WAMAMA WA SAUDIA
If you didn’t join Facebook this week, you must have heard about Wamama
Wa Saudia. Well, if you haven’t, worry not. These are a collection of
young ladies from around Ndenderu, Wangige and some parts of Kikuyu land
who travel to the Middle East or Gulf (Majuu) as they like to call it.
They didn’t just get the name as result of their new domicile, its as
result of their massive online presence and unorthodox means of dealing
with dry spell. Am told common sense and rules of decency always
disappear in circumstances such as dry spell, diarrhoea, long held call
of nature and extreme hunger. It's no surprise that you will find an
elderly lady from upcountry comfortably squatting while responding to a
call of nature on the roadside grass. But because you are respectful son
of the soil you are in a dilemma whether to pretend you didn’t see or
greet her as etiquette require. These elderly have issues with
everything, you fail to greet them and they will remind you during your
dowry negotiations. And because you don’t want issues, you will end up
greeting them with a smile as if celebrating their roadside activities.
“Wimwega Nyina Maina, Niwauga witeithie?” she will later be reporting
you to the council of elders for being a disrespectful kid.
Am busy on my undercover mission of secretly stalking peoples profiles when a message pops up. As usual I am not in a hurry to open it. I have already read it at the pop up section. Its an overseas mobile line, apparently gulf. Am checking on the identity of a brethren who has decided to spice our fellowship and prayer warriors group with a few nudes and a sex tape. All members in the group are agitated and asking the admin to take action on the devil’s agent who decided to spoil the breakthrough of our 5th week of prayers and fasting. Another message pops up, from the same number. “Sasa Waiyaki” I usually like using this name on social media to protect my image. It would be an embarrassment if my former students identified me in a WhatsApp group for sugar mums hookups. I therefore can tell this isn’t a person we know each other in person. We have just met on social media. She identifies herself as Melissa and is a member of a Kenyans in Diaspora group that I happen to be a member. She explains that she saw my photo on my profile and she thinks I look familiar. I can be anything else but not a liar, so I tell her am never familiar to strangers. That was to be the beginning of us.
Whoever said that long distance relationships don’t work should get some handouts from my Saudia sweetheart. Ours was characterized with intense chatting, voice notes and endless video calls. How these ladies will turn their faces complexion from that of Akothee to that of Vera Sidika immediately after landing to gulf, I can’t tell. She is always on some hijab covering over three quarters of her face when she makes a video call. She is forcing some coast Swahili accent and occasionally throwing in some Arabic vocabularies. Its an unfair understatement to describe her as huge, she is a humongous piece of woman, overly obese. I haven’t had a chance to ask her what work she does in Majuu but its something to do with “hamam” and “kemboi”. She has mentioned these two severally when she intends to excuse herself to do some duties. I therefore intend to know her more. It has been over an year and we are expected to meet up once her contract with the mwarabu lapses.
“So, how did you get yourself to gulf?” I will start off.
I have sampled her grammar and I can tell it can’t be by a scholarship or professional posting. She explains that she used to have a hotel at Sigona before she got pregnant for this Nduthi guy who used to carry her to work. She would later return the favour in kind. She will later be married by a childhood friend who promised to take care of her and the kid. The said guy would later leave her for her sister who later left him after she found him erotically massaging her mother who was visiting their Dagoretti home. Mellissa explains further that she was pregnant with her father who had a proposition of leaving her mother for her. She loses the pregnancy, a loss she attributes to her mother’s constant prayers of fire and calamity to the home breaker her husband is cheating with. The father disowned her when she gave birth to the second born and he doesn’t resemble him or her. He accused her of both cheating on him and bringing shame to the family. Without a job and two kids she moved to gulf after leaving the kids with her sister, who was too wiling to pay up for snatching her husband.
At this point I can guess she is signalling menopause. There is no way I will have a future with this lady who cheating runs in their family. She is well mature and has seen a lot. She isn’t of the class of my former girlfriend(s) in looks but maybe she beats her on putting things to perspective. My friend, the junior elder, thinks men are petty and ladies are silly. A man will insist on being served with steaming hot tea, like my grandfather, and still wait for it to cool down to drink. Regardless, my grandmother will always serve him directly from the sufuria. Isn’t that silly? Yes am petty, My former girlfriend used to think I don’t have swag. Maybe she still thinks so. That’s fine, because I don’t know what swag is, and also because I don’t take seriously people who [attempt to] talk like American rappers and wear skinny jeans. These ones wear clothes so tight that they have trouble taking deep breaths or breathing properly for that matter. These people would get 3RD degree burns if they were to fart without taking off their jeans first. I don’t even trust these ladies who will pose for Instagram photos blowing Shisha smoke so thick and higher than the lunatic train. These you can’t tame even by taking them to church. They will be kneeling in the church washrooms donating a blow job to the piano guy as you are kneeling interceding for your marriage. I therefore can’t compare her with any of my previous encounters. She is just a woman with a bad past. She speaks highly of her two kids and keeps posting them on her profile .
Since this talk we are distant and the real meaning of long-distance relationship can be felt. I treat her as a parent. The grace of video chats will subside and I will ignore most of her texts. She will send voice notes of how she misses the former us. But I won’t give her attention anyway, she is just a desperate Gulf mama trying to run away from her past. I can’t pinpoint the exact point, when I started shifting my emotional attachment to her. I am always a fighter for things am attached to from tender age. Even after application of pepper to my mother’s breasts, for example, I soldiered on unperturbed and suckled for a further six months. That’s how we’re weaned off in our village, though often, it’s the fathers (and neighbours perhaps) who suffer the most from the consequences of the peppered nipples. Our communication breaks completely and we no longer talk. Three months since we last talked. I am almost forgetting her existence until I bump into a familiar image on the Daily nation.
