Men are dawgs

Every Nairobi man is walking around with a small folder in his heart labelled “Do Not Open.” Inside that folder lives the version of himself that once did something so embarrassing for a woman that the memory still arrives uninvited at 2am and taps him on the shoulder. He will tell you he is a erious man. He pays rent in Kinoo. He has a LinkedIn - but ask him about 2019 and watch him suddenly remember an urgent phone call.

Brothers, today we open the folder. Ladies, take notes. Everyone else, please laugh quietly. Some of us are still healing manze.

1. The Escort Mission You walked her from Kilimani to her gate in Lavington at 11pm, chest out, hand on her back, assuring her that Nairobi is really not that bad. Then she went in, the gate closed, and you turned around and walked back through that same darkness at the speed of a man being chased by his own decisions. You got home sweating and texted “reached safely, you?” like a hero. Lies. Structural lies.

2. The Mother Tongue Ambush She said her parents were “not strict,” so you learned four greetings from a random stranger at Bus station. At the homestead you delivered them beautifully to her mother, who blinked, laughed for eleven uninterrupted minutes, then went to call the neighbours. Turns out you had greeted her the way one congratulates a goat. You spent the rest of that visit smiling and nodding like a wall clock.

3. The M-Pesa Martyrdom She mentioned, very casually, that her hair appointment was on Saturday. You sent everything. Everything. Then you ate chapo madondo from the same corner for eleven days until the mama started adding extra soup out of visible concern. When your boys asked why you looked lean, you said you were “cutting.” Cutting what, exactly? Your own financial throat.

4. The Handbag Sentry Toi Market. Saturday. She said “twende, nanunua kitu moja tu.” Three hours later you are standing between two stalls holding a handbag, two paper bags and a mirror, while a stranger tells you that you look like a good man. You smiled. Internally you were drafting your own obituary. She bought nothing. Absolutely nothing. She just wanted to “see prices.”

5. The Sudden Gym Conversion She once said she likes men who are “active.” That same evening you bought shorts. By day three you were doing squats you had learned from a reel, and by day five you could not sit down without holding furniture. You climbed stairs sideways for a full week. She never noticed. She was busy. Your knees, however, remember everything and have never forgiven you.

6. The Committee You Had No Business Attending Her cousin was getting married, so there you were in a hall in South B on a Sunday afternoon, holding a small notebook, nodding gravely that yes, the tent budget was inflated. When the envelope came round you contributed money that had responsibilities at home. You did not know a single human being in that room. You still clapped. Loudly.

7. The Gate Vigil She said “come.” You came. Ngong Road traffic, drizzle starting, shirt ironed twice, cologne applied with genuine optimism. You reached her gate and the message landed: “Aki sorry, my cousin from Nakuru just arrived.” So you stood there. In the rain. Doing arithmetic na hakuna mtu wa mazematic hapa. Then you walked away typing “no problem, next time” while your entire body was screaming a completely different sentence.

8. The Dance She wanted a TikTok. You said you do not dance. You then learned a full routine in your sitting room, filmed twenty six takes, and posted it. It performed well. Extremely well. So well that your supervisor referenced it in a Monday meeting. You now have a nickname at work. You will carry that nickname until you resign or die, whichever comes first.

The Finisher

And here is the tragedy, or maybe the beauty. Ask any of these men if they regret it and they will look away, scratch the back of their neck, and mutter “ilikuwa ni ujinga tu.” But watch the eyes. There is a small smile hiding in there, sitting quietly like a man who knows exactly what he did.

Because love in this city is not roses and violins. It is walking back alone in the dark. It is sending your last coin and calling it a lifestyle choice. It is standing in drizzle outside a gate that refuses to open, and then somehow showing up the following Saturday with a clean shirt and a fresh plan.

We are not embarrassed. We are veterans.

And if she called today, we would do every single one of those things again. Badly. And with our whole chest.
Not me though