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7 Billion shades of Beautiful, Unslut Us!


It’s me again, your usual venting queen. Who am I throwing stones at today you may wonder? How about these men who seem to feel so entitled that they have the guts to strip women and slut-shame them left, right and center! I know when a woman speaks about women’s rights, everyone is usually like ‘same old sh**t different day’, but I am going to do this anyway since it still seems some people never get the point. If I have to drum it into their heads, apart from Sauti Sol using my drumming skills in their next hit, it’ll be my pleasure. (I am sorry oh keyboard of mine in case this hurts on account of my immense ‘passion’ today)

Let me paint a word picture for you as to why I am so ‘passionate’:

So this day I was heading to the main stage to board a mat heading from tao to school and I got into the MU-84-Sacco mats people call ‘kangaroo’ (Don’t ask why just go with it). It seems that there was a lot of traffic on that day since it was the first year’s day to enroll. I took the front seat adjacent to the driver and close to the window considering my horrible kinetosis (motion sickness. You are welcome.). The fare was quoted a little higher than normal, but then I was used to this so I ignored the many makangas. I was not sure exactly who was who and I am pretty sure I wouldn’t remember them in the next ten minutes. Thirty minutes later as the fares were being collected considering we were just about to get to Cheptiret, an argument ensued.

Apparently it was about fare prices varying. It was between a lady student and the makanga. She seemed tender enough to be a first or second year. Quite the beauty I must add. Apparently, when she was getting into the mat, the guy had quoted a different value as fare but returned a lesser amount as balance than what was required. So here they are arguing and the guy in his rage says, ”Malaya wewe!!”

I was so astonished! I couldn’t believe what I just heard. Was that called for? Just as my thoughts were arguing with this ill-mannered tout, a lady from the back shouted in disgust,

Malaya umemlipa pesa ngapi?”

Everybody else in the matatu then joined in support of the lady who was being harassed. At least someone could read some of my thoughts in there.

My great detest for that man’s utter lack of respect for women, brought my inner feminist out. I have to speak about this one way or the other.

Let’s get this out of the way.

Shame on those men or women who strip or slut-shame other women! A chic might be strutting by minding her own business probably in a skirt showing her legs, tiny cleavage pops out and maybe a vest showing her flawless skin so how exactly does that give you a right to strip her or call her a slut? Is it because she is confident in her skin and sexuality? And if these goons were so busy trying to build our great nation, would they even notice how a lady passing by the street was dressed up or supposed to be dressed up?

Mind your own business. And if they seriously feel that this chic is indecent, why don’t they throw more clothes on her instead of stripping her? As you’ll come to figure out, sadly, common sense isn’t that common.



Most people would agree with me when I say that breakfast is one of the most important part of your day, and without it, most things would go south. If I made an inquiry in to your morning preferences I’m sure we’d end up with a toilet-roll long list of local and exotic recipes (some of which are true nightmares to prepare).

I kinda have a totally different fetish for breakfast. I consider breakfast as the point of the day where I get to tingle all my senses, have them respond to a common stimuli. I see it as the time of day where I have all of me fully consumed by a single event and carried away by the tides that come along with it.

Thing is my mornings are quite simplistic. Most of you won’t regard it, but I find it rewarding.

 What always tells me of her presence is the crispy, clean, mildewed smell of that Spanish Antonio Miro that she recently bought. It always rents through the air every time she uses it. This has always announced to me of her coming even before she shows up (the same feeling Peter and the disciples had when the Holy Spirit saturated the room). The sound of her heels as she enters the room affirms of her existence and assures me that I’m not dreaming.

What always makes my morning is you finding my gaze stuck on you at every one of those sweet smile episodes. Throws me back to the first time we met. You always find a way to ignore my eyes that are fixed on you the whole time as you move around the kitchen doing your thing.

I always remain seated in silence, carried away by how you seem to pull off your bold and sexy look every morning.

That kiss as you leave is what sums it all up – love. That’s how I like to spend my mornings.



I’ll just have start this off with an apology and make a polite plea for the expression of my small perverse mind. All I know, as much as my mind is small, the world is big and the whole of it will have to agree with me that black women are the most eye-dropping beings.

I think all you have to do is simply pay some attention to those around you and I think it is very clear that you are surrounded by more than a couple dozen women. Look a bit closer and you will be amazed at the kind of beauty that the African culture gives us.

From where I stand, I think I gave up on looking too far for this thing that people seem to search for far and wide. From a literal point, what I have just laid my eyes on is nothing less of pure beauty and elegance straight from top to bottom.

Yet again I have to be forgiven for my thoughts but I feel all this should not be left unsaid for this long. Yes, I had to creep behind thick bushes and avoid detection by those crazy dogs that helped in keeping all that beauty hidden. She slowly walked from the back door, which I now had a good view of, and all she had on was her swimming costume that you would have to agree with me was less conservative and properly revealing to the few who were fortunate enough to see her at that time. I had timed her afternoon swims perfectly and under the hot sun am sure I was bound to see a lot.

What really caught my attention were those beautiful and bright eyes that found a way to warm up my deepest core by just looking in to them. They could find a way to calm the turbulent mental seasons that I went through and if you stared too long, she would look away with small whims of shame and shyness.

The most interesting part was her voice; calm, gentle and kind. I always found myself smiling every time she opened her mouth to speak. Her smile always made my day bright and filled my heart with delight.

Lost in my thoughts, I was not paying any attention to what was happening around me. She now stood before me now covered in a robe since my camouflage hadn’t kept my presence hidden any more. She pulled my hoody and brought me to my feet and judging from the smile on my face when she saw who it was, I guessed I was not in too much trouble.

Standing this close gave me a better view of all she had to offer, blessed in all the right places and complimented by curves joining all her points turning her into a work of art. All this exploded my tiny mind into countless fragments of forbidden ideas. Like a dog on a very short leash, she pulled me by my hood and started walking away, with me on her heels. You can’t blame me but what I now had before my innocent eyes on was just…wacha tu. “What are you looking at? Do think what you’re doing is right?” she asked me knowing very well what I was looking at.

Mimi nataka unitingishie tu na nitasonga na wewe utadhani mimi ni mkia ”, I murmered just loud enough for her to hear it. At that point I was not sure what her response would be to my words, but my mouth had already skipped my sane mind…

What do you think she would say?