Just like ‘blonde’ is not a hair colour but a state of mind, Nairobi girls are not necessarily women who were born and bred in Nairobi, but the kind of women who will attend a rugby, football, or cricket match not because they know anything about the sports, or even like them, but because it is an emerging trend — whatever that is — and friends of their friends of their friends who like it are going.
Many facets of their flawed persona have been vigorously investigated and reported, except perhaps for the most important one — the male company they keep.
It so happens that behind every Nairobi girl is a man who invariably wants her to guzzle beer and gobble nyama choma without ever gaining a pound, or a man who goes atwitter on the social media over other women’s hairstyles, but does not mind the smell of the months-old weave on the head of his wench.
A man who leaves his wife and children in the house when he goes out but forgets to leave his wedding ring — and still gets miffed when some single woman fails to drool over him.
A man who sincerely believes that he has “arrived” and should be honoured during a State holiday because he has joined Twitter, or because he has a blog.
A man who sincerely believes that a drunken weekend in some cheap outback is a high-end vacation option which should be emulated by all and sundry.
A man who rants and raves on Facebook about female television presenters not being role models because of their dressing, but has made a name for himself because of posting pornographic pictures on his website.
A man who thinks that a second-hand All Blacks rugby jersey is a fashion statement, or that as long as his belt and his shoes match, then he is mighty neat — never mind that all his clothes are hand-me-downs.
A man who rants about mainstream media, but still mails journalists his photograph and “opinions” and begs them to use both in a newspaper story.
A man who buys unbranded and contraband cologne from street hawkers and then brags about his latest designer scent.
A man who in the presence of company ostentatiously places his two mobile phones on the table and then proceeds to fiddle with his bluetooth ear piece.
With these types of men, it is no wonder then that the less stoic of the female species gradually mutated into the present day Nairobi girl. After all, their survival was at stake.
If you meet any of the above criteria, then you are a perfect Nairobi man, the chicken head of a man for whom a Nairobi girl is not only the best companion, but also the perfect audience for your endless attempts at being a real man.
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