We men are savages of the same womb. 16th century men are no different from 21st century men. They liked horses. We like cars, see. Speed kills. They liked women, we also like women. The only difference is that they hijacked naive girls who went to fetch water. And blup!  There's a union. Parents show up later and the deal is tied up. How easy! This time it's different. Girls no longer go to fetch water. Well, they still do but in far flung rural outposts like Turkana. Bytha those Turkana people have decided that no oil is gonna be drilled or transported. Ti hi hi ! Let them stand their ground. It's there oil. Wee!  Please, if you're an Afisa and you're reading this, please don't arrest me for inciting people. I don't think Turkana herdsmen read my blog. Hey! and that's not to mean that Turkanas don't read. Turkanas read,in fact confirmed reports show they're among the  well read tribes in Kenya. After us Abagusii people of course.

Where were we??

Well, women have this thought that all men are the same. Brayo is like kevo. And kevo is like Deno. What ludicrous poppy cockiness ! We might have the same physical wiring but we're different. We all have dicks but they come wrapped in different packages. There's the lightweights, then feather and welterweights. And finally come in the heavyweights. The Mayweathers of the division.

Different demons drive different men.

For some, it's women. The dude just wants pussy. And he will go to the hardest of extremes to bang a chicka. The brother will even block a speeding presidential motorcade so as to get his wishes.

Others it's money. They just want their wallets to be fat. Even though they don't spend. It's just the money. They sit in traffic and just dream of money. They sit in bars and drink money. They're out eating lunch, but all they think of is the mullah. They're the type when talking to a girl, always touching their pockets. Not like they're nervous... Negroes wanna make sure that their cash is in place. They misplace a wallet and they're off to see a mganga afunge mtu choo.

Some like me. Nothing drives us really. We're just there, on auto-pilot. We take what life throws our way. Men of the world. We do what we want to do cause Jesus said in the  book Romans.
"Don't worry, God will take of tomorrow."
So I write.

The hero of our narrative is a 70 year old grandpa. He is in his twilight years, the sun is almost sinking on his tale. But guy is resolute, has a hard on, on life. Wants to live more, feels younger with each dawn. And guess what? Fella wants another wife. The sixth, an addition to his harem of five. But he wants this one to be different. Younger.
He says.
"Nimechoka na joto ya mama wazee. Nataka jiko mpya."
Oh yes, guy wants new blood, hot blood, young blood."

Dammit! This old man is over 70. But he says that the morning erections are stronger than ever before. He feels rejuvenated. So full of life. He says that he can bang three hot as fuck broads in one sitting but still his mjuols won't waver.
I tell him he is joking.
He says, " Bring your sisters to my place."

"I have no sisters."
He turns. Eyes me, shocked. Like he's seen a spectre. Then laments sadly.

"You're not serious, boy."

He curses then turns to the barber.

"This green eyed fool has no sister."

Oh Yes! I met the old man in a barbershop. Around the  first quarter of the year in Kisii. Actually, I did not meet him. He was there minding his own business. I went to  get a shave on my state of the  art beard. And Gbam!!  Our paths collided. Like two misfunctional spacecrafts.

My hair consultant ( I hope I don't sound like a luo) goes by the name Dan. Dan is one crazy fella. He wraps those kinyozi sheets around me then starts  mocking my hairline.

"Osoch wee lazima utakuwa na upara kama baba yako."

"Not possible", I tell him. "My hair is from my mother's  side. And those people have lush, verdant and flowing locks. Mine is no different."

He caresses my hairline once more and trolls me farther.

"This your hairline is receding as quickly  as the mau forest. It needs urgent saving. But now, there's nobody to evict here. The only  eviction happening is your hair evicting itself."
(Stop laughing please.)

Jesus! Men are bad people. The homeboys in that barbershop broke into fits. The grandpa couldn't help himself. He laughed, then laughed and laughed again. As if it wasn't enough, he came and patted my head.
"Don't worry boy, ladies like bald men. It's a sign of virality and vitality."

How poetic! I wanted to shoot back in his face. But this is a 70 year old man. Maybe he knows the who and who in this town. One misplaced word and I'm in v8 to some hole to be interrogated as my balls are being electrocuted. So no, I watched my tongue and smiled at him. Even though what I really wanted to do was to spit in his face.
I turned back to Dan.
"God is watching you."

But Dan is one savage guy who doesn't believe in hell or the eternal fire. He just sneers and plucks a comb into my hair. I sigh, close my eyes and let him do his thing on my head.. Uhm and my beard of course.