An elderly woman is holding a portrait photo of a lady she claims to be her daughter who died in Saudi Arabia. They were informed that their daughter jumped off the balcony leading to her death. They are pleading with the government to help in bringing the body of their daughter home for burial at their Zambezi home. Melissa Wairimu, according to her parents, was an obedient, hardworking, joyful and a loving mother of two.
Am busy on my undercover mission of secretly stalking peoples profiles when a message pops up. As usual I am not in a hurry to open it. I have already read it at the pop up section. Its an overseas mobile line, apparently gulf. Am checking on the identity of a brethren who has decided to spice our fellowship and prayer warriors group with a few nudes and a sex tape. All members in the group are agitated and asking the admin to take action on the devil’s agent who decided to spoil the breakthrough of our 5th week of prayers and fasting. Another message pops up, from the same number. “Sasa Waiyaki” I usually like using this name on social media to protect my image. It would be an embarrassment if my former students identified me in a WhatsApp group for sugar mums hookups. I therefore can tell this isn’t a person we know each other in person. We have just met on social media. She identifies herself as Melissa and is a member of a Kenyans in Diaspora group that I happen to be a member. She explains that she saw my photo on my profile and she thinks I look familiar. I can be anything else but not a liar, so I tell her am never familiar to strangers. That was to be the beginning of us.
Whoever said that long distance relationships don’t work should get some handouts from my Saudia sweetheart. Ours was characterized with intense chatting, voice notes and endless video calls. How these ladies will turn their faces complexion from that of Akothee to that of Vera Sidika immediately after landing to gulf, I can’t tell. She is always on some hijab covering over three quarters of her face when she makes a video call. She is forcing some coast Swahili accent and occasionally throwing in some Arabic vocabularies. Its an unfair understatement to describe her as huge, she is a humongous piece of woman, overly obese. I haven’t had a chance to ask her what work she does in Majuu but its something to do with “hamam” and “kemboi”. She has mentioned these two severally when she intends to excuse herself to do some duties. I therefore intend to know her more. It has been over an year and we are expected to meet up once her contract with the mwarabu lapses.
“So, how did you get yourself to gulf?” I will start off.
I have sampled her grammar and I can tell it can’t be by a scholarship or professional posting. She explains that she used to have a hotel at Sigona before she got pregnant for this Nduthi guy who used to carry her to work. She would later return the favour in kind. She will later be married by a childhood friend who promised to take care of her and the kid. The said guy would later leave her for her sister who later left him after she found him erotically massaging her mother who was visiting their Dagoretti home. Mellissa explains further that she was pregnant with her father who had a proposition of leaving her mother for her. She loses the pregnancy, a loss she attributes to her mother’s constant prayers of fire and calamity to the home breaker her husband is cheating with. The father disowned her when she gave birth to the second born and he doesn’t resemble him or her. He accused her of both cheating on him and bringing shame to the family. Without a job and two kids she moved to gulf after leaving the kids with her sister, who was too wiling to pay up for snatching her husband.
At this point I can guess she is signalling menopause. There is no way I will have a future with this lady who cheating runs in their family. She is well mature and has seen a lot. She isn’t of the class of my former girlfriend(s) in looks but maybe she beats her on putting things to perspective. My friend, the junior elder, thinks men are petty and ladies are silly. A man will insist on being served with steaming hot tea, like my grandfather, and still wait for it to cool down to drink. Regardless, my grandmother will always serve him directly from the sufuria. Isn’t that silly? Yes am petty, My former girlfriend used to think I don’t have swag. Maybe she still thinks so. That’s fine, because I don’t know what swag is, and also because I don’t take seriously people who [attempt to] talk like American rappers and wear skinny jeans. These ones wear clothes so tight that they have trouble taking deep breaths or breathing properly for that matter. These people would get 3RD degree burns if they were to fart without taking off their jeans first. I don’t even trust these ladies who will pose for Instagram photos blowing Shisha smoke so thick and higher than the lunatic train. These you can’t tame even by taking them to church. They will be kneeling in the church washrooms donating a blow job to the piano guy as you are kneeling interceding for your marriage. I therefore can’t compare her with any of my previous encounters. She is just a woman with a bad past. She speaks highly of her two kids and keeps posting them on her profile .
Since this talk we are distant and the real meaning of long-distance relationship can be felt. I treat her as a parent. The grace of video chats will subside and I will ignore most of her texts. She will send voice notes of how she misses the former us. But I won’t give her attention anyway, she is just a desperate Gulf mama trying to run away from her past. I can’t pinpoint the exact point, when I started shifting my emotional attachment to her. I am always a fighter for things am attached to from tender age. Even after application of pepper to my mother’s breasts, for example, I soldiered on unperturbed and suckled for a further six months. That’s how we’re weaned off in our village, though often, it’s the fathers (and neighbours perhaps) who suffer the most from the consequences of the peppered nipples. Our communication breaks completely and we no longer talk. Three months since we last talked. I am almost forgetting her existence until I bump into a familiar image on the Daily nation.
An elderly woman is holding a portrait photo of a lady she claims to be her daughter who died in Saudi Arabia. They were informed that their daughter jumped off the balcony leading to her death. They are pleading with the government to help in bringing the body of their daughter home for burial at their Zambezi home. Melissa Wairimu, according to her parents, was an obedient, hardworking, joyful and a loving mother of two.
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