THE FLAMBOYANT BOYCHILD

I used to love Cyprian Nyakundi, adore him almost. He is a successful blogger, over half a million Twitter followers and he is the kind of rebel I like. Firm in what he stands for and always speaks his mind. He recently posted something that a friend of mine shared with me on Facebook. I read through it and at the beginning of the post, I sort of agreed with him but the more he kept talking, the more my reactions moved toward the WTF lane.

His post was what I presumed to be a cry for the boy child. At first he was passing across a valid point, society has become almost obsessed with empowering the girl that they have forgotten about the boy. Every where you turn, all people seem to do is want to empower the woman. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m simply saying we all need to learn balance. You cannot empower one side by weakening the other.

Anyway, this man Nyakundi has now formed a Boy Child movement and crowned himself King. What he wants is simple really, he wants women to go back to their ‘place’ in society. Nyakundi has made it seem like feminism is the worst pollution to mankind. What’s worse? We have some little boys following his every word. What stood out for me was his comments on FGM, bride price and feminism.

Traditionally, women too had to undergo the cut. Now, back then they used to say that it was what was needed to transit a girl into a woman. We learnt our history, and I’m not trying to be disrespectful to tradition but to hell with that traditional transit. No woman deserves to be mutilated like that! I have always believed that the cut for girls was meant to make them be less. It wasn’t enough that they were brought up in a society dominated by the male figure, back then they had to make the girl feel it. The man is superior. Yours, is to simply oblige.

This self crowned king and his castle of little boys has also gone ahead to resist bride price. You want to be out here thinking that I’m some sort of thing that you can just take? Do you really want to know what bride price is for to me? Bride price has nothing to do with my cooking skills or my ability to clean your clothes- This is the notion most idiotic men carry. I’m paying for the chapatis she’ll cook! You pay my father his due because he is entrusting me to you. You pay my father his due because you are taking me from him with a promise that you will care for me. You pay my father his due because we both know that as much as you make that promise, you will not keep it.

A wife will nurture you, love you even when you do not deserve it, tolerate your shortcomings, shoulder your burdens, carry your shame, nurture your future generation and simply ask that you love her back and treat her right.

I don’t speak for everyone but I believe in my heart that my father MUST be paid his due. For the late nights, the early mornings, the stress pains and the hustles that he had to endure to get me to where I will be so that you can take me as your wife. The excuse for this ignorant king and his little boys for resisting bride price is among other things that today’s woman is a slay queen. I don’t know much about marriage but I believe for you to get to a point where you want to take a girl home, introduce her to the family, you need to have learnt her, respected her, understood her and loved her enough! You do not wake up one morning, scroll through your timeline on Insta and say Voila! I’m marrying this one tomorrow.

You pay my father his dues because in me, you will find a beautiful decent wife but slayqueen33 from Insta will still be your Friday Night Special. These girls milk money from you because you have showed them an open door. Tell me, what’s a woman if not an opportunity grabber? I do not blame a girl that gets her money by playing mind tricks on men who are trying to prove their worth so that they can nut in you 3 minutes later. I do not blame a girl that grabs the opportunity to pay her rent from a man that’s shown her he thinks with the few inches between his legs! Grab it girl and run with it! Y’all want to act butthurt because girls are grabbing the chances you present and running with them. Walking around claiming that we only want you for your money, well I’m sorry but don’t you also only want me for the cookie?

Why does feminism scare you? Why does a woman believing that she can run an empire and still wife up at home scare you? Why is a woman walking away from a toxic relationship scare you? Why does a woman raising kids on her own scare you? Let’s get one thing straight, gone are the days when all women did was give birth, raise kids, have bad sex and die! A new kind of strength has been born. A new kind of strength that sadly for you, is here to stay.

I will stand up for myself if you do not treat me right. I will go out there and make a name for myself. I will marry when I want. I will have children when I want. I control the course of my life. Just because you are a man in my life, doesn’t mean I’ll be out here licking your boots in the name of ‘masculinity’. If we are not a team, then by all means go marry Nyakundi and his castle of little boys.

