My dating mares: A man is a man despite nationality
Last year in July, the first global report on fatherhood was published. The report rated Kenyan men as the most faithful in Africa. It also indicated that Kenyan men were least likely to get children out of wedlock—that they were the least likely to have children with more than one woman. Their women could have disputed this since they call them fissis (men who cheat). Who was I to think otherwise? I mean it’s a global report.
When Wambugu came in the picture, he said he had seen me at his workplace on several occasions and had asked for my number from my friend. I had ignored his calls for a while until the day he sent a superficial text that read: “Hi, you are an interesting being. I see you at work and love the way you carry yourself. We Kenyans are really good people. So don’t treat me with so much hatred.”
The article was clear. I did not require more evidence. Imagine out of 39 countries around the globe, African countries take up 25 slots in unfaithfulness. Of course the ability for one to father a child(ren) in one woman is far from the qualities that I look for in a man. I just need someone who is faithful (please don’t tell me the two are similar).
Waggy like he preferred to be called later on asked me out on a movie date at Westgate Mall. I thought to myself, “The fissis do not spend their monies just like that. Therefore he could be the guy in the article, the faithful one.” I put on my cow girl attire—blue jeans, denim shirt knotted at my belly- bottom and pulled my grey leather boots knee-high to suit the chilly weather at that time. At the mall, even when the rest giggled, I never blinked or shook a leg. I remained taciturn- head straight up, eyes glued on the large wall and kept stealing glances at him whenever it seemed necessary.
The movie was long. I watched the hands of the clock hoping that it would end soon so I would head back and rest. His silence was sickening—like the choice of movie we watched. Then out of the blue, he whispered in my ear, “Shall we?” It seemed an interesting idea doing the whispering. So I whispered back, “Shall we—do what?” At this point, with eyes half closed, I was expecting a kiss carefully planted on my forehead or his fingers intertwined in mine like it’s done in the movies. Instead, in a low tone he said, “I mean we should go to my house. I’m told Ugandan women do the right things in bed, and I trust, with this beauty and body, you won’t disappoint”. What?! So he seriously thought I was good specimen for his experiment? I looked around. I was glad nobody seemed to have heard the whispers.
I flashed one of my bully smiles at him and silently stood up to make my way out. He stretched out his hand and in his animated tone stated, “Don’t be afraid. I am married but don’t live with my wife. We have a six-year-old son though. I want you and I to get married and have children someday. Please don’t walk out on me”. All this while, I looked at him sternly. Marrying and having children has never been a curse. Other factors constant, it was actually a good idea. But Waggy’s speed in asking for Ugandan things was nerve-racking.
Outraged, I gathered myself, picked my jacket, flung it on my shoulder and wobbled out of the hall hoping that I would get out of the door and wake up—like my nightmares usually end. Like that wasn’t enough, he sent a text (about 100 words), with a barrage of insults embedded in it.
I would have lost the bet should I have subscribed to it. My colleagues at our residence had pledged their per diem combined in case Waggy never asked for sex that night. Just like the popular phrase in Nollywood movies, ‘A men is a men’ (in Nigerian accent) to imply that any man can be a cheat or unfaithful, I think tribe or nationality does not really matter. A man is surely a man.
