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On a recent episode of Scandal, resident heroine, Olivia Pope, went toe to toe with her Father who happens to be a feared spy master. Her Father, with all his vast resources and the support of the United States Government behind him, could not match his daughter. She stood up to him and told him, “I have weapons at my disposal you couldn’t possibly imagine” The weapon in question is the tempestuous affair she has with the President. With one phone call to her Democrat lover, Olivia managed to convince him to make a decision, that put the President in direct conflict with her Father. The fate of the nation, was decided by a woman’s promise, of possible sex. Sounds stupid? Probably, but not if you’re a man! I don’t mean to portray men as helpless, sexually wanton idiots, but we kind of are. If a man knows there’s a possibility that he is going to open the thighs of his object of desire, see that lovely rose gleaming at the petals with wetness. That he is going to dip his dick in this elixir of pleasure and abandon, while looking at her face to see the ecstasy glazed on her eyes. The moment he knows that, mountains become molehills in his quest to accomplish that. History is littered with instances where passion played this part. History might as well have been written on the lips and folds of pussy! Adam and Eve, we all know how that went. The war of Troy, was fought over the beautiful Helen of Troy, the face (more like ass) that launched a thousand ships. Samson and Delilah, the girl started the first Kinyozi, but for very murderous reasons. David and Bethsheba, Solomon and his 900 concubines, the list is endless. Pussy is God’s longest running practical joke on mankind. We are told he created us in his image. If we are created in the image of the most powerful being in the Universe, it makes sense that he would’ve created a fail-safe, a kill-switch so that we, marauding monkeys that we are, wouldn’t destroy his creation. He did create one, pussy. If we are in possession of such an astounding weapon, what have we done with it, that can be left as a legacy to future generations? Well, let’s ask the holders of the weapon. Let’s see now, countless abortions, fucking dogs for porn, participating in 100 men one pussy orgies (yes, that happened), exchanging pussy for Guarana or cab fare from the club, going to raves and becoming pregnant without knowing who the father is. The more evolved ones, use birth control at least, but only when it suits them. If it’s more profitable to get pregnant, they will. To fleece a man of material wealth, or imprison a married man. The most powerful instrument on earth, and they use it so that they don’t have to pay fare in the Umoinner. The reason, sex is so powerful, is because women are born nurturers. They were given the ability to create something out of nothing, nurture it to full maturity, then go on and do it all over again. The reason this world is in such a muddle, is because we relegated the woman to the kitchen. When men took control, women had to have their say, and it was through the only thing men can’t live without, sex. So it has become a currency, that comes into use whenever a woman needs something that at the moment, only a man can give her. A nd this happens a lot! The reason women haven’t changed the world with this power, is because they find it hard to rally behind each other. Jealousy and envy are their worst enemies. They imagine that the next woman will have a higher position than them, and that becomes the point where they vote for the male competitor. I don’t need to drive this point home, look at our political landscape and the female players are more often than not, nominated. I assure you right now, were women given the task to end world hunger, we’d all be obese. Just look at the work or regal First-Lady had put into ending the Maternity mortality rates. So impressive is her work that she received an award from the UN. Often have my friends remarked that they would’ve voted for her, had she run for the highest seat in the land. You could burn all the guns in the world, destroy all the nukes in all the silos and disband all militia in war-torn countries, but if you can’t destroy pussy (pun intended) you would’ve been better served twiddling your thumbs and singing Kumbaya. It is a double-edged sword that carves out its marker either with blood or royal ink. The world is clitoris shaped, we just need to convince these ladies to rub it the right way.

