If regular urban life could be equated to a modern day jungle, then a single-willing to mingle mom in the city of Nairobi can accurately be referred to as an endangered species. Don’t confuse that to mean that they are a rare thing to find. Oh no, far from it. They are just a species in perpetual danger.
There is the danger of losing brain cells when a poor, humble, grew-up-in the nineties woman decides to date the man “in tune” with the xo xo generation. After he secures her number, he waits all of two seconds before he sends her the first crime against grammar and common sense:
“Hae dia. twas nyce miting ya. Cnt w8t 4 our big date! Luv u.”
After two readings and perhaps a sip of wine, she develops super powers and decodes what was being said and then her head starts to hurt. He loves me? she wonders aloud. Did I fall into a rabbit hole and miss the at least ninety day grace period that normal people go through before they can accurately say they have fallen in love?
And (another sip of wine for strength) what exactly is HAE? Is that like an angry distant relative of Hello? Isn’t the whole point of texting language supposed to be shortening words, not massacring them?
When the smoke clears from her brain, she saves her remaining cells and deletes the grammar criminal’s
number.
There is also the danger of jumping into a deep deep lake from the pretty boys who think all older women are in fact prowling, scavenging cougars, willing to accept anything that moves for three seconds of smiles. These pretty boys of course possess some gifts, such as magical ABS that may or may not cause momentary blindness, but for the woman who seeks a companion to sit with at the beach sipping cocktails, rather than a prized stud strutting ahead and attracting all sorts of acid bearing
females..well…no.
Then appears the danger of the man who assumes that she is tainted since she already has a child and will therefore accept all manner of madness just so she too, can claim that she has a man who is interested in her. Madness in this case could be anything ranging from ordering a big fat juicy steak for dinner and waiting until it is happily on its way to digestion before letting his female companion know that he “forgot” his wallet at the office. Madness could also consist of him starting to call her child, who he hasn’t met because it’s the second date “HIS son”. Madness can also mean that on the third and final date he brings her a nicely wrapped gift, and when she opens the box, she finds the tiniest piece of underwear known to (normal) man. It baffles her so much, that underwear. She wonders where all her post baby cellulite will possibly hide in all three centimetres of fabric used to make it.
After she recovers from these episodes, she suddenly develops a giant target on her back from all the already taken men who think she would be happy to play second fiddle. she stares at herself in the mirror often, just to make sure she isn’t losing too much hair from all the high blood pressure of trying to date respectably.
And when she decides to take a break, she has to contend with the, “when will you get a man?” interrogations from her aunties, the direct aim bouquets from brides at weddings, the constant “accidental” meetings of single men within her friends’ circles, the silently judging eyes at the school from parents and teachers alike…
Then every once in a while, she meets a good man she wishes she could keep. He will be smart as a whip, endearingly self deprecating, will understand the basics of satire, and enjoy the same things she does. He will know his wine and he will appreciate exquisite cuisine. But as fate would (not) have, he is often in love with someone, unsure about taking on parenthood so soon, or happy to be her friend and nothing more.
So you see, the single (sometimes) ready to mingle mom is an endangered species. She is on a battle to stay sane. You may encounter her quietly reading her novel at the local pub and wonder what on earth is wrong with her.
Leave her alone. Walk away slowly.
She is two tequilas away from killing a kitten.
Originally written for SmartLife Magazine
