Three things are certain in Kenya today: Death, taxes, and that our women have lost it!
By Jove! We are increasingly becoming a conglomeration of shameless, deluded, woefully entitled hypocrites.
This article should have been penned for my Friday Weekly editions here on K24 Digital. However, palatable manners prevailed and I shelved it for two key reasons.
Firstly, I had intended to chronicle about a woman (and her ilk) with whom I had a pending show on one of the TV stations where we were both ‘panellists.’ Curiosity that needed to be placated conspired with my scribbling urge to hold my horses until after the show.
I needed to experience her first hand, indulge in a mano-a-mano; confront her online heresy so that my pen can dribble without the need for a VAR.
When I and Gospel singer Justina Syokau shared the show over the weekend, I left the studio mortified. For starters, it is tantamount to a faux-pas that borders the sacrilegious to refer to her as a ‘Gospel artiste.’
Just because someone can conjure some regurgitated, simplistic lines and throw in the name of the Holy Trinity in no way qualifies them as virtuosos of the Kingdom. Unless of course, you are in Kenya. When former Safaricom CEO Michael Joseph labelled us as peculiar, damn, he hadn’t the slightest idea.
To be honest, I cannot sing a single line of her much-touted Twendy Twendy song. But she flickered my attention when a year or so ago she was caught up in a financial abyss and it took the long and benevolent hands of Kenyans to pull her out of the sh*t pit she dug thanks to her financial imprudence.
Then she might have had revelations that controversy sells. Syokau has decided to be a vulgar, loud, despicable prophetess of Baal who espouses nothing of a decent middle-aged African woman and a mother, let alone a minister of the word through the gospel.
Here is my deduction from the short meet-up and engagement. Physically, a closer glimpse gave her away as a desperado fighting off nature using cheap bleaching concoctions. Perhaps a better diet, exercise, reading the Bible, focusing on rebuilding her craft in a sensible and demure way would ease the wrinkles and bags under the eyes more efficiently and impeccably than the cakes of mud called foundation, the scary eyelashes, and the coloured wigs.
That image was meant to substantially create a sense of aesthetic perfection yet she only succeeded in looking like a weather-beaten poster of a defeated politician, moons after an election, still clinging on an electricity post for dear life. The sheer enthusiasm in her demeanour was that of a kindergarten delinquent trapped in an ageing vessel. Her euphoria could not hide the inner screams of loneliness, desperation, dwindling grace, waning career, and cry for help. But what do I know?
“A man is responsibility, a man must provide, a man must have money. Those applying to be with me, don’t come close to me without gold, a range rover, or even a helicopter. Broke men might be good in bed but I want one who is rich and will drive me nuts in the sheets too,” she tooted like a hornbill on live TV, thus reiterating her verbiage on social media about shunning broke men.
Do not forget that this was someone Kenyans fed barely a year ago when she could not even afford house rent. This was coming from an over 40-year-old single mother who comes from a failed marriage.
Sadly, she is not alone. She speaks for a petrifying majority of fame-hungry, rapacious wastrels who want the soft-life but barely want to lift a finger to earn it.
They have commercialized relationships and it is time this virtue-signalling bandwagon be stopped dead in its tracks.
Some sanity must be called to these proponents of the extraordinarily two-faced world we now live in, where women want to be respected while they have cheapened themselves to commodities, readily available to the highest bidder.
This assault on traditional masculinity is itself harmful to the millions of young men who seek to be physically and mentally tough, to rise to challenges, and demonstrate leadership even at the home front when we demonize humble beginnings, thrash their struggles and our only measure of their manhood is based on ‘what they have in their pockets.
No, men are more than that. They are protectors. Providers within their abilities. They lead. They offer a vision for the families. They provide direction. They are our companions. They sire and offer discipline to the children. Just do your research about the perils of raising children without a father or father figure.
See ladies, look around you, open your mind and realize that misery loves company. Most of these women selling their gospel of ‘expectations and fake standards’ are single cougars who yap on social media but go home to hug their pillows when the night is cold; are raising children without their fathers, go home to cats and Chihuahuas and have no standing in the society.
Money should never be where you draw the line. Do it because of the like of Justina and you will end up like her, a purposeless, hag manacled by mid-life crisis and menopause but still wooing men online while setting fake goals. Even moneyed men do not want the old cougars who bring a brood of kids and liabilities to the table.
And never say- ‘I’m the table.’ A table is a thing used to set things to eat. In essence, you are telling us that you are just for holding things to be eaten. Be a responsible lady and judge men by who they are. If he has potential, grow together. If you want readymade, take a mold of clay and create your type.
Get in touch with Aoko Otieno via: [email protected]
Disclaimer: Views expressed in this article are the writer’s. They do not necessarily reflect views of K24 Digital or Mediamax Network Limited.