Let's say you're one of those people who never go out on Friday nights. That automatically means you don't drink. Which also means you're saved. Or, you're one of those people of who go out on Friday nights. That automatically means you drink. Which also means you're not saved. But on this fateful Friday evening, you did not leave the house. The missus, a born again lady, who you still don't understand how she fell for you, says.
"Well, this is surprising, that you ain't with your boys."
Nothing is surprising, if she only knew. You're dead broke. And there's no way you're going to violate your liver with cheap liquor. You could be out with your boys but in low moments like this you avoid too much testosterone. But because the only language womenfolk understand is that of lies and half truths. You tell her.
"Baby, tonight I just felt like being with you. We spend some quality time together. It's been long you know."
Well, it's been long surely. You're both hardworking millennials with extremely busy diaries. But you still find time to flirt with girls in the office. Women can be religious, but they still mock people. So she chides you.
"True baby, maybe the holy spirit has touched you."
This is the part if you're a drama King like me. You roll your eyes and laugh.
"He he he maybe bae. Ata we should we should go to church together this weekend."
Here, she stops texting and looks at you. Just looks, no talk. Then she goes back to text. When was the last time you attended mass. She looks at you again then gets up. This is your turn to be shocked. She says.
"Let me go prepare dinner for you."
You roll your eyes again. What shocks you ain't the dinner. It's the "preparing it for you" tag.
But when she heads towards the kitchen. It's fucking serious. When last did she cook for you? But because you don't want to spoil this so romantic moment. You join her in the kitchen. Start hugging her from behind, kissing her on the neck and the works. She coos softly.
"Let me cook baby, play later."
The child in you never grew up. Joy builds up in you, the anticipation. In  a matter of seconds your mjulubeng points north. Unrelenting, unwavering. You even update your WhatsApp status like "tonight it's gonna be lit."
People view your status but they don't say shit. Those traitors, they always just view. Anyway who cares, even if they said something you'll be busy with bae. You throw the phone away and wait for dinner. The missus is treating you tonight.
Food comes. You eat while engaging in small talk. She tells you how she suspects that her workmate is banging the boss. You just laugh lightly at that, office banter is really not your thing. Furthermore, you're thinking of the positions you're going to execute tonight. What's important here? How your woman's workmate is being shagged by her boss? Or how you're going to bang the lights outta your woman?
Also you drink that sangria that has been sitting in the fridge for a while. By now you're convinced that love is more than a figment of man's febrile imagination.  You'll do anything for your lady. You'll take her to Japan, you will take her to North Korea to see Kim jong. You'll take her to Russia. Heck! You'll even take her to heaven.
And now it's showtime! Women can be a disappointing people. You're on the sofa cuddling. Your testosterone, high like it's on steroids. But guess what she says.
"I'm not in the mood for your animalistic desires."
What in God's name is wrong with this woman? So now she's not in the mood. You start contemplating how you should get that side chick the boys suggested. The boys are bad relationship counselors. One time you told them.
"Guys, sikuhizi sipewi vitu kama kawaida."
Their reaction. An award winning performance.
"What do you mean?? Wee ni ndume."
"Dump that woman."
"Get a side chick bro.. Mwanamke haezi kukalia."
But because you're a sensible guy, you never listened to their advice. But on this night, a side chick doesn't appear like that a bad offer.
The missus goes to bed. You remain in the living room, alone, sad and broken. You just can't understand women. It's like trying to understand people who listen to that kasabun music. (No pun intended).There's that Xbox you borrowed from a buddy. You start playing fortnite noisily, angrily murdering those silly characters.
It was one of such nights. Only that the relationship analogy above is so full of shit. I'm still living in my mama's crib na I don't wanna leave. Or will I. In any case, we had just supper, not dinner, that's for other folks, it is supper over here. I wasn't doing anything in particular, just scheming through the day's paper. I would have named the paper, but since they're playing hard to get. I also won't mention them on my blog. Newspaper people!! Who's the tough one here now? Give me a gig for chrissake!! Don't let me starve please.
This is when my cheap phone pinged.
There are messages when they hit your phone. You know you ain't gonna reply. So you archive them, but if you're the savage type, you bluetick the sender. If you're blue ticked, don't cry dear. Know your message couldn't sustain a conversation. As such, train more on sending conversation oriented texts.
But they're messages, when they appear. You can't wait to reply. They make a grand entrance, disrupting all normal activities. They explode into life like an al-Shabaab grenade. Shattering apart everything. The past, the present and the future. They leave you wondering "but why??".
This is how the message read.
