Encounters with the African male

I love to spend time with my fellow Africans. I do. When I am in the presence of my African brothers and sisters I feel at ease. I dont need to explain, justify or interpret things to them. We are basically the same.

Or are we? Women of Africa, what has been your experience with your own men compared to those from other African countries? Now, I have not lived long enough in the village to claim expertise on the male-female relations there (which I am sure further differ depending on where you are and what community you're looking at), but based on my experience as an urban Kenyan woman, even though things can be improved, I believe I have it breezy compared to some of my counterparts around the continent.

Exhibit 1.
I used to have a friend from Nigeria. The reason I say 'used to' is because we broke off the friendship. He would get so angry every time I disagreed with him about random stuff. I on the other hand would be so tickled I couldn't wait for the next thing to "defy" him about.

One time he asked me to accompany him to his company christmas party. He was without a date. I was game. On the day of the party I called him to ask for directions to the hotel. He told me to stay put, he would pick me up. I explained that I might need to leave early (plan with the girls) and I did not want him to have to leave too. His words, "Woman, what is the matter with you? Why can't you behave and do as you're told?" I hang up to shangaa. When he called back he was seething with anger. "How dare you hang up on a man! Who do you think you are?" I hang up to shangaa some more. He called back, and I could tell he was trying hard not to insult me. He composed himself long enough to explain that my actions were unacceptable. Apparently I needed to be put straight. "African women follow instructions, they dont ask questions.....". I hang up to look for that all important memo that I had clearly misplaced. That memo about the DOs and DONTs of an African woman's behaviour.

After kedo 1/2 an hour he called back. Me thinks he was unable to find a plan B date. Anyway, I told him I was not feeling in a Christmassy mood anymore. Silence. Then mumblings that souded like an apology. Some loose negotiations later, I had my directions and had laid down my rules of engagement. Oga! Unleash one more sexist remark and watch me walk. I guess he decided to deal with my insubordination at a later date.

Later that night I did walk. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and proceeded to leave and go join my girls at the Kenyan bash.

Exhibit 2.
On Sato I went to an African hanye. It has been a while since we have had one of those in my town so I was syked. As soon I walked in I was in The Zone. The DJ was bouncing around every corner of the continent with his music and the dance floor was full of delighted Africans. That always puts me in The Zone.

So I'm chilling with the girls and this fellow catches my eye. He can dance, he looks good. So far so good. Finally he says wasup, tells me he's from Burundi and proceeds to offer to buy me a drink. "No thank you". He asks why. I give him the whole, "I'm driving back home alone so really I'm good. Thank you." The chap flips. Ati I'm ringaing to take his drink. "Kunywa bia! Kunywa ndio tuongee." I step away from the crazy person. He continues, "Mwanamke mwenye matatizo huyu! Eti hanywi bia? Kwani kuna nini? Wanawake wa Kenya wana kasoro hawa."

The night finally comes to an end. The psycho is still lamenting at my declining to have his drink. I grab my jacket and begin to make my way out when someone grabs me. When I turn around, there is a rather large black man holding my arm real tight. I kindly ask for my arm back. He lets go and begins to explain that he is the promoter. I wonder what he promotes and why I should care. I guess the blank look on my face was prompting enough so he explains further. He's from Burundi and he organises this party and the ones at the other spot (no idea where it is btw). Ahhhhh! I pat his shoulder and tell him how greatful we all are for his good work, then turn to walk away.

Someone grabs my arm. Its the same big black man. This time he shoves a cell phone in my face. I tell him it's not mine. "I know. Its mine". I'm very confused. "Put your number!" I raise my eyebrow. He takes my hand, shoves his phone into it and says impatiently, "put your name and your number!" Then he continues to talk to his boys. I'm stunned. After a while, he turns around, takes his phone back and proceeds to look for my number. My girls pull me out of the door before I can apologise for being too busy luxuriating in his self-importance to punch in the numbers. I wonder what names he called me after that. Or what will happen the next time I run into him (looking like this Sato btw). Ah well...