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CAN'T DATE A PROBOX FELLA




I wasn’t interested in a lot of things in my high school days. I wasn’t interested in reading or helping the needy. I never paid tithe, always sleeping my fat ass off during mass. I made fun of CU members. My life wasn’t on a clear trajectory like folks who were index one and two. Teachers told me I couldn’t amount to much in life; the joke is on them though. As I am gradually bringing order to my life. It might be slow, it might be tiring, it might be blood sucking, what counts is that I am trying. And when history books are revisited, a guy would read of me and say, “Osoch Ogun, that was one pretty nice guy. I want to be like him.”

If my mum was reading this, she would roll her eyes and clap. That strong African clap, followed by a discouraging laugh. Because even though our mothers wish the best for us, there are times they just demoralize us. I have been a victim of this, demoralisation by mothers. All mothers should actually be called to a seminar and asked to be a little bit lenient on us. And even though we don’t show signs of amounting to much in life, we deserve a little bit of encouragement.  

If you talked to my mum early this year, she would have painted a sad caricature of yours truly. A son, who has failed in life and society. A boy with higher chances of landing in Kamiti than going to university. But because I serve a living God, I made it to university. My mum realizing, she was losing ground in the war against me, she changed tactics. Her weapon against me was my hair. 

She talked about how she was greatly disappointed in me. How as a son I was pulling her behind. Why in the name of Jesus would I keep so much hair on my head? The way she mentioned my hair, you would think of it as a weapon of mass destruction hidden somewhere in North Korea. Sometimes she would say that I resembled a pigmy who runs an illegal logging racket in the middle of Congo forest. At some point she even stopped looking at my head directly, saying it was just too much for her, she couldn’t handle it anymore. All kinds of psychological warfare were aimed at me but I was having none of it. I was keeping all of my hair; I had been spent four years in high school waiting to have an afro. She wasn’t going to steal my glory just yet.

Then I went to university, my hair trudging along like a jaded shadow.
Something happened in that campus which scarred me. I can’t explain it. It wasn’t a moment of truth. I did not dream of Jesus and was suddenly changed. Life just happened and I found myself shaving to the scalp. Going back home, I thought my mother would be happy. that her last born who seemed to be drifting in darkness was now dancing in the light of the lord. But Alas! She told me that I shouldn’t have shaved. I looked better off with hair. I was shocked. What do women really want?

I have been relaxing in the village for two weeks now. Doing nothing which helps the nation. Swimming in the river, shooting pool and travelling around. No Instagram stories though as the internet connection sucks. Damn thing loads for hours.

Some days back I walked into a new barbershop. It is one of those serious new places with two TVs and Wi-Fi. The barber couldn’t stop talking about Wi-Fi. He even spent more time talking about Wi-Fi than actually shaving me. As if it’s the only place in Kisii with Wi-Fi, I mean, Kisii ain’t Bomet or Kapseret.   As he worked on my head, a TV show popped up on the screen. It was on YouTube actually. Men and women chasing love. Folks whose souls don’t function properly, and they need to find a soulmate or they will die unaccomplished. Having lived a life of sadness and underachieving. They need a soulmate who will love them and tell them they belong, that they have been outsiders for too long. I find it to be a bullshit show.

Anyway, there were two young folks on a date. Around, twenty-two years old, a chick and a boy. The girl looked older, but it is said that you can never know the age of a woman. She wasn’t beautiful from my point of view, hiding behind layers of foundation and makeup. Though she had that sexual vibe about her, a chick you can want to take all the way. 

She laid down her demands. What she expected from a man who fancied her in any way.
That man must be young and hard working. The guy nodded. That man must have money and own his house, living in a rental is a no-no. She doesn’t want the dramas involved with landlords. A man who lives in a bedsitter stands no chance. She wants a guy who will take her out to huge hotels and pay her bills. A man who drives his own car can have her. A good car, with a nice smell and an engine that doesn’t make noise, the engine should purr. And she pointed out clearly that a man who drives a pro box should not dare to talk to her. I laughed at that, seriously??? Pro Box.

I can’t recall how the show ended, it left me with lots of thoughts though. Girls may be asking a lot from their boys these days and this in a way is putting unnatural burden boys. Where does a campus guy get a house from? A campus guy won't drive unless his family is well-moneyed. I felt sorry for that chick, she is going to date only sponsors and drug dealers. OH! My regards to guys with Pro Box rides, they are drivers too.   

2 comments:

  1. lol,Happy Mother`s day to your mother,and the rest of them...When a lady gets older...the list of demands gets shorter.Great read Sir..Do keep at it.

    ReplyDelete

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