Just another WordPress.com site

Posts tagged “satire

How to love an African Man

How to love an African Man (Satire)

Forget this whole nonsense of red flowers, red clothes and underwear, a red hat and handbag, Valentine cards and walking hand in hand in the streetlights of Nairobi. Do you love an African man? Then stop gazing at him directly. Look away, when he talks to you, preferably at the floor. That is the first sign of African love. True love, the African way demands deep sacrifices that go beyond artificial show, like wearing red high heels or leggings.

Ladies, if you truly love your husband, then this is the time to get him a second wife. Allow him not just to marry but get out of your way and give him your sister or cousin or best girlfriend. Jealousy shows a selfishness and lack of true love for your partner. A generous woman holds the family together and shares her man’s love with other women.

Deeper African love involves allowing your husband to bring home a girlfriend. Show him total love by warming some bathing water for his “guest”, preparing for them a delicious meal and allowing them to use your bedroom for the night as you sleep in the kitchen.

A woman, who truly loves her man, must bear him as many children as possible. 11 to 13 children will do. A woman who has less than five children is uncaring and denies the man the ability to continue his lineage. She has no iota of love in her.

According to psychologists, red in Africa is generally associated with mourning and death. So for heaven’s sake, avoid wearing red clothes by all means. It portrays you as a witch thirsting for blood. It only shows how much you hate your man and how you wish him early death so you can inherit his property. Red is the bearer of bad news and may cause death in the family, a road accident or block your man’s promotion.

Wife Beating

If you have never been beaten by your husband, all we can say is; be warned as this is a clear sign that he does not love you at all. You should indeed do the rightful thing expected from a loving wife; scream, beg him to stop, and of course thank him for beating you by warming his bath water and making him a nice hot ugali or sour porridge.

In the old traditional days women who had been beaten and their arms broken were forced to return to their husbands on the same day with gifts for their husbands. That was true love anchored on forgiveness. There were no grudges, hardly any divorce. Wife beating in certain communities in Kenya remains a cultural love practice that is still highly valued and revered for its romantic nature.

Several women favour beating by their husbands as an act of love.

Mary Agatha 55, a Primary School teacher is a married mother with four children. Agatha’s sentiments are rather strong on the fact that a woman must be beaten up as a proof of love. She concurs with the local culture that encourages wife beating. “How can my husband prove that he loves me if he does not beat me?  A woman who has never been beaten by her husband is wasting her time. She will never really know what true love means. It is also really nice to be beaten because my husband always buys me gifts after beating me. I sometimes provoke him to beat me up so that I can have my gifts! Some women are so stupid that they do not even allow their husbands to slap them,” says Agatha. “When will they ever get loved?” She pauses.

Dowry, the true sign of love

When a man loves a woman, he pays her parents dowry. The more he loves her, the more cows he takes to her parents’ home. The fewer and thinner the cows, the less dosage of love the man has for his wife. But at times a woman may love a poor man. To demonstrate her love for him, love may force her to elope with her darling in the heart of the night or on her way to the river. That is true love.

A young man may also kidnap the love of his life when he has no dowry. This make’s the girl’s parents very happy since their daughter has found true love.

Make your husband a big ugali that he cannot finish. As everyone knows, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Avoid snacks like rice and green grams as such meals put an African man off. Even if you make him some rice, make an even bigger plate of ugali and serve him. Make sure you serve him a huge bowl of sweet potatoes and a full flask of tea after his main meal.

Ask no questions

Shouting at your husband in front of his friends is typical of a woman who is not in love. True African love means asking no questions and smiling even when things are wrong. Even where you are more intelligent than your lover, act like you do not know anything. Being a fool to give your husband greater glory is love beyond measure.

When you truly love your man, you cannot deny him his conjugal rights no matter how many times he asks. True love has no calendar or time.

Going out for a dance or an evening out is definitely out of the question. As a woman you are supposed to show your love by staying at home and cooking for the children. Never ask your man where he has come from, no matter how many days he has been away, or whatever time of the night he knocks on the door. What love is that to let other men hold you on the dance floor, tightly, tightly! Going out in a women’s group popularly known as girls’ night out or “ladies night” is total nonsense. It is only women who hate their men and want to take over households who meet in public pubs to gossip and finish their men.

African men do not appreciate miniskirts unless worn by Koinange Street Women. Wear a decent dress or a long skirt far below the elbow.

When you love a man, do not walk with him side by side. Show your love by walking behind him.

Love your husband’s mother with all your heart and your entire mind and all your soul. How can you love a man, without first loving his mother?

If you love your man at all, avoid high heels especially the red ones. No man wants his wife to look like a horse. It is not only embarrassing but disgraceful. Allow your man to go out for his beer or traditional Busaa or Chang’aa with his friends or to go watch football at the local shopping centre and wait for him at home with a jug of brown sour millet porridge.

