The Rains Beating Us

I was chilling on my favourite spot on a fine Tuesday afternoon enjoying the hugs of the warm afternoon rays, as I scrolled through my favourite laugh peddler’s feeds with my highland coffee at hand. There’s something rich in the purity of locally produced content that makes it worthwhile to spend a couple of hours to interact, relate and laugh along to the well thought jokes. It almost feels like singing the National Anthem back in the day when patriotism and justice was our shield and defender. The enviable days I could get encouraged by the toiling figures of my African brothers who labored to be providers and maintain bountifuls in their nest( I have forgotten the name of the traditional store?). The days where women were queens and not a meagre gender to be trampled upon. How time flies! 

That a fully bearded man could relax his muscles in a house whose operating costs he doesn’t cover was something that was frowned at two decades ago. Communities moulded male children with a million strands of responsibility and uttermost respect for the girls. As a matter of fact, in my village, the mighty Wasundi, girls were like lillies; soft, delicate and rosy. We could be reminded to always look after them like they were rare pieces of saphires. It was curious for a man to suspiciously treat a woman in ways that lay on the negative spectrum. But that’s then, now it looks normal for some clusters of men to maltreat, exploit, disrespect and pimp ladies. Just where did the rain start beating us?

A man is a fatherly figure. Someone who protects, motivates, mentors, guides and directs the younger generation. The shillionaire mindset however waves on a group of kind predators. The type who sweetly package as the shoulder to lean on to vulnerable girls but in hindset lay out strategies to ‘kindly’ demolish their vulnerability. These riff raffs pick out their victims and toy around with them like a Friday Night puzzle. It’s no wonder we are hit with reports of men who sit by and lay bare the details of their flowery bedroom escapade with a clande. I mean what happened to don’t kiss and tell?

To some extent, I give credits of slashed masculinity to trendsetters. Marketing experts and capitalists generally have shackled our minds with the flashy side of life which mostly has nuggets of bikini girls for the financially muscled men. The young and woke grow salivating a fancy life, with the least effort possible. Makes me think we have forgotten the basics of life. I’m lucky to have interacted with the haves and have nots in equal spectrum. It’s from my interaction that I learn’t beyond reasonable doubt that the material glitters we chase on no end will never be satisfactory.

Money can’t buy happiness is passed as a lame saying for the broke. In hindset, there’s sense in the few words. Is it not on the wisdom streets that we discovered a word is enough for a wise man? Truly a farmer in the village producing his food is happier than an urban dweller waking up daily to battle city life. I know we need money to live, but money is not necessarily the end life goal. The essence of life is happiness. That’s why some religions like the Buddhist subscribe to the philosophy of focusing on the moment. Forget the past and the future. Just live in the moment for what shall it profit a man if he owns the whole city and loses his soul?

I’m in no way posting this to encourage laziness. On the contrary, work hard for all its worth, poverty still is the worst illness. There’s no beauty in sleeping on a hungry stomach nor is there modesty in watching on as your better half succumbs to bouts of headaches for lack of proper medicare. I’m all for staying afloat even on the waves of financial bountifulness. The pride that comes with roaring away with a heavy German machine, looking all removed from dusty Nairobi roads is a sport everyone should get to enjoy.

While we’re on it, maybe it’s time someone reminds our daughters that dating a broke young man is not a crime. I used to hear my mum encouraging my tenacious sisters to aim at adding value to that young man’s life. Well unless of course dating a financially blind man is among a thousand ways to die, is it?

Featured image by: Na Urchin from Pexels


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