace up to me so quick.

Boss, tukusaidiaje? One asks taking a gander at me questioningly. It is the sort of inquiry that you do not have an answer. You simply don’t know what to reply, or rather you have no energy for questions with no direction.

Mmh, kuhusu nini iyo? I ask mockingly. They misjudged my intentions. And I wanted  to say something like  dude, get the fuck outta my face before I kick your tiny ass!

Boss hii ni parking lot. Hakuna mtu anakubaliwa kukaa apa kama hana gari. That pisses me off, literally and also seriously. And i decide to become the badass.

Mmh, na nyinyi mna magari huku? That hits them really well. For a minute they gaze at one another and afterward the lady now replies back.

Boss, hakuna haja tukosaniane heshima. Heshimu kazi yangu. And now he sounds so emotional like a bitch looking for sympathy. And it boils down to one thing; he thinks that I am looking down upon him simply because he is a watchman. That sounds right, right? So I laugh at that statement and probe further.

Hujanijibu mrembo. Do you claim an auto here? That entire proclamation was in Swahili just that it sounded so sexist. She takes a look at her kindred who is a short thin fellow. Why do they give such occupations to thin fellows? I mean these fellows are so little to even scare even the tiniest of a hoodlum. It is an abuse of profession.

It is then I look to the twosome and get truly vexed. They are currently in an animating discussion while I am having some unpleasant time with two grimy soldiers. That now doesn’t sound sexist.

I smolder the damnation out. Right around thirty minutes after, she flags me that she is through. She makes me lament of walking out on my side chick. She makes me begin thinking of my ex. I lament that she is my better half.

One thing I didn’t comprehend is the reason she was unmindful of my vicinity. Why she could converse with another man for that long, why she let me land into a bad situation with two dainty gatekeepers, why she let sweat everywhere on my body.

So I am the sort of fellow who doesn’t talk when I am irate. I don’t. I don’t have the vitality to. Also, it is not in any case worth doing it. I basically lose intrigue and keep quiet, nurture my injuries and that essentially gets me far and a long way from her.

The main thing I can do in response is to leave. It is my best weapon to execute the displeasure, however in a circumstance where that is unimaginable something revolting may go down.

Why do young ladies need to do that, converse with another man for quite a long time while you are with your man? That is basically disrespect. I presumed that possibly she never loved me after all, truth be told. I still feel that in my nerves.

So my neighbor is a clean damsel. She washes, scrubs and cleans. The kind of woman that any man would desire. She washes her husband’s clothes, from shoes, socks to lingerie.

She dresses so decently, like a woman should.

She wakes up early in the morning to prepare their only kid for school. The kind of love she has for her kid amazes me. The kind of love every woman has for her kid (s).

As I told you she is not the kind of woman you can really thank your ancestors for. You know why? She is the most egotistical woman I have ever come across. She doesn’t care about others. She does care for her family and friends, but not neighbors.

So she will wash her verandah, spill water all over to our verandah and leave it wet and disgusting. And she will look you in the eye like a tiger, like she wants you to ask what the hell is going on and she begins to vent, and rant like a dragon.

If you pay me a visit, that is one thing you will realize at the first instance. That my verandah is really dirty and full of water. We don’t clean our verandah quite often. We are bigger slaves to more important things like sleeping than washing a verandah that we only see twice a day.

Na shida ya kuishi kwa ploti, kupigania vitu ndogo ndogo; water spots and hang lines. It is not the spirit I was born with, and would not aspire to adopt it to my system. Women do, however. So she will wrap up all your wet clothes together and replace them with hers.

More often than not I have had the not-so-good moments with her because of the disrespect she has towards us. When I get angry I don’t smile. I look terrible. And she hates that look.

I have never known the motivation behind why ladies need to yell superfluously, even when you are right there with you. You see she can shout at the top of her voice to her daughter who is just there. Every damn day I have to stomach her yappy mouth. She irritates when she opens her mouth, suddenly I lose taste for her, she becomes revolting.

We love our women very much, we do. But there are things that turn us off really big. We get pissed. You don’t have to shout for you to be heard. In fact you cannot be heard in that state. People will simply ignore that noise, or slap you.

Whatever point I wanted to send out to women is out. It is all that I wanted you to get. To leave the frivolous issues and be more mature.

I am just a girl, you know.


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About Mzangila

Mentor, media consultant, photographer, editor, poet, writer, and counselor.

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