There is an influx of young women increasingly known for nothing but eloquent displays of failed upbringing, ignoble behaviour especially on social media, excruciating broadcast of low self-esteem and ignorance of staggering proportions.
Most of you have christened the caboodle as Slay Queens.
I would have ignored the menace had the phenomena been a preserve of a few miscreants. But as a big sister, potential(future) mother, and as one knighted by providence to excoriate my generation using the pen - I choose to speak out. Because the issue is no longer an insidious invasion of ‘woke culture,’- boundaries have been crossed when kids as young as six or ten now want to grow up to be ‘slay queens.’
Where do I start dear reader? I’m flummoxed; for days when an African woman was known as an enterprising queen who vaunted an exotic, natural beauty and an intelligence unquantified by words are yore. Days when Queen Nzinga led Angola against the Portuguese, days of queen Nefertiti- oh, tell me about them calendars when Lucretia Mott and Elizabeth Stanton said, ‘it is preposterous to form a government without the consent of the governed,’ a clarion call to grant women the right of suffrage(voting)
I pray tell, what happened to the days when Grace Ogot was known for her shtick as a chronicler when Asiyo showed Kenya and Africa that a determined woman is more lethal than an entire regime when she floored KANU stooge Okiki Amayo to become the MP for Rachuonyo?
My heart bleeds for the days when women of repute like Wangari Mathai stripped to protest pernicious regimes and fight for democracy, especially in these times when my mates go shamelessly nude for validation from online strangers and to feed the rapacious optic appetites of men for likes and possible slither into their ‘DMs’
How did we deviate from the days when women were more than this cabal of degenerates, morally corrupt h*es who hide behind woke culture, modernity, feminism and emancipation to peddle their dignity and bodies to anyone who can offer a life they are too lazy to work for? When fame is courted by acquiring ‘the Instagram figure’ through a surgeon’s blade and the melanin that made us distinct, special and distinguished is now stripped through cheap pills sold along Dubois road?
See them, eyes draped in vapid lashes, lips soaking in matte lipstick, leaving only teeth staggering inside a mouth that has done more fellatio than it has spoken sense, coloured human hair wigs hoisted on empty skulls like the flags of a rebel faction during civil strife.
But hey, I’m thrilled to announce that days when they used to snatch oxygen from us while strutting in heels longer than their CVs are gone. Days when they bamboozled us with names like ‘socialite’ are expired. Aaaa, the market is hitherto saturated, it no longer takes much to get a slay queen squirming underneath you while reciting hail Mary in Gujarati.
Do you think you need to drive to be able to bed these team footsubishi? Not anymore boy child. Kim Kardashian their goddess already lost Kanye West and is now frolicking with a 20 something old comedian, Sidika married and sired a daughter with a Coast crooner no one knows his name beyond Mtwapa. Amber is a perpetual homewrecker who is incoherent and a nonentity beyond her school bus skin and derriere.
Standards are a social media facade, kwa ground, all it takes is a bottle of gin and Ksh4k for human hair weave and kaboom, she will show up with that ‘nitalala wapi’ handbag that carries everything including iron box and gas cooker but is conspicuously missing the key ingredient that maketh a woman- decency.
These wastrels do not just drink, nuh. Every sip is an experience of sheer delight. They lose themselves in a haze of sensual pleasure, enjoying not only the tastes but the feel of the citrus caressing the innings of their mouth, the bitterness sliding in their throat.
Start any meaningful conversation and you will be met by a wide-eyed stare or a coy drool as if you are talking to a newly adopted Chihuahua. If it was not on Edgar Obare’s page, then it is beyond her mental scope. Aha! Talk of excruciating ignorance and loose morals joined in a wedded bless - what you get is a disaster whose private parts suffer.
Do not be cowed by their pseudo of aura sophistication. Her favourite food? Rice steamed with a touch of coriander. Do not get a migraine, coriander is just a fancy word for Dhania. See, these tarts are not as complicated as they want us to believe. It is all a shell caked in a veneer of fake accents acquired over hours spent watching the ‘Love and Hip Hop,’ franchise, Wendy Williams and their all-time favourite - The Kardashians- a family they have valorized as the epitome of slay-queen-ship (my word).
Only mollycoddles wife this breed- well suckled African men, who held their mama’s tits with both palms and drew nourishment from the bosom of a proper African woman can never wife these caricatures.
Show me a successful man who married a slay queen. Obama? Wooed Michelle when he was driving a holed jalopy, Stedman wooed Oprah Winfrey before her career as the most celebrated talk-show lady took off, Zuckerberg of Facebook?
LeBron James married his high school sweetheart, Elon Musk gets sons with them but has never married them slay queens – wait, show me one man who takes these Insta tarts seriously enough to settle with them.
Aoko, marriage is not everything. FINE. Show me one woman who made it to the annals of history out of displaying nudity and body count. Who, Angela Merkel and her role in shaping modern Prussia? Jacinda Arden? Martha Karua? Kamala Harris? Ngozi Ezeonu of WHO? Tell me who amongst the most celebrated women made it via nudity and bullshit.
Therein lies your answer. Thank you.
Get in touch with Aoko Otieno via: [email protected]
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