My life is a bit dull at the moment. I don’t go to bars and night clubs anymore, and when I do, I don’t spend more than 100 minutes in there. 100 minutes is enough to watch a game of rugby or football, finish whatever I was drinking and leave before everyone gets drunk and starts slobbering while repeatedly shouting how rich and important they are. Plus, I already used up my 20s quota of binge drinking and losing precious sleep shaking my body wildly and consuming poison all night. All the while telling myself that I am having a good time. I am not doing it, not even the peculiar Kenyan mating ritual of taking a woman on a first date to a night club and hoping the rapid results initiative will bear fruits. I am done with that life. Well, at least until I am thirty, and that will take a few years. Every 30 year old I know is a heavy drinker who go on more fictitious trips than your average MCA. So it seems 30s is when it gets really lit and borderline alcoholic with episodes of marital neglect. Can’t wait!
Now I lead a boring life. The kind of people I meet now brag about a new sofa they were bought by a married man then they tell me not to write about it on my blog. I am ashamed that people who now get my time think that being unable to choose which of the two boyfriends to marry is Junior Elders-worthy. The stomach of it! When you don’t go to bars and clubs, you hang out with boring people. Or maybe I spent so much time hanging in bars that I don’t know where to find interesting people outside the confines of loud music, strobe lights and bad decisions.
The people I now hang around are the kind who think dating a married is living an action-packed life that is worthy of my time and space in this blog. Okay, sure, we are not The East African Review but we still got standards. Sleeping with someone you know damn well is taken is pedestrian behaviour in these streets, ma’am.
People overestimate the entertainment value of their lives. Like, sweetie, cheating on your boyfriend with a married man may seem over the top to you but I’m friends with a man who once took his side chick home when the girlfriend was there and they slept peacefully on the same bed.
Man, there used to be good side chicks back in the day. Side chicks who knew and respected their places in the society. No drama, no ambitions to overthrow the main chick and become the wife. How do you explain that even the late Kijana Wamalwa’s family never knew of his other ‘wives’ until he died and they showed at his funeral – any decent human would turn up at the funeral of someone they were close with – wailing so loudly that someone had to ask of their relationship with the late vice president? All those years and no one knew of their existence. And that’s not because of Wamalwa’s discretion – men are as discrete as hyenas are; always howling loudly and having hot (verbal) diarrhoea that give away their secrets. If a man is philandering and the main chick doesn’t know about it, the credit always goes to the side chick. The kind of side chicks who are ready to hide under a bed or jump through a window and lose breaking a limb if your wife returns unexpectedly from her visit to her parents.
The art of being a side chick is dead. The side chicks of these days aren’t worth shit. They think being a side chick is a full-time job with opportunities for promotion if you put enough effort and blackmail into it. The whole lot now wants money from you to start a business. The problem began when side chicks started demanding for recognition. A president of this great nation had to call a press conference from State House to tell us that he had only one wife. How do you suppose shit got there? The other woman was demanding for recognition and insurance cover and other state benefits. You know you are a shitty side chick when the man denounces you on national TV with his wife standing beside him.
And that’s why no one can have a side chick these days without getting caught. Ama you people think we know the mipango ya kando and bastard children of pretty much anyone with a political office in this country because the philandering men believe bad publicity is still publicity, and all publicity is good? Nope. They simply have horrible side chicks who are also horrible at blackmail.
No one is having a side chick peacefully in this economy. The only people having side chicks with relative peace in this economy are politicians and those with a total disregard for their families and reputations (also politicians). Even homeboy from above hasn’t had much success getting good replacement after his side chick got pregnant with another man. Jopap yudre mana gi jopap. But is not for lack of trying. Now he has been forced to stay with one woman like the rest of us mere mortals.
People are getting caught right, left and centre, which in itself is a telling indication of the deplorable state the side chick affairs are in. In fact, if I got a promotion every time someone I know gets caught by the main chick because of a lousy side chick, I’d be the experienced guy who has been looked over several times for the MD position because my tribesman have failed to ascend to power. One of my friends has been caught so many times that he’s given up completely on ever getting a good side chick in the near future. (By the way, I have fantastic friends, they are just horrible partners but that’s not my problem. Self-interest gives me the wisdom to know where my loyalty lies.)
If you are like him, one evening you are having some quality time with your wife upon your return from a ‘work trip’ and out of nowhere she blurts, “Who is Jackie?”
“Who is Jackie?” you reply, because what else are you supposed to say?
“She’s just sent me a friend request, then inboxed me on Facebook?”
“Babe, how am I supposed to know people who inbox you?” You retort.
“Because she says she’s your second wife na nisiringe sana juu tuko wawili.”
“Aiii. I only have one wife and that’s you. I don’t know that bitch!”
Jackie will send your wife incriminating evidence including mpesa texts of you sending her money. Inevitably, you have to break up with her after quelling the mutiny she has instigated within your ranks.
In addition to being under increased surveillance, you have to look for a new side chick because someone couldn’t perform her role well. You are a charming man with some little cash to throw around and it won’t be long before you find a suitable replacement. Fine woman, acknowledges that you have a main woman, too. Only one problem though; she’s too clingy. She wants to text and call you every minute she gets.
One day she’ll text while the missus is ‘playing games’ on your phone and eyebrows will be raised and questions raised. You’ll be told how you are no longer trusted and other words to the effect that she has as much trust in you as Kenyans have that the fight in corruption will be won. That will result in you giving the missus your phone password because you have nothing to hide (after deleting your convo with Brenda). You’ll also cut her off, which is a shame really because she was really a good one. You don’t want a side chick who is deliberately trying to get you dumped so she can become the main.
You’ll meet another one, who despite knowing you have a main, will invite you to meet her family. This will be the final straw and you’ll take a few months off your side chick hunt as you pray for better luck. So now you are side chick-less which now forces you to go on dates with different women making you look like a serial philanderer when all you are looking for is a good dependable side chick who knows her place.