What would you do if you weren't afraid

Just a thought I came across as I was reading some pdf a colleague supplied. That statement really leaped at me. A wake up call if I ever saw one.

Being mummy's boy

All your life you do things in a certain way, then you grow up and get all sorts of labels thrown at you.

Growing up, I always tried to do the right thing by everyone around me. [The folly of this kind of thinking has since become apparent to me and trying to please everyone will only occasion you to many visits to the psychiatrist] No one more so than my mother. I tried to wash the dishes when she asked. Eat the vegetables on my plate. Go to church. It's neglibigle, all this, considering all she's done for me. Continues to do.

Apparently there is a certain bond that mothers have with sons and father with daughters, and not of the Freudian variety. Mothers and daughters also seem to have a unique and rather strained relationship. Why is it that women don't like their own.

Anyway. I was also mostly raised by my mum during my formative years. That's probably why my attachment to her is so strong. I remember the emotions Tupac's Dear Mama used to evoke in me. My favourite artiste singing about something I felt very strongly about. I thought of playing the song to her on a number of occasions but couldn't think of how I'd convince my mum to listen to gangsta rap.

Apparently though, being close to your mother precludes you from getting the attention of women. Mummy's boys are just about as likeable and attractive as nice guys. I, however, don't see as mutually exclusive being close to your mother and your galfriend/wife/prospective. These relationships are worlds apart. One doesn't compete with the other simply on the account of their disparity.

I've always figured if I ever found someone who was willing to spend more than a couple of hours with me on a Saturday evening, I'd put her on the proverbial pedestal. To hell with the rules. It would be me and her against the world. My mum would always be my mum, but she... she would be the one. The command to leave one's parents and cleave onto the wife comes to mind. I especially like the cleaving part.

When all is said and done, I make choices and live by them. Make my bed and so must lie in it. Misconceptions and labels aside, I am who I am.

Angelique Kidjo here I come

I've just got my ticket for her concert at carni tonight. I'll try to sneak a couple of glimpses of her in between watching the Barca-Milan match.

Is the queer eye really more fashinable

There's this notion that gay guys have better fashion sense than their straight counterparts. [and possibly the converse that the lesbians who play the male role lack this apparently feminie quality] Ignoring for a minute the fact that fashion is itself a hoax, with 'good' seeming to depend on the name of the designer rather than how the clothes actually look. You see those runway shows and wonder if anyone ever wears those outfits. I don't even know where to start with haute couture.

Anyway, if there's any truth to the premise that gay individuals are better at matching colours and outfits and things, this brings an interesting elephant into the room. Homosexuality can't be a lifestyle choice. At least not simply so. A guy doesn't wake up one day and know what fabric pattern will look good on you, does he. Another thing I've always wondered about is whether the feminine demeanour, at least if the stereotypical token gay guy on TV shows is to be believed, is learned or once again somehow intrinsic and requisite.

Well, how attraction works, and its apparent effect on one's fashion sense and general grooming, is a complete mystery to me. I've never been able to explain why I find women attractive, or more precisely why those 2 body parts have the effect they do. I certainly didn't weigh the merits of the case or otherwise consciously consider this 'choice'. At some point, I just found certain parts of my body reacting in a strange way to the mere presence or thought of women. Still does.

haro haro

ok, before i say anything, someone sent me THIS link and as much as it is sad...it's quite hilarious, apparently the guy has made thousands of dollars to date.

Otherwise, i'm still trying to understand this thing we call life...the older i grow the harder it gets...which is funny coz when i was a kid all i wanted to be was an adult...now that i'm an adult, all i want to be is a kid again...afterall isn't ignorance bliss?

testing testing 123

ok...i haven't done this in a while so i'm a little rusty...i had even forgotten my password n had 2 get a totally new one sent 2 me.

if this post is successful...u'll be hearin alot from me...

Observer effect

I was introduced to blogging around mid last year. I promptly created an account on Blogger and put in a couple of posts. I stopped just as fast as I'd started. Something was missing. It felt empty and cold. Tangibly so.

Around the same time, Kamikaze set up this blog and invited a couple of guys to join. I did and once again did the obligatory couple of posts. What kept me going beyond these hello world posts was the fact that 0.5 was also posting. The blog now wasn't only for releasing pent up frustrations, but a way to know what guys were up to. And boy those were interesting times. In my defence, I was on mind altering substances.

