Do you have a sponsor?

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As a young woman, you need a mature woman as a friend. One who has seen it all, done it all and when she says something, she knows what she’s talking about. Like telling you weekly parties are no go zones for spinsters. (Who uses this word?) She uses her head to think. She describes men as delicate and sensitive creatures.  I don’t mean to brag but I have one such friend and we have a good relationship. Over the weekend, I darkened her door. I wanted to ask her something about investments. I entered her house and started admiring the maple flooring, mahogany furniture, the ornate chandelier. She is that type of woman who keeps dwarf hairy dogs (I’m not familiar with dogs), drinks 8 glasses of water daily, does not understand why people eat chips, listens to jazz and has a collection of paintings. She talks passionately about Leonardo da Vinci and somebody Picasso. Again, just like dogs, I have no idea who those are. I smile blankly when she speaks of London and time zones, the midnight sun, fjords and about winter and spring. Or about the Taj Malal. This woman is exposed. She’s in her late thirties.

I was directed to the lush backyard and found her lying on her hammock. Her yard is beautifully manicured. These things perplex me.

“Welcome! You took too long! You need to own a car already. Was the traffic bad?”  What a way to greet! Her voice is crispy.

“Oh! A car? Are you kidding me?”

“You need to own a car before you are thirty.” She was nodding her head, her tiny ponytail peeping on the sides of her creased neck.

“Well, I’ll get a sponsor.”

My mature friend edged forward. One of her eyebrows rose. Damn! I wish I could do that too thing.

“Do you have a sponsor?”

“Hahaa! What if I do?”

“Just answer me!”

I gave a small nervous laugh. Had I opened the Pandora box? Wait, are those wrinkles below her eyes?

“I was just kidding. But everyone has one these days.”

“And who is everyone?” She interjected. “I hate young girls running around, chasing our men. I hate it more that everyone else seems amused. Why are people condoning this?”

“We are in the 21st century!” I said loosely, carelessly and stupidly. I got a lose tongue occasionally.

She looked at me and sighed, “When your daughter finds herself in sponsor’s talons, you’ll understand why it is stupid to say it is 21st century.

“There is no big deal.” I shrugged.

“THERE IS A BIG DEAL! She was getting hysterical. She was losing her cool. Had her man sponsored people out there? Was her marriage turbulent?

Sorry my dear. But really in supermarkets, clubs and estates we see them. We see those rich men with those girls. They spoil them. They pay rent. They don’t nag. They are mature and give space when need arises. It is hard temptation to resist.” I gave my contribution.

Who does not know sponsors? They have littered the town! Their grey hair, bad physique, loaded pockets, big seductive cars, sweet tongues. We all know sponsors!

“Why would they nag you when they have several to sponsor? They have options. They have stable marriages and love their wives to death. That is why you are a top secret. They would rather lose you. They in fact are aware you are after the money. Nothing disgusts a man like a cheap woman who thinks her body is her investment.”

I swallowed her scathing reprimand bitterly. She was making me feel like a beneficiary from some ailing sponsor. She continued.

“Tell your little friends to work hard. Let them have some dignity. Why do they want to have a life they don’t deserve? Why do they disappoint their parents? And what will happen when they become parents too?”

“Why are you judging them? They have reasons. Some are needy”

“Am not judging them. Somebody needs to tell them the bitter truth. What’s the difference between them and prostitutes? And why would these young motherless ladies take contraceptives yet they have not started families?”

“Is the e-pill a contraceptive?” I asked. Ignorance my people, ignorance.

“Kwani you thought ni njugu? It is very harmful. You know I pity your generation. You people are creating a Sodom and Gomorrah. And I hope I don’t live to see what will become of you.” She gave her final verdict.

So what this lady means is that fire will wipe us in form of barrenness and HIV? That we might turn into stones of salt? And that flood might wipe out the entire generation? Our generation. Our selfies, yolo and mschweeew generation?

“Sorry. You had wanted to see me about buying shares?” she recollected herself.

I looked at her, not knowing what to say. Should she continue lecturing me or start a new topic?

 

…to be continued.

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