I think my boyfriend might be gay

beautiful-scenery-8A lot of things can change by morning; our thoughts, ideas, perception in life, or even a benevolent landlord after a few drinks and a monologue of self-respect on debts, finally decided to put a padlock on your door. He decides he’s tolerated your shenanigans for four months and you need to pay up, he’s not in the business of charity after all. Or you could wake up one morning like Marilyn, and suspect your boyfriend of nine months is gay.

As she narrates to me, it all started with an innocent game, Never Have I Ever- a popular game like Truth or Dare, only in this, you must confess the things you have never done in the entirety of your life.

“Never have I ever been suspected of being a lesbian in high school,” one of her friends said.

“Me too,” the sheep of the group voiced in turn.

“Never have I ever been suspected of being a lesbian either.” Derrick, Marilyn’s boyfriend chipped in.

Now games should be in a booklet of what society should fear the most. They’re people who conceived through a game, lost big chunks of their wealth in mindless games of poker and ridiculous bets. While others like Derrick, their sexuality, was under scrutiny.

“Did he say he’s never been suspected of being a lesbian?!” I incredulously ask.

“That’s what he said,” Marilyn says smacking her lips while snapping her fingers, I involuntarily picture the fictional African American character, Madea, doing the same thing.

“What if he was just caught up in the moment?” I inquire. “You know there are guys who say the most ridiculous things in the spirit of the moment. Don’t forget we women have been known to jump into conclusions with our- know- it- all attitudes.” Besides when did gaysim become part of the discussion list with philandering men, dead-beat dads, drunkards, and domestically violent men? I wonder internally. Information is a globalized commodity and our culture is evolving but when did we start accusing our men of being homosexuals? Seems the modern man and woman in Kenya deal with relationship problems their parents never experienced.

Marilyn seems lost in thought. Poor girl. Who would have thought such a game will create such confusion?

“Have you subtly tried throwing hints to catfish it out of him?”

 

“Yeah, right!” she scoffs at me, “you don’t just walk up to a guy and ask that. These are our African men; they don’t even go for a prostate checkup because they don’t see how some stranger can touch them down there. How then, can I expect him to admit to being gay? He will probably turn it against me and accuse me of being insecure or the homosexual one.”

We seat quietly. Marilyn rings her fingers in frustration. I watch the fast rhythm of her breathing as she steals glances outside the window, her movements heightened with the raw sadness reflected in her eyes.

“You know, he is not interested in any kind of intimacy,” she mumbles after a long period of silence.” Not even once has he ever held me in an erotic manner that could lead up to coitus.” She confesses. “I really care and respect this guy but I don’t know what to do.”

Some would laud this guy for respecting the hell out of Marilyn. But that is not the case. Her man stares dreamily at pictures of men. His wonderfully sculpted art book is full of pictures of perfectly drawn, good looking men. He spends a tad bit more time on the mirror than an average woman, loves beauty products, has gone to the extent of proposing to situate acrylics wraps on his nails since he’s curious of how they would look on him. As if that is not enough, they decide to be exclusive only for Marilyn to discover he is actively following Ghanaians gays on Instagram. These men are hot, can contour their cheeks after flawlessly blending foundation and admirably pose for pictures. Marilyn is an insecure girl. She wonders if she can compete with the beautiful gay men with the immaculately drawn eyebrows. She now harbors uneasy feelings towards his boyfriend’s friends, scrutinizing every little detail that will lead her to one solid unbeatable answer, he is gay.

“The thought that my guy may be gay is killing me. It has created a rift between us and every time we fight, I feel my emotions being replaced by this void of sadness and desperation.”

I wonder why she is still clinging to the relationship. Many girls in her situation would have probably left by now with philosophical statements, ‘I am loving the woman am becoming. Time to fall in love with me again.’ But here she is taking one step a time. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. She plans to wait for a tangible reason. An un-opposed truth that he is gay.

 

How did you write your name as a child?

Sometime ago, I went through my nursery school files and I saw something that made me chuckle. My name Warukira I had written it as Warka. I don’t even know what Warka means. Oh my tiny hands, they must have been so tired trying to complete the long w-ar-u-k-i-r-a word so they decided to settle for Warka. My brain must have been somewhere else probably wondering when we kids would take a nap. The teacher though should have been happy I did not write the petname kamummy or kashushu (she was not. I can tell by the big wavy red line under Warka).

You ask kids these days what their names are they respond with Shiko wa mum or Alvin wa daddy.

“What’s your mums name? ” you indulge them.

They stammer with the heavy soft tongues then say, “mum anaitwa mum.”

Warka is good trial.

Whats not a good trial is the nicknames I have accumulated over the years. Wa asubuhi(Warukira has nothing to do with the mornings), Wariua, for starters needs constructive surgery. And men when you whistle, thats kindly not my name. The brown chica is sexy, I implore others to use it.

My brother Mathew once wrote his name as Mathiu in class, something we remind him all the time. If I want to him to read my blogs I blackmail him by saying,” If you read my blog I will never tell your son you once wrote your name as Mathiu.” He believes me( am not fowarding this blog’d link though).In future I might be a terrible sister but I will be a fabulous aunt because am telling my nephew that story. He is going to love me until he discovers a new app- the ig of that time.

My dad loves to poke fun of English names and also tells me of how it was agonizing for them to spell thier names in class. For one, there was a boy known as Aruberito Gichungi (Aruberito means Albert), Ifurahimu (thats Abraham), Anyesi (this is Agnes) Sharothi ( Charles). My cute nephew’s name is Ryan but some people call him Lion, well he is a king alright. Wait for this one, I recently became an aunty to a beautiful baby boy some few weeks ago and his name is Brayson. Cute right. Well his grandmother calls him ‘prison’.

Note bene: We can no longer trust kikuyus to not put adequate water in the food ( I mean they will pour 10 litres in one cooking) and also they will not be allowed to pronounce complex English names like Roman Kai or Brayson wa mum.