For the longest time, it was just 0.5 and myself. At some point, I started trawling the web for other blogs to look at. I remember. It was December and we were like 3 guys in the office who'd used up our leave days and had to work. The first blog I started reading was KenyanGal's. I also happened to be the first to post a comment there. She's since deleted the original blog. Then I stumbled on lots of other blogs written by Kenyans. Mostly female. What can I say. I wasn't even xenophobic though. There was VB and one apparently manic-depressive girl from down under. I wonder what happened to her. I'll have to look her up.

Anyway. I was shocked to find people [other than 0.5] leaving comments on this blog. Even more so when I realised that some were actually reading it. I mean. That just turned my blogging world upside down. I can think of one post where I put c++ code, albeit of a trivial variety. I surely can't write about encounters with married women, or stopping gorgeous women on the street.

The observer effect has kicked in. I mostly write from my heart. aJamaa was telling me the other day how some of my posts aren't well thought out. And that's exactly correct. I don't think too much about what I write. I put down anything that comes to mind. I don't write to improve my writing skills or seek debate on social issues. I write what I feel. How I feel. cosmic leap once remarked how personal my posts were. With only a couple of guys watching, and a reasonable degree of anonymity, I felt comfortable letting it all out. Laying it bare. Undressing. Bearing my soul.

The observer effect, though, dictates that things can't quite remain the same. I feel the difference, even as I write this.

The F word

I've seen numerous scenes on TV where a couple is breaking up and one party declares something like "let's be friends". Some things should not be said. What does that even mean. Weren't they friends before. Well, friend does indeed take a whole other meaning when applied to the context of a couple. It means no kind of physical relationship whatever. I find it difficult to be friends with a chic. If I'm talking to a chic, I fancy her at some level. Of course I happen to believe all women are beautiful, so I end up talking to any and all chics who'll stand me. Not that I want to jump their bones necessarily, but it's definitely no the same as the way I would talk to other Introverts for instance. Sometimes I'll pretend that I'm 'just a friend' and play that part. Sometimes, this charade is too painful and I distance myself for my own good. The bottom line is that once again I have to suppress my instincts. No more asking what she's wearing. Staying quiet when she says she's just about to jump into the shower. I guess that's what friends do.

Me no kunumunu

Kunumunu: A man easily controlled by a woman.

The dynamics of boy-gal relationships are really intriguing. One angle that has always buffled me is what women expect of men. Specifically 'nice guys' because I aspired to be one of these.

I figured that if I happened to fancy someone, I'd tell them, show them, do whatever they asked, go whenever they gave the word. It's no wonder I've never been in a relationship. I'm too lazy to do all these things. I still can't say no to a woman [yet] and will call within the hour after getting a chic's number. Who cares about 3 day waiting periods. Wait. Is it 3 days or 3 hours. I don't know the rules.

Apparently though, this doensn't turn women on. This wimpy tendencies will not do. Women want a man who is confident and takes the lead. A man who will stand up to her rather than jump at her every insistence.

I have to re-orient myself. This calling people up every day has to stop. Next time she asks if we can do lunch, I'll be busy. If she happens to be in carni I won't jump out of my pyjamas to go join her. I will be cool, calm and collected.

Why Wed?

People have come to place too much emphasis in these life changing events, for instance weddings. Pause for a minute and think:
What is the rationale for spending close to 500,000 big ones on a single day of bliss (to the woman and her family - I am yet to meet a man who was too thrilled to be married).

And that is just the wedding day only. Everyday fills me with dread. Do you know how much patience, dedication and nerve it takes to get a woman to the altar? It starts with the aunts and uncles. These suddenly grow to a huge number, like two hundred. They enter the scene dramatically and declare themselves experts in giving away daughters. The motions of giving away the daughter occur in restaurants where people have to eat and drink. At your expense dear brother.
As long as a guy is providing food and drink in unrestricted fashion, laughter is long and full of mirth. The drunk, inconsequential uncle will eat from the same table from the rich one. They will hug, laugh and enjoy the good times.

There is no hurrying in this business. It will take as many meetings as necessary to iron out small issues. A brother will be tapped for funds. This or that small project. And the guy has to help or else a very undesirable reputation will stick with him.

