The kind that would kill and skin a he-goat with their bare hands and dissect the insides with their teeth. The kind that bulls were scared of. Burglars breaking into this kind's home, would be dealt with by the would-be victims themselves and there would be no need to call the fire-fighters and the anti-terror police like you do today. This breed is slowly but surely dying out. And in its place, are these special breed of men that apply make up and visit the washrooms for short-calls carrying tissue and napkins.
The new breed is financially endowed and polished all the way to the fingernails. They are always hugging everyone, including their teenage daughters and enjoy watching Soap operas with their mothers-in-law. Its therefore my pleasure to revisit this man, now facing extinction, in his hey-day, while also going over what to expect from this new guy that is now taking over.
The brute,Ancient man.
This man, now fading into oblivion, is sadly broke and therefore not an attraction. He walks around in the best clothes of 1993, when he ran the town. Dressed that way, cops always mistake him for that notorious jail-bird that may have just been released from jail, as they seek to explain how a man could be looking so 'yesterday'. What used to be his style of life, is now called 'old school' and is not in demand anymore . He is an unfortunate victim of the modern world. He has been rendered irrelevant by modernity and he, like a male lion that has outlived his usefulness as king of the pride, is now being kicked out, by the young lads.
The sisters have now known that it doesn't take physical strength to change that flat tire. Computers and robots have taken over car repair so the sight of a mechanic in a half-buttoned, oily overall is becoming rarer and rarer. What required brute strength and muscle, now only requires one click of a button and its done. The sisters now all know how to change that bulb in the bedroom, so what's this kind of a guy for. Modernity seems to have yanked the ladies off this man's arms and seeing as they flooded around him just a few years back, he's now dazed. Barely believing he's walked all morning and no one has even said hi. The cops and the estate security have since taken over the security of our sisters at night. And with majority of them driving their own cars, who needs to be escorted by this male anyway . Chances of him even being 'kept', have narrowed dramatically because he lacks plaited hair like his young competitors. And because the delivery boys will carry that new fridge into the house for free when she orders one , this man might as well head back to Kimilili, where he came from in the 90s or 80s.
Situations made him important. Now those same situations have turned against him. How tables can turn, in less than a decade in a changing world. Because of this, his ego is bruised. Badly. Even his frame has started wasting away, because good food is hard to come by these days. He can only entertain those who are willing to listen to his tales of yesteryear in dens and dark alleys where somebody might still recognize him. Because yesteryear is where he belongs. Automatic cars are all over the production lines so who needs this macho driver, when a sister can just step on the gas, take aim, voilaa!, we are home. Kids don't mill around him in admiration any more.They pity him, probably because they've heard their mother use him as an example of some terrible creation. Now he's taken to hard liquor in the backstreet because that's the only place that still has time for him. He's addicted to cheap stuff now, as he tries to drown the pain . A far cry from the champagne bottles he popped back then. And there's more sad news for him, I'm afraid. Because at this rate of modernization, nobody is interested in his skills anymore. And soon, he might just belong to the museum.
My friend, it's a sad state of affairs, if a certain breed of men has to face extinction before the rhino.
'New Kids On The Block'.
This new guy carries a mirror and visits the washrooms to 'freshen up', just like the girls. He is loaded with lots of cash, because this is his time. No prizes for guessing why his table is milling with all these women, all with huge bottoms . See, he is equipped with modern skills and there are jobs for his kind all over town. His job that attracts six figures. He speaks the latest 'English' coming off the slang production lines and throws in the 'i'm like' phrase, in the middle of every sentence or simply whenever his mind goes blank. He doesn't do brown bottles anymore, because they are not classy and the lowest he'll stoop on the liquor rack, is Jameson.
He's given the local estate barber a wide berth for hygienic reasons, preferring instead to acquire the services of a qualified beautician. He prefers the toothpick to pick his meat from the tray, because it cost him a fortune to get his nails looking that perfect. He holds the bone with his finger-tips, then frowns as he chews on his meat, like he's on Malariaquin, a drug he's only recently heard of courtesy of Donald Trump's big mouth. Otherwise, he'd have thought it's some kind of a queen from some country somewhere.
