Walubengo's Den

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The Rise of the Feminazi


It is not hard to tell who she is. Or where she is. She will grasp at any chance to prove or preach her point. Her point is always the same. She has seen the enemy, and she knows the solution. Nothing can change her mind, and on this issue she is always right. If you disagree with her you are a caveman, insensitive, chauvinist, backward, misogynist, and all the other glowing flattering adjectives used to describe a thinking man these days. Woe unto you if she is even slightly successful at her career; she will take this as irrevocable proof of the fact that the Light of the Lord Himself has landed upon her.

The rise of the feminazi is something I have been watching for a while with mild amusement. They seem to be everywhere these days. I hear people ask what a feminazi is. I became familiar with the term not so long ago, and perhaps it stuck because it seemed so fitting. Feminazi is a term used pejoratively to describe either feminists who are perceived as extreme or radical; women who are perceived to seek superiority over men, rather than equality. There’s a difference between a feminazi and a feminist. Though I also have a problem with the whole feminism idea, it is better than feminazism.

For the sake of simplicity, a feminist is someone who supports women’s’ rights. Simple as that. And that’s cool. Basically, equality for the sexes. The feminazi, on the other hand, believes that men are the enemy, and they must be defeated at all cost. She is a fringe extremist who unfortunately receives a lot of undeserved attention, and thus becomes the horrific, screeching spokesperson for an actually intelligent social cause. She turns people off from the noble cause of feminism, because people start to think that all feminists are like her. She believes that men are the cause of all women’s problems, and the only way to solve this it to be ‘better’ than men at what they do or at who they are (because: ‘whatever a man can do, a woman can do… shallap’). She will lecture you on issues such as ‘slut shaming’, which believe it or not, is actually a thing. Personally I believe that if you are a slut that’s your business, and if you are not ashamed of it more power to you. But if other people tend to have a low opinion of sluts and go ahead to express it, hey, it’s a free world. She believes that women should be able to drink as much and sleep around as much as men. She doesn’t know that being a man is not about sleeping around or how much liquor you can hold. Tsk tsk.

She is normally quite bitter, though she will try to hide it – striving to prove to the world what a strong independent woman she is. (Oh Destiny’s Child, if thou knewest what grief your song would bring upon humanity, thou would have left it be). She will be ready to fight for whatever reason, not physically of course. Okay sometimes physically. She will grasp at non-issues to make a point out of – have you seen people on social media who get angry at anything and everything? A little joke or issue becomes about humanity, respect, sexism, tribalism, rape culture, etc. etc. Oh Lordy. Do you remember the Mollis audio clip issue? Firstly, shout out to the men who came out screaming that it must have been rape simply because they wanted to gain marks in the eyes of females. The feminazis had a field day on that one. Saddeningly I also saw lawyers, both male and female, shouting about how it must have been rape. Yet even a two bit lawyer will tell you in the words of Arthur Conan Doyle, theorizing before the facts is a capital offence.

I didn’t plan to write on the issue of rape and dressing and what not but I might as well get it out of the way. There is no need to say obvious things, but I will say them anyway. Women have a right to dress however they want. Period. Stripping women or brutalizing them is unacceptable and criminal. Period. Men also get raped, and you never hear that it was because of what they were wearing. Okay. On the other hand, as a woman, getting drunk and blacking out amongst strangers is not a good idea. Logic is your friend. Use it. Dressing skimpily and walking in some parts of Nairobi is not a good idea. Listen, let’s be realists. There are rights, and there are odds. Even as men there are some places in this country we will not walk in as the chances of getting mugged are almost 99%. We have the right to walk there but the odds are that it won’t end well. You have the right to travel to Northern Iraq, but the odds are you’ll either end up being a slave for ISIS, or you will end up with an American missile embedded in your diab. You should be able to go to Iraq; in a perfect world you would be able to go to Iraq. But the world ain’t perfect babe, and the same applies here. And not all men are created equal, not all believe in the rights of women, not all are even familiar with them. It reminds me of the story of a bunch of tourists in a game park somewhere in Kenya who were being chased by lions and they decided to climb a tree to escape them. The lions also climbed the tree and dragged off all the tourists but one. When the survivor told the park ranger that he had read a book which said that lions don’t climb trees, the ranger simply told him “The lions didn’t read that book.” You get the point.

