It’s a Friday..some call it Furahi Day others intersection day…yet a group of weird Kenyans calls it a bisecting day. I don’t know what exactly they mean but some tell me it’s a semi-evil thing.
So my boy on this day Mama ain’t really happy. When you come to this world you will meet all kinds of people. Some got a zero IQ, some 1, some 2 yet the genius have it at 3…in this world my boy there is a terrible disease that boy child is currently suffering from. A disease of a retarded body organ; this organ has made some of your gender counterparts completely useless. An egocentric culture that has caused men to believe that for a woman to supersede them she needs a thing called “SPONSORS”(some ugly creature with a lot of money and a big stomach for easy identification)
When a woman puts on some lipstick…on her lips, there is a sponsor.
When a woman drives a car…..definitely there is a sponsor.
When she ascends her financial ladder of life, gets a promotion, and drives some sleek machine…such a woman can only do it because there is this monster—-a sponsor.
She becomes an entrepreneur. The whole village becomes her biggest nightmare…Right, front, and center she is associated with the famous financial ghost…The sponsor…
My dear boy-child… Your mama is completely agitated when she sees;
A lazy man wakes at noon and expects to have a woman who knows no sleep to be by him.
A man is circled by drunkards and rowdy friends, and expect to have a focused woman by him.
A man yawns the whole day like a cat and expects a woman who knows how to hustle join him in his yawning mimosa…
A man spends the whole day talking, yapping and mouth somersaulting, and expects an intelligent directed woman to join him in his verbal diarrhea.
No, my son, There is a group or women who got brains.
My dear son, some women get to the ground and do as per the expectations of chasing away poverty.
Just to let you know my boy when I and your aunties were growing, your grandmother, one Julia is famously known as “MWARIMU” and my “MUTHONUA” made us work like these tractors that are allover working on our roads. These two introduced a 24-hour economy where we had to use our hands during the day and work with our hands…we could clean, feed the cows, go to the farm and some of us could fetch water on our backs like donkeys. Fortunately, your mama was very tiny she was spared from some chores but assigned a lesser duty of sweeping a compound that was larger than the Russian soccer field…All the same, she was good at it.
After all this, my son, the 24-hour economy started where we were put in a room every night after the day’s chores and we were expected to read…my boy we read and having a teacher in the house meant you read. Benny my son we studied and the cycle was always the same…
My Muthonua told us that if we don’t end up in offices then some of us will be required to use our physical swiftness, creativity, and supervisory traits to put food on the table.
My boy this was a paramilitary training…laziness was never in our brains. We had to think and come up with solutions in every situation on and so we were made…
And this boy I speak on behalf of these ladies who work hard both mentally and physically and a stupid lazy man accuses them of sleeping around to succeed.
My boy mama may be wrong to address you this way but am I will tell you some women work meaning their success is not sexually transmitted.
All the same my boy; respect a woman who toils n moils like a tornado…capsizing every obstacle to give way to her. Some work with their kids on their backs. Others on their milk containers…Don’t you let your brain let you down. Do not be like some men who are afraid of marrying women who are financially up there…Do not be like fools who have inter- confused ideas on a woman who has been to the highest level of education…support your woman, let her go to school, let her work with her hands…and trust me my boy you will thank mama later…
I love you, my boy…
Signed Mama
LA TRAVELER…