Then comes the delicate matter of dowry. Here you get shaved real close my friend. The amount paid depends on how obnoxious the in-laws are. If they are undiplomatic and un-relenting, then a man loses a considerable part of his fortune. At this point, you start hearing things like how well the girl is educated, her good character and how she has always helped in building her own parents home. And then you, my friend, want to take her away. You will nod and agree.
Woe unto you if you had made the mistake of having lived with girl. To the withered old men (they are usually about 55, and are chiefly the girl's father, his friends and brothers), this is a grave matter. They even have a word for it in my mother tongue. The fines are heavy.
Oh? Thinking you are cosmopolitan, well bred and speak your native tongue with a slight inflection of English? And that you might just be spared of this muck raking? Think again.

Come the day itself and your wife-to-be will not be satisfied until you have proved beyond any shadow of doubt that your wedding will be bigger and pompier than Sally's. It is not worthy of her until half the produce of Naivasha's flower farms is hauled in; There should be 1000 choir girls, all of the same height, dressed in white silk. The bride will want a dress that is similar to the Princess Diana was married. A Toyota Corolla won't do, only a Merc. The jewellery has to produce its own light. The list is endless.
All the time, your bank balance is rolling down like the digits on casino slot machines.

And the people eat. And drink. Prominent people come. The event gets some mention in the gossip columns which are sprouting in the dailies like a rapidly spreading epidemic. For gifts, the bride and groom get glassware, forks and spoons that can feed half the Chinese army in one sitting.

Sunday comes, followed closely by the rest of their entire lives. Reality is that the couple is broke. Probably took a loan, or depleted their savings. Probably both. To forget, the man and wife will go for a honeymoon.

So what to do?

1) Walk to the AG's office and get on with it.
2) Have only six people attending. You, your parents and hers. The rest of the world be damned (you are already asking how this can be done? Hang on).

Short Snappy Wedding.
1) Talk sense into your girl. Impress on her the need to spend little for the sake of the future.
2) Hatch plan. Execute plan.
3) Girl wilfully falls pregnant (if such a thing is possible).
4) Guy makes as if he wants to leave [pretend you are going abroad. On a scholarship and hope her Dad is an idiot (sorry)]
5) Have girl throw tantrums. Hysterics. Gots to get married. Can't let him get away!
6) Man shows real genuineness and honesty of character. Shows real desire to marry, but must profess to be extremely broke, can't produce 10 bob to save his own life
7) Make vivid promises of making it right. Promise a huge 'renewal' wedding. Sign this in blood if necessary.
8) Plan for an uneventful, small wedding. Little food, no booze.
9) Spirit away your woman to Seychelles and burn a good 100,000. That way she doesn't get to gripe for the rest of your waking life that you are a cheapskate.

Return to normal life, never intending to keep any of those damn promises.

Nice thought huh? Probably wont work.

Tis the season to be married

Introverted
I know of 5 of my work mates who are the brink of getting married. The youngest is a 25 year old chik and the oldest I approximate to be a 32 or 33 year old chik. I think marriege is a wonderful thin and I hope to one day to attain this high station in life. But I have two concerns about it at the moment. One, why does everybody seem to be getting into it at the same time. This is not a real problem its just an interesting coincidence.

Now the second issue has my knickers rolled up into a knot. Why are African men expected to buy diamond rings when they expression their interest in spending the rest of their lives with the same women. To never pursue a chik again and say No to all those nice yunguns who express an interest in them. Why do we take all the wrong aspects of western culture and adopt them to our culture. The eldest of the engagees showed me her engagement ring some time last week. It is apparently made of white gold (I am not convinced such a thing exists) and has a diamond (I cant say I have seen a diamond before). Looking at it I could see more crates of beer than all my buddies and I can drink in an year, a set of alloy rims and new tyres for a car, food to feed a sub location in North Eastern for a week, a holiday to Lamu, a considerable share of Kengen e.t.c Is an engagement ring not a total waste of money? What happens if the guy gets cold feet, can he go back and redeem this valuable item from the chik? Does it not put the poor chiks life at risk of mugging?

I bet my dad never even considered buying an engagement ring and yet he has been married, happily I hope, for nearly 30 years. A good marriege an engagement ring does not make. Engagement rings are a western concept and have no place in our society. Unless we argue that they increase the diversity of our economy and put us one step closer to attaining a 7% annual growth in GDP.

Why wouldn't I

I got another number from a chic at work on Thursday last week. Just one of those things. You are talking with someone then the conversation ends as you both need to go home. Then you blurt out something like "talk to you later" only to realise that this would need you to exchange numbers. Conditioned reflex.