Like millions of other people I simply adore Obama. Though I feel he was misadvised when he read us the riot act on gender equality. Of course he was absolutely on the money when he said that not allowing half the team to play is stupid. Truth of the matter is, the progress made by women and women’s rights in Kenya so far is impressive. At last check, there were more girls than boys in schools in Kenya at all levels. (Except JKUAT. Nothing really applies to JKUAT – also known as Juja Boys High School). From my personal experience, I see more women than men my age in employment, and ever since I became of working age every single organisation I have worked for except one, has had more women than men working in it. And the one that didn’t, didn’t for good reasons. It is obvious there is still progress to be made, but let us also appreciate our achievements. And let’s not rush to adopt foreign systems of living, of democracy, or what not. Like other older societies, ours will grow and develop in its own unique way. In other news if the Rwandese want Paul Kagame to go for another term, who are you to say no?

The issue of having a third of the seats in the national assembly reserved for women, if you ask me, is rather silly, and totally unsustainable. Perhaps the future might prove me wrong. I can understand it being included in our constitution due to the rush to pass that document. Look at our so called women reps in Parliament. What have they done for women so far? Unfortunately when one thinks of women reps the pitiful yet hilarious image of Rachel Shebesh comes to mind, and all she seems to have achieved so far is a Gubernatorial slap, followed by a Senatorial roll in the hay, punctuated by a Senatorial slap. Three cheers for women.

Logic would tell us that we should also focus on the boy child, and perhaps focus more. It is men who are more likely to engage in drugs and crime. It is men who are more likely to influence other men and women to engage in drugs and crime. It is men who are more likely to kill themselves. It is men, more than women, who need to be raised to believe that rape is unacceptable and violence is not a solution. But look at our double standards. When you hear about a woman, most likely a spouse, meting out violence on a man, you will always hear people, women mostly, saying that somehow the victim must have deserved it. Yes that he deserved to have his dick cut off. When a man brutalizes a woman, the outcry can be heard from here to the Congo. Double standards much? Anyway, you get the point.

Now sadly, due to the feminazi and misplaced feminism, and also misdirected goodwill, we are breeding men who feel angry, ignored and emasculated, men who don’t see the reason in being men anymore. Men who believe that being a man is all about having more (money) than the next guy, so that they can get whatever they want from whomever, as society has taught them that that is all that matters. We have raised and are raising a generation of women who always spout phrases like ‘I deserve better’ or ‘I’m entitled to’… Women who forget what life really is about and instead are engaged in endless competition, women who believe that men are their eternal enemies, women who want to be like men yet they can’t, and who don’t know how to be women.

Whoever put us on this planet put us here together, men and women, for a reason. We’ve gotta work it out. We are not each other’s enemies.

In the words of the poet: where is the love?


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Why Don’t You? Why Do You?

Early evening. You are seated by the counter in a smoky bar somewhere in the city. Just about to kick back and sign off for the day. Exchanging pleasantries with the barman and engaging in small talk here and there. Farther along the counter there is a rather attractive young woman ordering a drink. By her style of dress you figure she’s either a lawyer or works in an audit firm, probably one of the Big Four. Same difference, except that the lawyer will most likely have an air of self-importance, dozens of points to prove, a chip on her shoulder and misplaced feminism to boot. Okay so it’s not the same difference. After a while you notice she’s casting furtive glances your way every so often. When someone walks in and greets you by name, you can see her pretty little ears perk up a little, and the glances increase. In between questions posed to the barman, she finally gathers the courage to speak to you. A year or so back you’d have been the first one to talk to her but now, well, now is now.

She speaks: “Hi. You’re so and so?”

You: “Ummm, errr… Why do you ask?” (You learnt the hard way, the very hard way, long ago, never to answer that question in a hurry. It has too many possibilities behind it, many of which are not pleasant.)

After pushing and pulling for a while, and after judging the situation reasonably safe to continue, you finally admit that you are who she thinks you are. She goes on to gush about your writing, how she follows your blog religiously. Due to the reputation that Kenyan bloggers have achieved of late, you wince at the mention of the word blog – you hate the term blogger. She continues to say things about you and your writing – since people assume they can tell the type of person you are through your writing- saying how she thinks you are intelligent, crazy, humorous, arrogant, chauvinistic, confused, you have a mean streak, but she likes it, thinks you curse too much but it’s okay, she’d like to pick your brain, perhaps, you should write more about this and that… And then the question: “Why don’t you write anymore?”