Around election time 2013, an older girlfriend of mine invited me to her place for dinner and drinks. Except for two that had come as a couple, the rest of us knew no one else there apart from the host. What made it worse for me was the fact the everyone there was older than me, and looked it. I was ignored but didn’t really mind. Besides, I was there primarily to cook the biriani stew they were about to consume. They’d talk to me eventually. The chicken was delish, the liquor flowed, enough passion fruit martinis and tongues loosened considerably. What had started as an awkward evening of people talking niceties and exchanging business cards turned into a rowdy party of people competing, exchanging crazy stories in their loudest voice and making extraordinary claims of sexual prowess, most aimed at the young pretty thang in the room, me. So many stories were told! Too many laughs. Many lessons lessons were shared. It was an extraordinary evening. I took it all to heart and proceeded to forget most of the details of that night. Only one story remained with me. It was neither funny, nor inspiring. It was in fact, downright disheartening. Let’s call him K. He was gorgeous and despite looking 25 was actually 20 years older. The sight of his 2nd issue ID card brought shock to all our faces. He became the alpha at that point. All of us realized that no story we could ever tell could compete with his vast experience. We shut up and proceeded to be awed by how nasty the 80’s really were. We laughed and laughed… The story that chilled me to the bone was one from his teenage years, when he was still in high school. Starehe Boys’ to be specific. There was a function in their school and they were excited! Girls everywhere! Their preferred girls’ school was Pangani. He was, young, horny and ecstatic. There was no way he’d ever find the confidence to talk to any of them but their very presence would fuel his wet dreams for the two months before their next school holidays. A few hours into the function and he had a chance to sneak out of the school hall. He met up with a friend that had two girls in tow. Showing them the rounds. He joined them but he was too quiet. Not the perfect wing man. His friend suggested they pass by his class and they picked up a few more hangers-on. 5 boys in total and only two girls. K’s heart plummeted. There was no way he was getting near any of the girls at this point. Listening to them talk, hearing their ringing laughter would have to be enough. On they walked until the ring leader suggested they go see some isolated part of the school. The rest agreed. K went along. They got there and the ring leader asked them to cover him. He took one of the girls, pinned her to a tree and started kissing her. She seemed to be game with the whole thing until he started lifting up her skirt. Then she started struggling. He called out and one of his friends went to help him keep her still and silent against the tree. Her friend, who’d been standing guard with the other lookouts started causing a raucous and two boys subdued her, holding their hands to her mouth. K was confused, wondering what this was all about, until he saw the ring leader unzip his fly and force his already stiff penis into the poor girl standing against the tree. From the contortions of her face and the tears that started pouring from her eyes he could tell that she’d been a virgin. Less than a minute of pumping in and out and he was done. His friend that had helped him hold the girl down was next. A few minutes and he too was done. They took turns on her. Taking their pleasure. K came last. He hesitated, knowing it was wrong. One look at all the rest and he knew he had to. Peer pressure was real even then. All he remembers was that it was extremely wet in there! It was his first time and he didn’t last longer than 30 seconds. He spent the next few months paranoid as fuck! His heart beating a mile per hour at every morning assembly, expecting to be called at any time to answer rape charges. The announcement never came. She hadn’t told. Neither had her friend. It was his first ever rape. Considering my mother was in Pangani at around the same time these idiots were roaming and violating poor girls, this story touched me personally. We all know the statistics. 1 in every 3 girls will experience sexual abuse at least once in her life. Have you ever really thought about what this means? Your mother, sister, cousin, friend, lover. Your daughter, nieces, neighbours. These women live with a story they can’t tell anyone. One where they were taken advantage of. K says that he found out later that they weren’t the only one that had raped girls that day. These stories were given as conquests, tales of victory, in the dormitories late at night, over dinner and breakfast in the dining hall… Even as he told us the story, I could tell he didn’t see it for what it was. Evil. He was kind of proud of what he’d done. His ‘first’ rape. Implying there were more. How many rapists roam the streets? Do you know that your friend/brother/husband/boyfriend/son/nephew, might be one? An unapologetic one? So much disregard for sexual rights. Will it ever end if even grown ass highly educated men propagate the culture? These men that we expect to teach our sons. I’d really like to know what you think so please visit our comments section below and leave your thoughts there. What do you think we should do to change this hopeless reality?