I’m one of those basic male humans that fit into whichever stereotypes people have; I go to church every Sunday to pray for forgiveness of sins and more money, I secretly hope a lady smelling like lavendar sits next to me in a matatu, I have no idea what beige as a colour stands for and I always accept terms and agreements of basically anything I subscribe to online just to get on with it: I never read that damn legalese. I also believe that goals are great if you want to achieve failure in measurable increments. That’s why I avoid having any. Moreover I find breaking news to be an inconvenience to my quietly browsing the internet. My problem isn’t that I don’t like where I work, but that I don’t like working. I’m the perfect stereotype. So I take joys in very little things like having chapo for any meal whatsoever, Arsenal finishing above Manchester United, seeing people lose Sportpesa bets and weirdly, getting random texts from women around.
I have a girlfriend, one I love so much (Woman if you are reading this, a statement like this on a blog is more expensive than a purple ruby ring. In fact, there are 125478963 women secretly fighting to have… You know what, forget it. Hehehehe. Yeah I’ll just buy the damn rock). But once or twice there is a lost woman out there looking for a sense of acceptance, and remembers I exist and sends me a text message. Now, I have no problem texting. In fact, my whole persona exists online. In person, I’m as dead as the WiFi they cheat us with on matatus plying Buruburu, Embakasi and Rongai routes. Those things have passwords like ‘NomaKamaRongai’ but they can’t even send a message on WhatsApp. So I’m dead like that in person. If you meet me, I look like the word failure and boring written above each other. I have that face that says you have made a poor decision, or are about to make one. So when such a woman texts me, I always want to see where this thing is headed, just incase, you know… Just incase dowry negotiations take a wrong turn: I’m always sure there’s that aunt or uncle who joins dowry negotiations to ask for something extravagant or nonexistent like a Castle on Kitisuru (In my dreams, that thing cannot exist. I have lived in a bedsitter in Embakasi so a castle on Kitisuru is such a long journey in my dreams). If you ask for that, I wont even argue. I just go, kiss the woman of my dreams goodbye and tell her I’ll have to watch more movies and dream again.
So recently I’ve been chatting with this lady at work. Work conversations start very officially like where I left the projector clicker and all. First, she looks like she works to pass time. So unlike me, she has never lived under the same roof with a smoking jiko at the same time, so it’s understandable that she doesn’t quite grasp how much more important work is to me than talking about Game of Thrones. She is different for me because all my previous friends have displayed the admirable consistency of beginning life ugly and staying that way for a while. She is 21, and she probably believes that any bad idea can become a good idea with enough enthusiasm, make-up, perfume and alcohol. Because she says a lot of crap in work meetings, smiles and goes to Snapchat… Take a photo of her face and write “Work-Tingz” or “Meeting Done”. All she did in that meeting was make noise for the three minutes she spoke. Nobody understood her, but she is too cute to insult… So being gentlemen, we move to the next topic without talking about what she said.
I was saying we’ve been texting. Even I don’t know how speaking about a projector ended up being a conversation where she told me intimate things like how her father bought her mum an iPhone 6s for her Pre-Birthday (I’m surprised just as you are that people celebrate such a thing). Then there’s this thing where she send photos of literally everything she thinks is exciting. She sent a picture of a cow, because she lives in the plush of Nairobi, like she had seen wildlife. I know, I also didn’t think such people exist in nairobi, but here we are. Sometimes I wish she’d understand how conversations work for me… Because for me, using the word “dichotomy” in a term paper can instantly raises your score by a full letter grade. Using the word “dichotomy” in a text instantly raises your status as an elitist douche bag. But she does things like that. I always avoid speaking to her, but when you have a 21 year old who leaves work at 3pm while you leave at 6pm, and earns probably more than you do… You don’t want to ruffle feathers. She could as well be the daughter to the Director or one of the BOG members who wants to offload the squeaking prick from his sight.