A slightly cold night in the countryside. It’s heading towards midnight and you’re heading towards town to pick up a friend who has arrived late. A roadblock in the distance, the ones mounted with lanterns by the side, and manned by eager young policemen. They flag you down, and you quickly think of ignoring them and speeding past or acknowledging them and still speeding past. You doubt that they have a chase car somewhere waiting to chase after you movie style. Anyway, you slow down to a stop and roll down your window. One policeman walks over to your window, flashlight in hand.

“Habari mkubwa!”

“Mzuri sana baba”

“Naezaangalia gari ndani?”

You allow him to check the car because you have nothing to hide. Plus this is the country side; people tend to be courteous to each other including the police. While he is checking you remember the bottle of whisky on the passenger seat, and the glass, with whisky, in the cup holder next to you. Both you and the police officer notice these things at the same time.

“Unajienjioy, eh?”

“Sio sana afisa. Pole pole tu.”

“Unakunywa ukiendesha?”

“Hapana afande. Hiyo ilikuwa ya rafiki yangu ameisahau hapo.”

He smiles, laughs, and keeps looking at you. After a while it looks like he’s trying to remember you. You’re doing your best not to be remembered. He asks for your license. You hand it to him, and his eyes light up like a little boy.

“Ni wewe? Yaani it is you? Nikuulize, unaandikanga mambo kwa mtandao? Yaani internet? Hii jina na sura ninazijua. Walubengo Den?”

You ashamedly admit that it might be the truth. He goes on to tell you how he follows your blog religiously, and that he is actually currently studying at some college close by, and his lecturer directed all of the students to read your blog to gain some knowledge and improve their language. (You almost burst out laughing at this. Poor students. Poor lecturer.) After getting over his initial excitement the young police officer’s face turns a bit solemn and he asks you: Why don’t you write anymore?


You leave the earnest policeman with a glass of liquor to keep him warm, and you head off into the night. Thinking. Why don’t you write anymore? Why don’t you write?

Perhaps in the words below we will attempt, or endeavor to extricate ourselves from this morass. Perchance I will favour the well trained lawyer’s style of writing; Brief, concise, precise, and accurate. Or perhaps I will favour the grandiloquent style of some law professors and speechwriters. Maybe both. Then again, may be none. The author’s style: describing sunsets and sunrises and moons and oceans and landscapes in magnificent, almost numbing words punctuated by suffocating similes and a myriad of metaphors. No. Perhaps I should just say shag it and have a ghostwriter write out all this shit. But I’m not a rapper. I think I’ll just bumble along and wing it.

In bars. Restaurants. On the street. On the highway. In the club. Even at work and at home. The world seems to be teeming with people keening to know why you don’t write anymore. Surprisingly, people will read what you write sometimes, and if you are vain enough to include a picture or two of yourself in your articles they will know what you look like. Also, if you have a ‘common’ face (polite way of saying ‘watchman’s face), many people will think they have seen or met you before. Anyway.

Methinks the more important question is: “Why do you write? Why should you write?”

I’ve asked this question to many others, seeking to find out why they write, seeking to know what drives them. Some say it’s money that drives them, others say it’s passion. Some say that writing is a need, it is something you inexplicably need to do. Others of course write for vanity, or for fame or notoriety. Others write to stir unnecessary controversy or to spread hate steeped in mutated feminism like that girl/female/woman (what is the politically correct term?) who was insulting Subarus the other day, specifically Subarus of a blue hue. I never liked Subarus much in the first place, but now I do. I tend to gravitate towards the things which stupid people don’t like. Oh well, to each his own and we haven’t paraded ourselves here to judge.

I still remember someone telling me that I should write because I feel good while writing. But the end results are the words, the sentences, and they will be read by people. So making myself feel good then sharing the results with the reading public. I don’t know about you, but to me that sounds an awful lot like masturbating in public. Some say you can only write and write well when you are sad, or when there is a great cause that one is writing for. I don’t know. Some draw motivation from the bottle and perhaps a pack of cigarettes – Keeps them writing.

Some write to make their voice heard. Some write to make the voices in their head go quiet.

Why do you write? Why should you write? Me I don’t know.
If there’s anyone out there who has an answer to these questions, or ideas, kindly share. They might just help to spark a light.