Friday, 23 August 2013
Have Nairobi women killed the fine art of dancing?
In any nightclub in Nairobi, there are three worst nuisances: The fools out to spike your drink, the waiters who disappear with your balance, and the feisty female dancer.
There is a breed of women, who have a curious habit of being possessed on the dance floor. I must state from the outset that Jamaican riddim and ragga bring the worst in our women.
What happened to the coordination of moves in a charming way? Dancing has become mechanical, physical and punitive. As a regular in nightclubs, I am perturbed at what dancing is degenerating into.
Women have conditioned men into ‘socket-dancing’, where they readily rub their behinds on men’s groins, simulating sex acts. They don’t mind how many men they rub themselves on. Ladies, what is going on?
I am old enough to remember a time — not so long ago — that it took a lot of persuasion to get a woman to make such raunchy moves.
Dancing used to be a significant phase of courtship that helped adults to bond. It taught individuals patience, discipline and restraint. There were rewards that came with the ritual. The music was good, orderly and romantic. There were many styles and moves, and a woman rubbing her behind on a man was highly frowned upon. It was cheesy. It still is.
The courtship phase of relationships was wiped away when women started drinking alcohol en masse. The dating standards are now at an all-time low. You don’t have to be charming, humourous, intellectual and all those desirable qualities that women hankered after. Now you just buy the damn drinks, stand in the path to the washrooms like an electric pole and let her rub herself on you!
I cannot dance to save my life. I am ridiculously tall, inordinately shy and awkward at it. But every once in a while I have had women grab me from where I am standing or seated and subject me to humiliating ‘socket-dancing’ or an uncalled for lap-dance. Most men have admitted such moments leave them high and dry. Any time a woman forces a man to dance with her, an angel weeps in heaven.
It is used to be the other way round with men asking women for a dance. Some slight resistance used to make the effort worth it.
There used to be a procedure on the necessary steps and how far individuals could go. Nowadays you can meet a stranger in the improvised dance floor, dance erotically, kiss, exchange numbers and — with a little luck — wake up from the same bed the following day. Men are also culprits in this disgraceful and disastrous state of affairs, but it is only because women have lowered the standards to zero.
The demonically fast dancing is the only reason I am normally persuaded by the Minion Theory, which presupposes that half the humans we see are evolved animal spirits. Nothing can justify the oppression that women are subjecting men to in the dance floor.