Anyway, we got talking over the weekend. SMSing actually. It's a lot easier to flirt via sms. At some point I told her that I had a terminal case of commitment phobia, to which she responded. "Why wouldn't you want to be someone's man?". That statement really floored me. I'd never heard this notion put like that before. The usual reasons exist; I'm not rich enough. Inevitable break ups and drama. Not being able to watch weekend football without giving excuses or feeling guilty. Just being absolutely terrified. I'm reminded of aJamaa's lamentation at the sheer unfairness of a man being restricted to having only one woman. The list is endless.

It's probably the way she put it that made me consider that prospect. I've seen that look where a woman looks up at a/her man with a certain je ne sais quoi. I really je ne sais quoi. I'd like to be that guy getting that look.

When I grow up...

There are those people who have always known what occupation they'd like to be engaged in from an early age. I have always looked at these people with a sense of awe and more than a tinge of bewilderment.

Often, in primary school, the teacher would ask the class to say, in turn, what each of us would like to be when we grew up. This is one of those sessions that used to really irk me. Possibly because I didn't get it. At 10, I didn't really understand the concept of a job. Truth be told, I'm still struggling with this concept at 26. I had real trouble wrapping my mind around the concept and the times I got close to picturing what a job was, I didn't like what I saw. Add onto this the fact that I didn't want to grow up and you'll understand why I never liked answering this question. I couldn't say "I don't know", which would have been the most truthful response. No. My open, honest, rude streak started in Form 2. What is it about Form 2?

Anyway, most of my classmates seemed to relish these opportunities. They'd say how they wanted to be lawyers, doctors and presidents. I'd always wait my turn in great apprehension. Seeing my turn getting nearer and not being able to figure out what my answer would be this time. I never could relate to what everyone else was saying. My mum was a secretary [I only knew the job title] and my dad didn't have a job. Rather than go with the flow, or just blatantly lie, I came up with the next best thing. I decided to go with something I understood. "I want to be a footballer". The rest of the class would laugh while the teacher looked at me with unmistakeable annoyance. Even at an early age, I didn't like placating people. Growing up, I played football every moment I could. It was something I knew. If push came to shove and I really had to grow up, that would be something I wouldn't mind doing. But kids who got good grades in school had to become doctors. This was like an 11th commandment, passed down unwritten from generation to the next. By the time we were in high school, people had graduated from wanting to be doctors, to becoming neurosurgeons. I had also graduated somewhat and was producing enough hormones to say "I don't know" to anyone who asked this question of me.

As it is, if there was no provision to change your mind about the course you'd applied to study at university, I would be a chemical engineer. Well, at least I would have studied chemical engineering. I can't, with a straight face, call myself a computer scientist. When I finished campus, I just wanted to code. It was the only thing I felt remotely competent at. What did I know about database or system administration, or setting up or managing networks, or hardware. Nothing. This desire has taken a bit of a hit recently, but people like JoelOnSoftware revive my desire and uplift my spirits, in addition to making me laugh. Inspire me to keep at it. Improve and do my best at what I do. When I grow up, I want to be a programmer.

Dear Blog

I promptly need to vomit on you, dear blog, because if I don't I might do something stupid.
(I have already consulted my own wise counsel and decided that drinking to a stupor, today, does not count as something stupid)

Where do I start? At the beginning, I guess:

Yesterday I was going through the motions of revising and reinforcing for an MCSD exam (that I took earlier today). You see, this exam is a nasty piece of work;
Therefore when a good friend of mine called and asked if I have the stomach for one or two beers (this is where mathematics does not hold true, because when someone says 'come I buy you a beer', you end up drinking six), I had my misgivings.
But somewhere along the way, my brain also decided that it is also made of very stern stuff. It told itself that it would not have come this far if it was stupid. So I promptly banged the book shut, pressed ctrl-alt-delete and marched out to Hornbill.

Where nothing out of the ordinary happened.

Things really started happening when I stepped out of the matatu, on my way home. I peered up the 100 or so meters of dark road to see if any evil lurked there. Seeing nothing, I made dedicated efforts towards my house. At about half the journey, a burly man stepped out of a local pub, pulling a woman along by her hair.

A heated argument was in the air. But before the could get her point across, the man punched her in the face and she doubled up into the trench, which is full of mud. He did not stop. He kicked her, then he grabbed her hair and yanked her up to her feet. The whole sequence took five seconds. In that five seconds my drunken haze lifted. She was screaming for help, jumping up and down. The man, apparently decided that his fist had not caused enough pain and was looking for something to hit her with. He did not have to look far. Somewhere in the vicinity, there was a high heeled shoe, hers. The other shoe was nowhere to be seen. As he bent to pick the shoe, she wriggled free and ran to me.

