There is an Ethiopian wise saying that says coffee and love taste best when hot. Many men cannot agree more. Love must be served everyday - hot. If any woman wants to maintain her high ratings, she must be prepared to work for it.
Unfortunately, not all women are ready to put in the hours to pursue what they profess to love.
Someone lied to Kenyan women that an intimate relationship should only take them to the altar and to the bank and that if it takes them to the kitchen and to bed only; then that is modern day slavery.
Whoever advised the women against the virtues of patience and humility did them a huge disservice. If you can’t cook and are pathetic in bed, I have no business ‘wifing’ you.
The men of this great nation have refused to pay for substandard services. A woman must view her relationship with her man as an investment. She must be willing to sacrifice anything that can come between her and her man.
As the Botswana people say, a loving wife is often blessed with the birth of a tenth child. This is wisdom that Kenyan women should embrace.
I have sat with some women who scowled at the thought that if they were married they would be expected to get more than one child. To make things worse, they were categorical that there was no way the child would use the same route to come out. It had to be through caesarean section, lest she suffers damaged goods. Damaged goods, my foot!
When they are not raising a storm over the number of children they are supposed to get, they are competing with men needlessly. It is one thing to earn same or more than the man, but thou shall not publicly display any arrogance associated with your privileged position.
Kenyan women, especially the working class, are fighting tooth and nail to be at the same pedestal with their male counterparts. When a man downs three frothy beers the Kenyan woman in the bar is never too far behind on the bottle count.
When you order for a round of drinks, with our legendary ‘lete vile tulivyo’ clarion, as soon as you have taken two gulps, your female companion beckons a male waiter.
While you could assume she is asking the waiter the direction to the cloak room, she also shouts out her table wide order amidst gulps, whilst admonishing the waiter to stop ‘fondling’ her boobs with his eyes.
Even before you get a chance to get astounded, she stands up starts dancing and when you are hoping it is going to be a polite, civil dance she grabs your waist and thrusts herself to your loins like she is possessed. She pretends to be oblivious of your other interests at the table or in the pub.
You are now stuck between a rock and a hard place, you want to run away from this embarrassment, but as an African man, you cannot run away from a woman. This would embarrass your clan and cause your father catastrophic embarrassment back in the village.
Soon other people in the bar stop watching football and instead fix eyes at the disproportionate attempt that you and your supposed woman are having on the dancing floor.
Waiters pass by with suppressed fear lest you send them sprawling on the floor with a tray full of expensive drinks. No one can make out the rhythm of your dance.
As a woman after you eat meat, you should not dangle the toothpick as if it’s a scene from a James Bond or Clint Eastwood blockbuster. If you are woman and you keep dangling your toothpick as it it’s a Cuban cigar, wonder no more why you are still single.
Still pondering why Wi-Fi is more popular than Kenyan wives?