Being a man in Kenya is hard. Ugandans probably have it harder seeing as to how their president is always dressed like a one-man-guitar Mugithi musician and has a penchant for directing his security agents to pummel the nether regions of anyone who talks and/or writes smack about him. Tanzanians have it even worse. Their president doesn’t want socialites to release nudes or sex tapes which beats the whole purpose of having socialites in the country. It is like he expects socialites to help with border security and scientific research. Oh he also doesn’t like women wearing miniskirts or taking birth control. But let’s not act like an evil stepmother who forgets her own house to laugh at the problems of her co-wife.
Our president is fine, I think, but the economy has taken a worse beating than a stray village dog at a funeral. Things are even worse for men like us with modest fortunes. The cost of getting laid in this economy is like paying double rent plus the added emotional cost of putting your ego on the line for assault by women who expects you to make up for her family’s poverty. No money no honey. So now not only do we have to sell our souls to get jobs, we also have to indignify ourselves to get laid.
If you are like most people, you get into a relationship and hope the missus will understand that maisha ni kupanda na kushuka, even if all you seem to be doing now is kushuka. That way, you get reliable and relatively safer sex, and, if you are lucky, someone to give you money as you wait for your biz to pick up. If you are criminally charming, you also get a car to drive around and impress all the chicks who turned you down. If you are like one of my neighbours, you go on the streets and pay on as-needed basis. Which at face value seems cheaper but comes with the problem of being unable to get some when the month is acting like a witch. Which is exactly what happened to him over the weekend. Well, not exactly unable to get laid but something worse.
On Sunday evening, he went out, had a couple of drinks and came home with a thigh vendor. After a presumably a good time and an enthusiastic showing from the lass, definitely motivated by the opportunity to earn honest living in this economy, the guy refused or was unable to pay the lass. Whatever the reason was, he failed to meet his end of the bargain. A friend who is an expert on thigh vending tells me that any purchaser worth his salt knows that before you engage the services of a street prostitute you have to check at least thrice that you have money. Also, it helps if you don’t bring her to where you live.
The lady seeing that her payment was not forthcoming decided to pay herself in kind and picked something from his living room on her way out. The guy noticed it and caught her before she stepped out. At first, I thought it was the football fans upstairs making lemonades of the international break. It is not uncommon for loud cheers to emanate from that floor. I minded my business. Of course up to this point, we didn’t know any of this.
Then it got unusually louder with “Nipe pesa yangu! Sitoki hapa bila pesa!” in soprano and “Mbwa wewe! Unataka kuniibia!” in bass. Still, I minded my business. My appetite for gossip has considerably gone low over the past months. If something is not costing me money, health, peace of mind or endangering my life, then it is none of my business. Being a Sunday night, I was busy writing something retarded for the blog the following day. The noise got even louder.
I didn’t realize how loud that fight was until I peeped out and saw people living within 200m of our flat had gotten out of their houses and were watching our block. Now, any self-respecting purchaser would have simply let the lady leave with whatever she’d picked and have his reputation intact. Or, maybe, call a friend and tell him of this emergency that needs an urgent 500 bob to sort out. It’s either my neighbour is not self-respecting or doesn’t have friends or both. If you have a screaming hooker in your house, you pay as agreed or let them have their way and your neighbours still think that you are a decent human. Being a little drunk and a lot more broke, he raised the mother of all hells. The lady outdid him. By now most people had gotten out and were standing outside our perimeter wall.
I got out and found all the other neighbours standing on their balcony. Among them was me missus whom I had thought was in the living room all this time and my next door neighbour who is a praise and worship leader at her church. They told me that the lady had left and the melee which was on the fourth and top floor was over. I stay on the third floor. I asked them who the man was and they told me they didn’t see who it was. Since I had already gotten out and there was still some shouting, I decided to go upstairs and savour whatever was left of the fight. Turned out one of his acquaintances living on the same floor with him had quelled the fight by volunteering to pay the lady her dues. The shouting was from the bedsitter dwellers from across the road who were hurling abuses at us. We carrying the sins of one man. We got insulted for pretending to have money and failing to pay for nookie. Sure, we pretend to have money but at least we pay for services rendered to us. Most of the time.
I got downstairs and the ladies asked me who the man was. I didn’t ask his name. I just know he lives in the house directly above mine. As I got into the house, I overheard them saying that the man’s junk was so huge they forgot to look at his face. Kumbe he had been fighting a hooker while having only a towel wrapped around his waist. A towel that fell off during the fight. So besides hiring honest, hardworking people and failing to pay them, my neighbour is also a fucking show-off.