The man immediately pursued, the one shoe raised high in the air. The lady grabbed me by my midsection, swung me around such that I now faced Goliath: The grip was one of desperation. It was deadly. The shoe buzzed past my ear as the man swung his hand down with ferocious force, aiming for the woman. My shoulder collected most of the impact. The man moved around, raining blows. The woman moved around, and moved me around too. I collected the blows.
At some point I think, the man did not see any difference between the two of us; Blows started coming indiscriminately. See, here I am trying to unlock the vice-like grip; And my face would be left exposed. And a stinging slap would ensue. I would then try to cover my face from such assault. The woman would get free reign of my mid-section and jerk me around like a rag doll. It was a lethal and ghastly dance.

When I realized I could get seriously injured, I told the man that I would easily kill him if he hit me again. I managed to pick a huge rock and hurled it toward him. That generally managed to instill some small measure of sense in him. He relented, and stepped back half a meter.

The strange thing is the lady kept declaring her love for the man, and saying that whatever he was accusing her of was not true. The man re-read the charges, for my benefit:
The woman had apparently f*ed the whole of Dam. (I almost grinned here, circumstances not withstanding)
She had misappropriated some Kshs 200,000 he had given her for a project with some men, again from Dam.
Many other accusations, which escape my memory at present.

We are almost at my gate. So the lady stands between me and him. She does not want to go with this beast, and I am trying to make away. Try to save these damaged people and you see how much drama you get into. Ask TD.

The man would get a fit and try to knock her down every now and then. The man withdrew and told her:
Why don't you go and f* him as well: (meaning me). He then walked off with a very determined stride. The guilt bit to the quick. She ran after him, apologizing. I followed. He walked through the flat's gates, (which is next to my flat). Immediately she was in, the man bolted the door. Then he slammed the chic very hard into the stairs. She let out a hollow, haunted animal sound. Very disturbing.

The beating began again.

As for my paper, I failed that. Don't feel sorry for me. I could have read for a whole year and wouldn't have passed. A convergence of unhappy circumstances. In any case it isn't me who is paying. Yet.


Thanks Blog, I feel much better. Hornbill here I come.
TearDrop, you will forgive me for borrowing the title.

Its a mans world

Every so often I get this overwhelming urge to share my opinion or a random thought. Maybe this urge is driven by the fact that I am conceited or maybe its intrinsically human to want to express oneself. All I know is that in this blog provides me with a stage from which I can share my observations, feelings, opinions, random thoughts. Previously I was limited to sneaking in my random thoughts into one of those deep conversation I get into with my buddies after four or five pynts but now I have a blog.

I have had this discussion with a few of chiks I work with, mostly when I want to bully the single ones into thinking that they will not find a better man than myself and so they need to start chatting me up. The fact is that the older a woman gets and the higher her income the smaller the number of men she can date gets. I look at single chiks I went to school with and the ones I work with and feel sorry for them. Their chances of getting the kind of man they, or is it society, define they should is reducing at an increasing rate.

As a jamaa who is closer to 30 than 20, I can and have dated a receptionist, I can also date a tea girl, student, waitress, a chik who dropped out in Form 2. I can also date chiks who are plus or minus five years my age. Generally as long as a chik is hot enough any guy can date her, be it Chris Kirubi or my pitiful little self. And considering that all chiks are hot a jamaa can generally date any chik. And the older a guy gets and the more he earns the more options he has. A forty year old guy can hang out with a 20 something year old model, Donald Trump proves my case.

When it comes to women the opposite applies. Few women are brave enough to date younger men and those who do will restrict themselves to guys at most 2 years younger. Its common to find big cars parked outside chiks hostels but I have not heard of a woman going to 'see' a campus student. If a woman has a degree she is unlikely to date a guy without one, unless the guy is one of this Nairobi business men who are self made millionares. But she can never date a waiter, watchie, bouncer, mason or male nurse no matter how tall dark and handsome they may be. Of course there is an exception to every rule and Wambui Otieno is one such exception.

Finding a special person is hard, in the case of women it is so much harder. This makes it a mans world, since there are a bunch of many women hinting for the same few guys.


The last of the introverts
As Sam goes on an offial (because he indicated he is), 0.5 quietly sinks into oblivion, Kamikaze fades further and further away and Philosopha continues his vow of silence I am left the last introvert standing.