"Bruh we need to talk."
See, men never use that 'we need to talk' tag. No matter the extremity of the situation. 'We need to talk' is a phrase purely coined for the girl child. They see you with another chick..."we need to talk." You don't reply their texts or calls for two days, "we need to talk." Notwithstanding (it feels relaxing to use this word) how busy you were. Every time with the women folk, "we need to talk." That's their gospel, their hymn. Coming to think of it, God maybe selecting people to go to heaven. But you know what, women will pull God aside and tell him.
"Mister, we need to talk."
God will get angry and say.
"No women allowed in heaven. I will no longer stand this "we need to talk" claptrap. Angels, please chase all women out of heaven. Only the men remain."
This is the part I will walk up to God. And guess what I'll tell him. "Enough is enough! We need to talk."
He will go berserk now.
"Osoch! What in fucks name is wrong with you?"
I will reply meekly.
"Dear God, God of Moses and that bush which burnt. Please don't do this to us. How will we manage in heaven without women?"
He will study me, then thunder.
"You're a sinner. Straight to hell bastard!"
Jesus, God's spoilt son. We'll be grinning like a fool all this time.
So that's how the message from this guy read.
"We need to talk."
I'm a joker, so I played with him.
"Let's talk then."
This was our conversation.  Let's jump right into it.
He was like. " Osoch, my life is in a freaking mess."
"Bruh, all of us our lives are in a mess, not just you."
"Not that way Osoch... I'm too confused."
The way he said it, it reeked of girl problems. So I hit the goddamn serpent on the head.
"Yoh, is it about a girl?"
He's reply, pure gold.
"Kitu ka hiyo."
I was like. The fuck! Do I look like a relationship counsellor or something? But since he's my boy. I stomached his shit. We always stomach shit from the boys, but why??
Our conversation rolls on.
He texts.
"Niko na manjaa ..but nataka kuabstain."
I reply.
"Abstain if you can. God loves such people. But if you can't then don't. Usijime chenye unataka. Do you have a girl?"
He texts.
" There's this girl, but I guess we broke up."
"You guess!" Here I replied with a paragraph of laughing emojis. So I told him this.
"Look here, most girls are asking for it. Just be keen, you'll get one or even a dozen to satisfy your needs."
Here he replies with the laughing emojis. Then says.
"Naogopa. I don't want sex sahii."
So I'm left wondering. Like, what in fucks name is wrong with this guy. He reeked of boyish inexperience. We all reek of boyish inexperience. So I ask him if he's ever munched the forbidden fruit. Guess what... He'd not. I felt jealous of him. That he was still pure.
See, I never wanted to lose my virginity. I always wanted to retain it, till am 30 something and married. But then, shit happens. I found myself in an extremely compromising situation with this girl some years back. And blup!  My purity was gone. Thinking of it, I always balk.
Now, don't roll your eyes and think of me as some randy goat who started screwing people's daughters while underage. I was underage, she was legal I guess. It was the work of the devil. The big satan.
Some months after this life changing experience. We talked about it with my dad, actually it happened by chance. See, my old man is one crazy geezer. It was a Sunday, I'm going through the day's paper. And so I tell him how statistics show that about 40% of Kenya's youth engage in wanton debauchery.
He asks if I ever have. Since I have a super open minded man for a father. And we talk about lotsa stuff.
"Yeah." I tell him.
His reaction, oscar winning stuff. Old man acted like wasn't interested. And the crappy news programme on TV was more important. But twas evident that he was sitting on needles. Finally, he couldn't take it no more. Guess what he said.
"I hope you used a condom."
Damn right! That's my old man for you.
Back to the discussion with our boy.
I ask him why fears sex. He's like.
I tell him that I can't advice him no longer. He can decide what's best for his life. But I told him to make sure he's happy. Always be happy.  And not to forget to pray.  Ama what do you think??
photo credits. [©Mike Kalya] epic guy. Thanks bro.
Ps. In the weeks gone, there was this application to join the multichoice talent academy. I write kick-ass scripts, but sadly I didn't manage to apply. I was late. So I'm kinda asking for help here.
If you're reading this and you're a honcho at multichoice or you know a honcho at multichoice, greetings. Why don't you please pull some strings or maybe I give you something small (kidding). And secure me a kaspot there, I won't disappoint. Come on multichoice, don't be like those newspaper people.
And guys you see, jumia has added their link on my blog. Click on the damn link and shop. Those homeboys and homegirls at jumia deliver right on your door.

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And so, we're done I guess. Have one hell of a week.
The rainmaker.


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