Time for men to raise their worth
It’s time for men to raise the stakes, because life is the highest stakes game ever.
What you need to know:
- Men, we can do better. We can be better. We have to do better.
- Or else, this use-and-abuse-and-dump syndrome will be cyclic.
Around January, I boarded a Double M bus at Donholm Estate on my way to the CBD. It was only when I’d sat that I noticed that, from the banter inside the bus, all the passengers seemed to be acquainted with each other.
“Kwani, this bus isn’t going to town?” I asked the passenger in the seat in front of me.
He explained that a local MP had asked for two bus-loads of men for a purpose which this passenger didn’t yet know. But he was sure that, whatever it was, the MP would give them “something”.
From the conversations, I gathered that the MP had trusted KYMs on the ground, who are called when the need arises to arrange for manpower. KYM is Kikuyu for, "kanda ya muoko", or handymen. In politics, they’re known as ward-fixers.
KYMs, who are mostly men, are found in informal settlement areas, where unemployment rates are high, and men can be bought for the price of chafua and 40 bob muguka. Chafua is a meal of chopped chapati in a meat soup.
Revenge mission
To keep KYMs in their place - of poverty, subjugation and perpetual dependence - they’re never given leg-ups but handouts. This way, a KYM and those under him will not know any better or get ideas. They can be used, and ditched if and when the need arises.
When the two Double M buses reached Uhuru Park, the KYM saw the MP, who was in a Range Rover. Because the MP didn’t want to be seen in public with this crowd in a public space, he sped off toward Ngong’ Road and motioned for the buses to follow him. The bus I was in broke down. It was almost 45 minutes later that we got to the rendezvous and learnt what the trip was all about.
“Mheshimiwa won’t pay the men in this bus because they didn’t do the work,” KYM somberly announced.
As it turned out, the “work” involved causing a scene at the office of a national leader, whose supporters had, ostensibly embarrassed Mheshimiwa’s political kingpin.
This was a revenge mission, settling political scores, and these men were the cheap dispensible sururus. What’s worse, they were returning empty-handed to their miserable existences, from fighting a fight they knew nothing about, as their user-cum-abuser cruised to his leafy estate in a top-of-the-range ride.
Men, we can do better. We can be better. We have to do better. Or else, this use-and-abuse-and-dump syndrome will be cyclic. We must kill this poverty mentality and, even if we’re in dire straits, draw a line in the sand and stand our ground.
Knowing your worth
Men, we must know our worth. If a man doesn’t know his worth, he will let anyone and anything hang a price tag around their neck, which can turn into a noose if one’s not careful.
Me? I was bought for a price that no man can ever reach; the blood of the Lamb of God. I know my worth. Which means that there are things I can’t take or do.
It’s time for men to raise the stakes, because life is the highest stakes game ever. Men, here’s a good start. Next time Mheshimiwa’s KYM calls you for a job, tell him: “For every hour of my time, don’t pay me with muguka, but Moet, paid upfront. Deal?”
Heck, that’s what he’s going to sip as he leaves you stranded on the other side of Uhuru Highway.
Don’t settle for chafua. Insist on seed capital in six figures. Or something greater. Something you can grow and bequeath to your offspring. We have the power and numbers. We can change this narrative.
Men, let’s do this. Deal?