Hiatus

I will be taking a leave of abscence from the blogosphere. For a while. I've been rather uninspired and not-in-the-mood of late. See you on the flipside.

A man who does not learn does not deserve to earn

I am a business man. I am in the business of selling my skills and knowledge to the highest bidder. Unfortunately I operate in a market that is customer driven and where the bargaining power of customers is extremely high. The market is also skewed in that demand for certain kinds of knowledge and skills is higher than that of others. The problem is aggravated by the fact that I am limited in the knowledge I can develop. I am not athletic enough to sell my sporting skills, I lack certain critical body parts that would allow me to sell my body and I am not creative enough to sell my imagination. For a long time the only thing I could bring to the negotiating table was academic and professional qualifications. That was enough to get me where I am now, which is nowhere, but is not enough to take me further or even keep me where I am.

I used to be an IT kind of guy but now I have been reduced to a lowly user. I could write a half decent C and Java program now all I do is talk to people and nod my head like an idiot as I pretend to understand what they are talking about. My work has become boring because I do not learn anymore. Things are so bad I have not opened google for over a month. I use Firefox but the only benefit I enjoy from using it is tabs. As I look at my task bar (or is it status bar, I forget) now the only things I have open are Lotus, Word, Excel and Power point. That is all the software I use. If Sun released a new JDK I would be the last guy to know. A few weekends ago, Sam mentioned in passing that MSF (is that the right acronym?)have delayed release of their new OS. I didnt know that was happening.

I work with a bunch of accountants so being an IT user is not a bad thing if you are an accountant. Although I have professional qualifications that indicate I am an accountant I dont know anything. Some time last week one of my colleagues told another colleague, issue of bonus shares is not a dilluting event they the conversation went down hill from there. 3 years ago I could have participated in such a discussion but now I cannot.

I am like a dairy farmer who refuses to take his ngomber for AI and still expects to be in business 10 years from now. An obvous solution for me is to get another job that provides me with opportunities to learn. I have even considered looking for a job abroad. But that cannot be the solution I cannot limit my development to opportunities presented by an employer. Learning should be self driven. Last year I tried to take a few more professional exams but soon realised they are a waste of time. They did not provide me with any incremental knowledge or new skills. This left me averse to formal education. I can enrole for an MBA course but I will die of boredom, probably pass but still have no knowledge. I need to try something different, something real, a doing thing. Probably take up coding as a hobby. There are a few times I find myself doing something and hoping it could be automated for example backing up stuff from my machine to a network drive or getting exchange rates from a website. Or I could enrole for a cooking class and as a bonus hang out with some chiks. Or take up capentry. I will probably just keep doing what I am doing now, the bare minimal at work and a couch potato at home. But that will leave me without sellable skills.

The geyser

I was talking to 0.5 the other day, about the haemorrhage that is going on in our department. There's a chic who left last week and more recently the guy who sits opposite me handed in his resignation letter. As it is rumour has it that there's someone else who is/has resigned. Perhaps a case of guys' imaginations running wild. Managers are now looking at everyone with great suspicion.

According to our HR department, guys here are paid market rates. Better even. So where is this guys are going to. 0.5 was telling me how a number of people have turned down job offers at his place. Jobs paying more than most in this town. Hence, his proposition that "There must be a place where money is boiling from the ground for easy pick-up."

I became very disillusioned and depressed last time I was looking for a job, with the realisation that employers want to use employees. Get the most out of them at the least cost. Get the best guy you can for the least amount of money. It has taken me a while to accept this, although I don't fully understand it. It is interesting though when the tables are turned. When guys chuck it in and go on to the next highest bidder, sometimes without prior notice. When guys take matters into their own hands. When they aren't at the mercy of the employer to do with them as they please. When guys find that geyser.

Chicks in IT

hi, i`m new.
It all depends on which campus u attended. Coz go to Strath, JKUAT satellite campuses (not the main one!) UASU, they r overflowin with real fly mama`z. i know of one reignin beauty queen in JKUAT westlands. u sound like u schooled at UON ama JKUAT main one. I just think God was fair enough in his distribution of goodies, yaani its rare to hav both brains and looks, even a majority of chicks prefer they had the later and missed out on the former. No disrespect to the ladies. Its refreshin to jobo in an environment with lots of women. Actually productivity moves upwards. Kudos to the recruitin fellows 4 ensurin the gender balance or imbalance in favour of more women!