Night Runner

When your husband is a night runner, learn the game very fast so that you show solidarity with him. Total commitment and loyalty means going out for those nightly rides on the back of hippopotamuses and leopards. True love means you do not talk about the nocturnal activities or else the love will grow cold.

Do not visit your partner at his place of work or call him during office hours. True love means if you did not ask in the morning, then wait until he comes home. Tell him how tired he is after working so hard, massage his feet, feed him and only when his tummy is extended from overeating can you make your demands.

So are you ready to love an African man? Get set. Replace candle lit dinners with warm firewood, don’t play new music from a cassette; instead sing  or chant his praises. Sing to him about his sexual prowess and how great a hunter he once was. Sing praises for his wisdom and knowledge and for his seductive mastery in adding more wives to the home. Burn those red clothes and other red items that make you look like a desperate witch. The demands are high before you enjoy the true love of an African man.

 

Copyright Omwa Ombara 2012.

 

 

 

 


Am A Hopeless Facebook Addict

I am a hopless facebook addict in desperate need of rehabilitation. And I need a facebook doctor to save me lest I perish. I have become such a hopeless wreck that if nobody helps me, I might get locked up in a facebook institution.

I am usually the first one to get into facebook in the morning and the last to leave at night. Sometimes I fall asleep on the laptop only to wake up and continue with this facebook business. This addiction of mine has turned me into a lurker and when my friends have gone to sleep, I sneak into their pages and profiles and read everything…everything I need to know about them. I started feeling I needed help when I discovered that sometimes I am on facebook alone at 1 am with no one to chat with.

Facebook impresses me, I must admit. Never in my life have I had so many friends. It is not easy to make friends, you know, especially for a shy person like me. Can you believe it? I have 499 friends although to tell the truth, I only communicate with three or four daily. And only one or two, sometimes respond to my posts. This makes me so miserable and when this happens I tell myself, “I have no friends. I have no friends at all!” I have only had two sincere friends in my life and this facebook thing had given me great hopes to have so many friends.

Some of my friends are so popular that whenever they post something, over 50 people respond at once. This makes me so jealous that I feel like erasing their posts. So, to contain my jealousy, I sign out immediately. But because of my addiction, I am soon back on facebook again to monitor if the comments are going up. I get consolation from a blog I read recently that people who are popular on facebook are not normal.

My facebook addiction is pathetic. There are times I thought I would instil some discipline on myself. I deleted 200 friends from my post, hoping to retain 50. But the more friends I deleted, the more friend requests I accepted and now I have 499 friends. Some people have over 1000 friends and this makes me so jealous.

My addiction has been progressing over the years. After blocking some of my friends from the Friends’ list, I soon started asking them to be my friends again. Some fellow facebook addicts understood my condition and agreed to be friends with me again. But some dimissed me with the contempt I deserve and I have been begging them to take me back on facebook.

Some of the friends on facebook are very intelligent and well read. The more I read their posts , the wiser I become. Some are quite thick skinned and obnoxious. Quite a number live in their own world and only talk to themselves. Some are sober and some are wild. Some friends make me laugh, some make me cry. Like my poet friend who after posting every comment accompanies it with an adjecture,”only poets understand what I mean”. This makes tears of laughter roll down my eyes. Some friends, however suffer from verbal diarrhoea and this puts me off. Some are patronising, some condescending and some act as if they know everything. Yet some are so humble.

There are names that facinate me on facebook, especially the fake ones. Kenyans are very creative with names. Sometimes I spend the whole night just reading everybody’s name and trying to work out what they mean.

Who will treat this facebook addiction of mine? Sometimes, I read very annoying comments and I promise myself I will never go back to facebook again. Some comments are so demeaning, some tribalistic and some very vulgar. I have received love requests and job requests. I have received in-boxes for one night stands.

The group of friends I hate most are the political sycophants that encourage tribalism on facebook. They pretend that their tribal leaders are better than others, forgetting that one man’s meat is another man’s poison. So I do not understand why I still read their nonsense. Addiction is a bad thing, it makes one do things one hates.

I have once unsubscribed from facebook. But I got so lonely after that. I missed my friends. I felt left out of the facebook family. And very soon, as you might guess, I was back again, filling in my details and rejoining the facebook community. So when people say they are leaving facebook and wish everyone goodbye, only to surface a few days later, I truly understand. That is a fellow addict and the sooner I make friends with them, the faster I will be in good company.

Facebook is nice. If you miss one friend you can always talk to another. It is not like a mobile phone where some friends refuse to pick calls, others fail to return calls while others ignore your smses. I can communicate with strangers and still feel fulfilled.

Facebook has been kind to me though. Without facebook I would be jobless. Kind friends on facebook give me work and pay me for it and that is how I manage to pay my rent.

Facebook doctor, can you hear me?

A satire copyright Omwa Ombara, 2012