He has his 'Me' time too, which he uses to treat his nails, toes and hair.
He has his 'Me' time too, which he uses to treat his nails, toes and hair.
He has no idea what bone marrow soup is and has never eaten a goat's boiled head since birth. He has no use for Kang'ethe, The butcher, who also doubles up as a goat 'mathagiro' specialist. I say 'mathagiro' because I find no other word appropriate to describe the goat's legs that Kang'ethe boils behind the local pub. In fact, this dude can't stand Kang'ethe's soiled white apron (Now approaching black, having surpassed brown, on new year's eve), and tilts sideways whenever Kang'ethe passes by, carrying his wooden tray heading to the next table. This new man just doesn't understand the need for a little dirt on a man's apron. Nor does he has time for a sweaty man handling his meat with their bare hands, moments after handling change for the previous customer with the same sweaty hands.
He smells of roses and wears designer underwear bought in Dubai. He has that same tattoo on 50' cent's bicep on his fore-arm, in a bid to get that 'gangsta' look, but that's like trying to make a cat look scary to a Chimp.
But everything has it's bad side. Because if you are a lady who happens to get married to one of these, place two seats in front of the make-up table. And buy him his own make-up kit to avoid early morning fights-he's still the man, and probably physically still stronger than you.
The Irony.
But given half-a chance, ladies will cheat on this new guy with the watchman. Because the carnal urge to bed the real primitive, hardened man will not go away. Nature seems to embarrass you when you least expect it to. That's why a committed Subaru-driving man, with plaited hair and an acquired accent, living in the plush ends of town, will not understand what their woman was thinking when she cheated on him with the rough gate watchman from Bukhungu. Because he has always provided for everything she has ever needed of him. He has even held the napkin-box for her, as they both watched their favorite soap, crying in turns over the unfolding events. He has engaged in all types of girl-talk and can sing all Celine Dion's songs backwards. He's waited patiently for hours on end, for her at the salon. So much so, that they've now placed a seat for him at the corner, complete with the Cosmopolitan magazine and make-up guide.He's even given up his football on Saturdays for her, and even when he visits the sports bar, she's always on tow, so she can ensure they leave before seven. He knows all the lingerie shops in town courtesy of her. And now he's at his wit's end.
Change is here and embrace it we must.But as we prepare to lay a wreath on the man of yesteryear,may we please recognize his input and importance.It was not wrong.It has just outlived its usefulness.It was good while it lasted.Let's now give it up to the new kids on the block,albeit grudgingly.
But everything has it's bad side. Because if you are a lady who happens to get married to one of these, place two seats in front of the make-up table. And buy him his own make-up kit to avoid early morning fights-he's still the man, and probably physically still stronger than you.
The Irony.
But given half-a chance, ladies will cheat on this new guy with the watchman. Because the carnal urge to bed the real primitive, hardened man will not go away. Nature seems to embarrass you when you least expect it to. That's why a committed Subaru-driving man, with plaited hair and an acquired accent, living in the plush ends of town, will not understand what their woman was thinking when she cheated on him with the rough gate watchman from Bukhungu. Because he has always provided for everything she has ever needed of him. He has even held the napkin-box for her, as they both watched their favorite soap, crying in turns over the unfolding events. He has engaged in all types of girl-talk and can sing all Celine Dion's songs backwards. He's waited patiently for hours on end, for her at the salon. So much so, that they've now placed a seat for him at the corner, complete with the Cosmopolitan magazine and make-up guide.He's even given up his football on Saturdays for her, and even when he visits the sports bar, she's always on tow, so she can ensure they leave before seven. He knows all the lingerie shops in town courtesy of her. And now he's at his wit's end.
Change is here and embrace it we must.But as we prepare to lay a wreath on the man of yesteryear,may we please recognize his input and importance.It was not wrong.It has just outlived its usefulness.It was good while it lasted.Let's now give it up to the new kids on the block,albeit grudgingly.
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