Men, if your chic is a serial abuser, run!
Here’s a statement thrown around carelessly like confetti: “I’m a lover, not a fighter, but I will fight for whom I love'".
Now, if you get that from a Kenyan lady, particularly a Nairobi girl, brother, she means it literally. Nairobi women are the Wikipedia version of violence. Born for the scrap. Putting the ‘fun’ in dysfunctional.
Drama? Anger? Dramanger? Wueh!
Wrapped in their cotton of embrace is an intimidating and ferocious nature, fueled by the fire that roars within, a fire that at times blazes out of control.
Of course, we are sane people here at Nation, and we know it’s not all of them, but most of them. Their ‘savage’ tendencies simmer so close to the surface that, in their grasp, even a lollipop becomes a weapon. You tell her you like black tea and she says “oh, so you hate milk?” Every reply is a warcry, with a balls-to-the-walls physicality, all that cortisol coursing in her veins surely must be bad for her blood?
“Uko?” you ask. “Kwa nini? Unataka?” she replies. They won’t give responses without hinting at a fight. Depending on whom and when you ask, Nairobi relationships are either supposed to prepare you for your next relationship...or a life as a priest.
If I throw my eyes back to the past, it paints a pastiche of that African home we grew up in. The one where defying your parents was treasonous. Moms had the flair for the dramatic — a simple no or shrug from you would elicit their anger: “Unataka kuniua!” It’s safe to say, our girlfriends are daughters of their mothers.
We have fetishised violence to the point where if a relationship is revving smoothly, something must be wrong. Why is he so good? What’s he hiding? And the chef’s kiss — is he even straight?
The longer I have been in the dating soko, the harder it hits that we need an update to the axiom: every market has its madman. If you are planning to join or return someone, please note that currently, the market is full of mad men—and women. When it’s not toxicity, it’s narcissism or any other ‘ism’ you can think of. Is your mamaa there? Show her this article. If she doesn’t call me toxic or a narcissist, I am buying you a drink. Because then you are the toxic one.
I am trading a gossamer fine line, so let’s deal with the basics: yes, women are generally more abused than men. Yes, there are more reported cases of domestic violence against women than men. But two things can be true at the same time, and what is true is that more men get emotionally abused than they think.
The big difference comes at the extremes of the distribution: there are many more very violent men than women. Lots of things happen to women every day that are not OK. And I say that in my clearest, strongest voice. But did you know women show controlling behaviour along with serious levels of threats, intimidation, and physical violence when in a relationship more often than men?
We wipe it off with, “You know it’s just who she is.” No, bro. it’s not just who she is. It’s what you are
willing to accept. Those cheap jokes you tolerate, that ‘my man would never’ line of reasoning is what has led to years of pent-up rage that draws out in only one way: drastic documentaries of murder-
suicide.
It’s these seeds of hate that are planted and watered by the saliva of scorn that when they germinate, it's like a weed infestation in your mind. When the emotional release comes, the fury, the molten rage, the you-better-not-do-this, the boys-don’t-do-that, the you-must-try-to-be-normal, the sticks and twigs of masculinity, dry kindling, bursts into a furious bonfire. We are living in a generation where men have learned to express only one emotion: anger.
Not normal
Maybe it’s because most men hardly realise how easy it is to get abused emotionally since we are accustomed to it being “just the way it is.” Or to borrow the social media lexicon, ‘it is what it is.’ It is
not!
Someone’s daughter recently asked me whether her not asking me for my consent was fair? I’m not going to lie; it put me in a spot of bother. I had never thought of it that way. I had always been the one seeking consent, because you know how these things go. If it’s a case of her-word-against-mine, no prizes for predicting who’ll be shaving his locks to get locked up. I’d never really thought that she too needs consent to access my body.
Because, I mean, what is a man who says no to sex? What is a man who can’t get it up on a moment’s notice? What is this shame of a man? Shame, for a man, is a blanket that suffocates your masculinity. Shame wounds. Shame burns. Shame de-pantses.
I thought about all those times I was not in the mood to go up down there (and maybe I did) when a single straight ‘no’ could have been enough. “I’m not in the mood” is enough from her. For a man? You
are weak. You are lazy. You are useless. I don’t know about you, but that counts as abuse.
Yet we men are hardly paragons of virtue in this area. In many ways, in our tao relationships, we’re more similar than either of us would ever care to admit —both parties highly opinionated, egotistical,
attention-loving gobby blowhards who never know when to back down in a fight.
When you are young, that works. You want to be in constant motion, the headrush, the emotional
turbulence. But as an adult who needs to catch his breath, you realise how dysfunctional most relationships are — all that bickering or flustering, hoping to touch the hem of peace's garment, love
going, going, gone! Maybe that’s why it’s called settling down.
We have been sold Disneyland romance in a kiosk. We are on the lookout for the right partner, who, by
the way, is always the next partner. This one, this one here, is just a benchwarmer. You get to learn one
of those maxims that come with experience: Life is long, especially if you make the wrong decisions.
Or maybe it’s because we hardly share anything with our boys. Cosmetic relationships. We are lone
wolves. Apex males. We are far more likely to look for the vivid Moroccan rug to sweep these things
under. And that’s where we lead each other astray. It’s the silence of men that accuses us.
Are you man enough to call out your fellow men? Are you man enough to say no? Heck, are you man enough to recognise when your significant other is taking advantage of you? That’s the gravy of
masculinity I would slurp all day.
I believe we as men have a higher responsibility in society and community. In this festive season, most of my peers have elected not to go home. Personal reasons aside, we are becoming less communal and
more individualistic. Which only lends credence to the culture of silence. After all, when a tree falls in
the forest, and there’s no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?
Maybe we have had it wrong all along. It’s not that there is an elephant in the room trumpeting the
statistics of gender-based violence. Maybe there have been two elephants in the room from the
beginning. That while we were busy addressing one elephant, another has been fed, and is now
aggressively rushing, deadlier, hungrier, angrier.
What sound will you make when the elephant is charging at your tree and there is no one to hear it?
