A Numbers Game

Kenyan media recently highlighted a demographic survey which finds the average Kenyan man has about 7.6 sexual partners. (That ".6" offers even more incontrovertible proof that most men would bonk anything with a pulse...arms, legs or other critical organs are optional.) For graphic illustration purposes, I have rounded that statistic upwards (see accompanying photo).

By anybody's standards, especially in a country with lots of HIV/AIDS-related challenges, that statistic denotes sheer madness. But it also yields insight into my relationship challenges in Kenya. Specifically, it offered instant clarification for what happened last Saturday afternoon, when the colleague who'd suggested getting together for coffee never showed up.

I'd noticed this guy in the newsroom, but he always seemed so busy....AND so young. I'm guessing he's in his early 30's. (Don't worry, I'm not closing any doors and windows in that respect, but I'm not going out of my way to open them, either.) I always spoke and smiled when our paths crossed, and never gave it a second thought. But when another colleague gave me a tribal name that just happened to be the same as this young colleague's mother's, he made a move.

He started stopping by my desk to talk, or to offer a snack. I jokingly told him about an encounter with an "overly friendly" guy from his home village, which he assured me was proof of his tribe's romantic prowess.

(What part of that dialogue did NOT contain my first clue, you may well be asking yourselves???)

Anyway, when he suggested getting together, I admit I hesitated. Maybe he doesn't know how old I am, I thought. Maybe when we're sitting over our lattes and he finds out I'm 5 years younger than his mother or something, he'll bolt. Frankly, I'd rather stay home and catch up on my "East Enders" reruns than face that kind of rejection.

But I said "yes." Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I told myself. Maybe he's enlightened and unintimidated by older women. Or maybe he's looking for a Sugar Mummy, which if his sugar was sweet enough, I wouldn't turn it down. Or maybe he'll just be a new person to hang out with. I gave him my number, and suggested he call or text if anything came up.

I don't REALLY have to go into specific details, do I??? Bottom line, not only did this guy not show up, he didn't text, and he didn't call. Now, you know how most women automatically go for the emotional default button in situations like this, and spend far too much time rationalizing, "He must have been in a traffic accident, or had an appendicitis attack, because surely that's the only way he would be so clueless and insensitive as to waste my time by not showing up or calling, right?"

Well, earlier today this guy came and stood by my desk, wearing a sheepish, cheese-eating grin, and whispered conspiratorily, "I shall explain to you later what happened." It's been a while since I was completely stunned, but that did the trick for a few seconds. When I recovered, I said that all he really needed to tell me was what happened. "Lay-TAH," he decreed, in that quaint Kenyan way, before walking off.

Now, I axe you, all the Single Ladies in the house--and in fact any ladies reading this--"On what planet would it be okay for some schmuck to walk up to you, 3 days after standing you up, and declare that an explanation is forthcoming....and NOT get his kidneys ripped out and stuffed up his nostrils, at least verbally, anyways???"

Why, "Planet Kenya,"that's where! It's a place where men have 7.6 sexual partners, and that's just the average guys. If you have money and power here, your scope is limitless! In my colleague's mind, I'm guessing, not only is it okay to make a date and not show up, you've got a built-in excuse. You are juggling 6.6 other women, after all. Scheduling can be a real bear, unless you have a personal assistant to help you juggle things. (Except you'd probably have to screw her, too, which would eat up even more of your precious time!)

Anyway, this little vignette is my way of answering one dear reader's query about why I don't share more of my relationship hijinks in this blog. This posting should clear things up once and for all. In nearly seventeen months in Kenya, I have had the following brushes with intimacy:

1. A GREAT DATE (I thought), followed by non-communication for 5 months, then a phone call to reconnect, during which he apologized for the disappearing act by saying, "I enjoyed meeting you, but there was no 'spark,' and I didn't want to just f--k you."

2. Another great date, followed by a phone call 10 minutes after parting in which I was told he had far too much going on in his life to pursue anything. (I give this guy mad props either for SINCERE SELF AWARENESS or SHREWD EFFICIENCY.)

3. A marriage proposal from a Muslim chef who gets STRAIGHT A-PLUSES for being willing to accept a 2nd wife who is 8 years older than him, and who would be more likely to sprout a third boob than produce his second set of children.

4. What I am convinced will be a HIGHLY ENTERTAINING explanation (which shall be forthcoming, forsooth) from a Junior Leaguer who stood me up.

I'm sorry, dear readers, but the numbers just don't add up for me over here. Agewise, the men I'm attracted to are already married AND have girlfriends I could have birthed. OR if they're younger guys, they think of me as a kindly, vaguely hip "Auntie" who when she takes off her makeup and industrial strength Spanx probably resembles Miss Jane Pittman. I would LOVE to spice up this blog a bit with some juicy episodes, but I'm not willing to change my name to Rasheedah, contract a deadly disease, suffer fools, or otherwise stand in line at the "Jiffy Lube of Love," waiting to be serviced a few times a month.

So for the time being, until "Big Guy in the Sky" stops being so freakin' obsessed with famine, war, and geopolitical drama and sends me a viable male humanoid, the most dishin' you'll get from me is about who's sleeping with whom on "East Enders."