There's this loud silence in the  room. Country music waters the background a bit before the 70 year old guy disrupts the silence.
"How many wives do you have?"
I thought the question was directed at Dan, so I turned to him.
"Yes Dan, come clean today. We need to know what you've been up to. Say they number of concubines, mistresses and sidesluts too."

"Noo no! Not Dan. He is a lost cause. I mean you."
The old man says. To say I was gobsmacked will  be an understatement. My jaw dropped. Like literally, it fell on the floor. I was lost for words. I started stammering
"Uhm.. Like I've not even thought of marriage."

He cursed.

"That's the problem of boys of today. They don't want to take care of women. If you continue like this our generation is going to the dogs. Listen to me boy! By the time I was your age I had a wife. And she was on the threshold of giving birth. The undoing of you men of this age is you don't want to  have children. Go out there and get girls pregnant. We need to guard our bloodline!!

Those bloody Chinese characters are filling up our country and shooting out children. While you're jumping around. Saying that you're still children. Blithering bullshit! Do you have a girlfriend??"

I manage a feeble "I'm not sure. It's a really complicated issue." Well true, it is complicated.

Those eagles in the shop laugh once more.

"You need serious help. Get a girlfriend and knock her up, dammit!"

I'm don't think I can take care of a child right now.

"Pure nonsense! You just get her pregnant. God will take of the children."

He  ranted on about a lot of  stuff I can't write because of  space and time. I think he was one crazy man. I liked his candor though. He was on a mission to preach the gospel of polygamy. And guy wasn't taking prisoners. Dan finished doing his stuff on my beard and I was on my way out. The grandpa shouted.

"Please put me in touch your sisters. Let's fill the world as our God wants." 

I ignored the guy and went my way. But the polygamy stuff never really got out of my head. I thought, how can 21st century polygamy work? Maybe you dear reader can share your insight on this trivial matter. Ladies can't you be the 3rd or 5th wife??

Coz let's face it. Most men of this age are serial cheats. They will shag you, shag your friend, shag your friend's friend and anything in a skirt as long his mjuols can rise to the party. To find faithful men like me, it's extremely rare, very, very rare. It's like seeing the Lunar eclipse. See, impossible. But then this is a talk for another  day. Like, what has teenager have to say on such.

In any case, I just don't think I can thrive in the field of polygamy. It's not stuff to do with libido. Naah, my libido is top notch. Like I've never been in such a good shape. I'm as horny as any man out there. Even more maybe. But servicing 5 or 6 women ain't easy. I mean, you have to serve the little serpent equally to all your women. Men who do that are true ninjas! They deserve a Nobel.

Oi... If my great grandfather was reading this. I'm sure he would be shocked and disappointed that I go against traditions. I didn't have the pleasure of meeting him. But word from trusted sources say that he had 8 wives. And as any normal African man of his time, also had a crew of concubines and side women that he "took care of." That must have been a lot of pussy for 19th century men. Times change.  But I'm sure, were he here today, guy would point at me and be like.

"Osoch. You're not of my blood. Utter disappointment!! Yaani, you're afraid of many women. Disappear from my sight! Off you go! Come back when you  have 3 wives! Pure bastard! You think like your grandmother. And where's that fool of a woman?? "

I'm sure when the missionaries arrived, they must have tried to talk him out of polygamy. The white emissary sent to take word was called Dickson. So, Dickson says.
"Osoro, you must have not so many wives. It's not godly. Just one woman is enough."
But greatgrandpa would shoot back.
"Are there no women where you come from Dickson??
Did your wife beat you in the morning Dickson??"
Dickson would run out of words. He would be left there, shocked, his Dick in his hands.

How did that feel Dickson??

Ps. Word reaching me, is that Bikozulu has a September masterclass. You guys know Bikozulu?? He is the godfather of Kenyan blogging. The real G.

I talked to the admin on his site. A fella going by the name Bett. One funny man. Now, Bett was making me jump around hoops of fire. Using phrases like "Yesterday, at sunrise you bowed on your laptop. And when you look up, it's already sunset." Fat lie! Guy, I don't even have a laptop of my own. Anyway, Bett you're  the King of kings. The master of sunrises and sunsets.  Come on Better! Be a Prince and sneak me into the  masterclass.

Serious stuff now. To attend the masterclass, he quoted a figure which will cost me an arm and both legs. I have huge feet(wink). Now I'm kinda appealing to the little angels in you. If you drink whiskey with Bikozulu. Or you know someone who drinks whiskey with him. Why don't you put in word and support  a starving writer to attend the masterclass. Trust me you'll be in car 1 to heaven. Jesus will be parting your hair, while Moses strokes your chin.

Photo credits [koech.ke] find him on Instagram. Top photographer/ school mate.  Best in the business. Bless you  bro.

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