For a man to stand up and speak ill of women making moves, for a man to stand up and say female genital mutilation is necessary so that we learn our place, for a man to stand up and try to eradicate the beauty of an African tradition, what small balls he must have! You cannot empower one side by dehumanizing the other. There needs to balance. This is not the way to get to that balance.

At the end of the day, I am a woman strong, independent, beautiful and you will NOT define me.

Misfitly Wild.

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BACK TO THE ISLAND OF MISFIT TOYS

When my parents finally cornered me into coming home for the holidays, I thought that I would literally just chill until I was tired of doing nothing. I was a little mad because I didn’t want to come home so soon but then also a little relived because I know home is the one place I don’t worry. I’m really glad I came though. Here is why;

This past year has been difficult which is ironic because it started out amazing. Along the way, I think a switch flipped or something. Everything went to hell. Life begins at 21 and if the kind of year I have had is anything to go by, I don’t think I’ll like my life a whole lot.

The thing that I will definitely regret most this year was the fact that somewhere along the way, I lost touch with this part of me. The one that writes. I had totally lost it. It’s like I woke up one day and I couldn’t do it anymore. I dumped Misfitly Wild. I got rid of my posts and then I just stopped. I think I shut down everything Misfitly. I stopped using Misfitly’s Instagram page, Facebook page and this WordPress account.

Occasionally, I would try to pen down the rumblings of my mind but I’d stop midway my opening line. Not good enough is the thought that always came to mind. Then I started to believe it. That maybe I just wasn’t good enough for this. So eventually, I totally stopped and blocked it. That sucked because now I didn’t have an outlet for everything I held inside. Not writing was like me running every red light I came across oblivious of the danger I posed to myself and others.

I think the one person that had to sort of pay the most for me loosing that part of myself was the boy that I fell in love with this year. (My year wasn’t that bad after all) The loss of me I guess meant that I had bottled up too much and sometimes it drove me crazy. He had to sit through 500 different mood swings everyday. I would literally just wake up in the morning mad as hell for no particular reason or I would get mad because I felt like he didn’t correctly make the bed or just something dumb.

Normally, when I would feel strained, I would just write down something and then keep it or toss it. Then I’d be fine. I’m not much of a talker, I don’t often just sit and tell people what’s bothering me and a lot of things bother me. So keeping it all in was not healthy. I mean as bad as this year was, I had some interesting moments that would have made bomb ass articles.

It killed me that I was unable to tell those stories. Like that one time we almost had a baby and we couldn’t figure out how to do the test correctly. We finally did it and argued about the result so we sent it to some of our friends for confirmation before we decided to just leave it up to my uterus. That was a tough day. Especially considering the fact that money had decided to give us a break. No babies coming through here it said after weeks of torture.

Or another time when my friends and I went out and what was supposed to be just catching up turned into running from the police, police arrests, inflamed cab prices and a really huge fight outside a place called Jimmy’s. Or another time a crazy lady knocked on my door at 10pm looking for a friend of mine because she was mad about a mattress. This was epic because she was making so much noise, one of my neighbours slapped her so hard, we had to give her a moment of silence. Real men don’t violently lay hands on women though.

The simple fact that I couldn’t write things like these to make me feel better when I was having a bad day made me one of those grouchy and angry cat ladies. What does grouchy mean? I feel like it’s one of those words that you just write down because you think you know the meaning but if asked the meaning, you realize that you don’t really know the meaning!

Being home for the past maybe week has made me get back together with my girl. Primarily because our house help had to leave and so that means that my mom made me her default help. This is one of those rare times, I will not complain — that much. I don’t like it but I feel like it makes me one of those suburban moms that stay at home, drink wine at 2pm and have a blog to pass time.

I feel like that’s a weirdish reason to go back to something you love but it works for me so I’ll take it. So today, after doing my chores like a good girl, I started my make up session with myself. I loved it!

I had really missed this.

Own your Misfit

Love,

Misfitly Wild