I’m writing this because I’ve noticed her conversation changing slowly. The other day, Friday morning (Yes she texts in the morning. I don’t want to get sacked so I text back, knowing it’s part of my God given duty to satisfy the misplaced identity this girl is suffering), she was texting me about how Bieber’s Snapchat makes her feel challenged. That’s what life has reduced to for me. I don’t even hate Bieber, Bieber just doesn’t exist for me. When you say Bieber, it is equivalent to the reaction I make when I look at Softball or some sport like golf which I know means nothing to me. So she texts…
Sash: Aki Bieber’s Snap.. All guy’s should be like him (Yeah, I had to stand this)
Me: Hahahaha. That’s good (This is me avoiding this story like I avoid any argument with an Embassava tout)
Sash: Bieber understands art. His life speaks that typa msg that can change your life (Bieber’s life has a message, that’s new… But she’s the rich girl here.)
Me: That’s awesome. I’m so glad you’ve learnt something (I am still avoiding this thing like plague)
Sash: Gosh. You’re so undrstandng. Thanks darl😘😚😍
Deliberately I did not text back…
Because I’m confused my people. We all know what 😍 means and what 😚😘 implies. It means nigga I’m kissing you, I am in love with you and the next thing is you reply this and your name in our conversation changes to dear. I thought like every normal human being she would decode my not texting back and leave me to my normal life of watching Spongebob… Lakini wapi. An hour later, we are at work.. She is sitting right opposite me, obviously doing what she does best (Replying to Snapchat messages and taking pictures of her pout faces)… Then she texts. Never mind the fact she heard the Boss clearly tell me he needs some report in an hour. Nope. This is more important.
Sash: Guys are so on my Snap… 😂😂😂😂 (She’s bored. All her friends are busy with work, she has nothing to do)
Me: That is so awesome (This is me avoiding this story, because I know where this is going)
Sash: Come we take a selfie I upload 😜😍 (You see that emoji guys, right?)
Me: I don’t look good in pictures. (I have a girlfriend and I have the physique of a diabetic dwarf cat)
Sash: Don’t be so boring, you look good.. I’ll make you look good 😍😍😍😘 (I have no idea what’s going on right now)
Me: Have you seen Octopizzo’s Video with Vicmass Luodollar. Dope! (Girl please forget, please flow with the story. Please be clever, be like me)
Sash: I’ll check. So Selfie? 😘😚
I faked a call. I’ve had to. I learnt that in journalism, interviewing old men who ramble forever about their misfortune. But here, I’m doing it because I understand that the goal of a successful first date is securing a second date. And a first selfie with this girl’s emojis, might lead to a second, and a selfie outside, and a photoshoot, and a selfie party (Nairobi kids have all kinds of parties. If a masquerade party can go down, a selfie party is not that far) and she has a pregnancy shoot (Your pregnancy), and there you go… Another happily ever after story. I walked out looking for ways to quit my job. I’ve had quite a number, including crazy ones like what happens when you do a Google image search for the phrase “child pornography” using your boss’s computer. And I faked a meeting instead. I walked out and told a pal of mine that I am going for a meeting at Ngong’. I’ll be back tomorrow because traffic, matatu, sweat, office etc. That didn’t end as I expected. The traitor told the girl I had gone for a meeting.
Sash: Irvin… You’ve gone for a meeting? (I’m bored again, you’re the only punching bag I know, everyone here is old)
Me: I’ll text. In a meeting (Heavenly Father in Jesus name, I come before you to repent my sins. I know I strangled Nyikul’s puppies and blamed it on an ilness that hit them all, but I pictured a future with 6 barking tributaries of wildlife in the same plot and it wasn’t going to be a successful relationship. Forgive me God. This lady is my punishment but I am ready to join a Seminary father)
Sash: Gosh that is such a turn on. I like focusd guyz 😍😍😍😍 (Somebody tell me what I can say because I have tried all the wrong things I know)
No reply from me.
I’ve learned enough girl-speak over the years to know the difference between what a woman who isn’t your girlfriend says (All I want is a hug) and what she means (I’m a lying selfish prick. Shower me with unspecified material goods and give me your attention). It’s been two hours, and she texts…
“I’m in Ngong’😍😋😎. Bored”
Story of my life. Save me. I’m going to quit my job, unless you do.
Have a productive week. Don’t reply texts with emojis like this 😍😚😘😝😜😋. Those are ISO Certified perverted emojis.