I am not a fan of tables. But Kenyan ladies love them. Ah. Kenyan ladies are preoccupied with tables. It is always what are you bringing to the table and never I am here to help you master it.
Lately, my ideas of what makes a relationship are going through a seismic shift, rocking my inner core. I have since come to understand that most of us, especially those in Kanairo are presenting a front. I have come to believe that this Nairobi is some kind of grand social experiment where you have to have a bit of conman in you.
This city teaches you to talk without saying anything. That this city is all about performance, that this Kanairo is but a stage and all the men and women are merely players. We talk at right angles.
One asks a question, and the other replies in part, then uses that part to move the conversation to something else. Everyone has an agenda. There is something they’re trying to say—or not say.
If you have been on as many dates as I have, then you must know that as the scales fall from your eyes, the things that you once considered sacred as a young man—skin as clean as rain, stomachs flatter than the Ukambani rock python, and nyash—aren’t really what keep the relationship purring. Ah, nyash. The promised land.
This is a true story. One of you, and I will not name names, but let's call her Cindy, recently propositioned me for marriage. I wanted to know what she was bringing to the table and then she said, ‘The table’ and that scared me because I am against deforestation (and logging). Besides, it’s my job to be the funny one in the relationship. Anyway, good luck, Cindy.
Another reason it could not work out—despite the fact that she did—was that all she brought to the goddamn table was nyash. That wasn’t enough because there is always someone with a bigger one next door. Look, I don’t hate Nyash. In fact, I am a big Nyash lover. I appreciate good nyash. I will do anything (well within the confines of the law) for good nyash. I love nyash so much, that my actual full name is Eddy Ny-ash-ioya. Wallahi. Can cheat can die.
But ladies, nyash is not a personality trait. And for this, I lay the blame squarely at the wooden door of Kenyan men who have taken to worshipping nyash and making it seem like the best thing since Disco Matanga. Where I come from, Luhya land, nyash has never been a problem (allow me to send my salaams. Mulembe?).
In fact, the average nyash in Kakamega will be bigger than Kenya’s economy in the next few years—allegedly. I don’t have proof yet, but I read somewhere, probably on Twitter (ugh) that if you do squats daily, and eat (two) eggs, also daily, for at least three months, then you will start to see a noticeable bulge in your derriere.
That’s fine, but have you seen the price of eggs in this hustler economy? Does that explain why when girls sleep over, the first thing they do is rush to your fridge for the eggs? Omaigod. Having a booty is to men, what a broke man is to women. Money is important, yes, but nyash is important(er).
But here’s the problem: by focusing on it, we have become the causalities prompting ladies to get Brazilian Butt Lifts (BBL), which are famously one of the most dangerous cosmetic procedures in the world—not least because of the impact it has on your body—leading to thousands of women who die attempting them each year. Yet others too will change their skin tone because to be light-skinned and have a big Nyash is to win the first prize in the lottery of life.
The thing is, ladies, hear me out, as a certain government official from a certain government docket recently proved, nyash might get you to the top, but nyash won’t keep you there. As the scales have fallen off men’s eyes, the power of nyash remains in how you work with it.
Historically do you know why men preferred women with big booties? Pull up that wooden chair, hopefully not made from the proceeds of unethical logging, and let me school you: According to a study conducted by the University of Oxford, women with bigger than average butts are more resistant to diseases and intelligent (because of the Omega-3 fatty acids. You should’ve paid more attention in class bro).
This does not include those who got theirs through surgery, however. In men, fat accumulation is stimulated around the gut and inhibited in the butt while in women it is in their gluteofemoral region, that is, the butt and thighs. It doesn’t hurt that it helps to give her an anchor in bed, making the horizontal mamba missionary fireworks. But good sex and endorphins do not equate to a healthy relationship.
Nyash has become the ultimate god of desire for Nairobi men. Wueh! One would think it is the elixir of life. Nyash might bring me to the table, but good conversation, attitude, and personality will keep me there.
I don’t know if you’ve read the budget or not, but we are not going to meet our quota of Sh3.7 trillion by sitting on whatever talents we have, pardon the irony. We also have the collective national memory of a goldfish with dementia for all our traumas, which is good, but also not so much. Whatever happened to getting new bodies in heaven?
My people say, when your clothes are made of cassava leaves, you don’t take a goat as a friend. Mine is to tell you what I think, and what I think is simple: A fine nyash doesn’t always present what I like to call the BBD—the Bigger, Better, Deal— the kind of woman who makes men restless and noncommittal in their relationships, in relationships based on superficialities and paranoia.
Brother, listen to me. No matter how bright the future is behind her, Nairobi is a celebrated crime of passion, lingerie uncovering our innermost thoughts dripping from the devil’s pen. Me, I am telling you, the sooner you realise that nyash is not everything in a relationship, the better you will eat life. Otherwise, kitakuramba! Nimewa-warn.
