Mutinda from Tinder

MUTINDA FROM TINDER

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How I met Tinder rather Mutinda. So first you need to understand that I was lonely. That my mind was hollow and my ears had missed a man’s sweet nothings. The only person I was saying ‘I’m coming’ to was my mother when she summoned me from the living room. 

Or maybe … maybe I had missed flirting. And flirting is a woman’s trade, one must keep in practice.

That’s what happens when you eat a bat y’all. So you’re forced into lockdown till kingdom come. (stay at home guys. Or at least wear a mask)

So what did I do? I downloaded Tinder.

If you’ve been on those fiery streets, you know that hakuna mambo ya personality huko. It’s your looks that bring the boys to the yard. And your caption that serves them tea. So I served the look where my hair is tied back but a few strands are oopsy dangling. My eyes are shimmery with red eyeshadow. My nails look meticulous with red polish. And my dress? Oh my red dress is hugging me with reckless abandon, its slit provoking a high priest. But it’s not a blood bath is it? No of course not. Pair it up with black heels, a wine glass in hand and a gorgeous smile and ooh la la, the lady is winning!

Within no time, I belonged to the streets. I won’t lie, it’s a shitty thing, choosing a potential using a swipe of the thumb. Shitty. But ah the excitement of matching with many beautiful people. Indescribable.

Nairobians are beautiful, I’ll tell you that for free.

I digress.

“Mutinda. 26. 4 Km away. Good vibes and chill. GGMU. 420 friendly”

Not the best caption.

But the man in the photo?

Take all my eggs and bring me my babies because damn son! You got it.

He had 3 photos. I only loved one. His skin was golden. Kuku choma golden. He was tall and powerfully built. His hair was trimmed but not completely bald. He had on a bit of jewelry, a ring on his tiny finger and a Swahili neck piece. His broad shoulders defined his torso beautifully. Clad in navy blue khakis pants and a white shirt with a loose tie. But it was his sleepy eyes and the side smile that almost made me choke on my tongue. I wanted him. And I wanted to know him.

Thus began the vibing.

He slid in with a swarthy ‘hey’

Not hae, heeeeyyy or “are you ndengu? Because umenikalia chapati” Bruh. Just a cool hey.

He was a software engineer working for a company in Berlin but working from home (wamejaa Tinder). He lived in Syokimau near Naivas. And he wanted a girl he could be free with. All good. The walls of the DM became too cramped so we moved to WhatsApp.  His favorite food was chicken. He lived to code. He drank alcohol once in a while but had sold his soul to the healer’s herb, weed. We exchanged more photos. We approved.

Being a hopeless romantic, I had decided thar our babies names would be Ndunge, Mwende and Mutua. In that order.

That was day 1, and it was good

Now day 2. I woke up excited. I had matched with the most beautiful man you could imagine and my heart was at peace. I wondered if he liked tea or coffee. Or if he ever broke a limb. I wondered what he thought of the pandemic and if he was scared of being infected or affected. But most of all, I needed to know why in the world a dashing man like him was single.

So I decided to call him.

“Hello,” a soft voice received.

 A woman’s voice…?

I almost cried

“Hi. It’s Kendi…”

“Oh, Sasa Kendi”

 The soprano continued

I was confused. Was this the girlfriend? The wife? Who was she and how did she know my name?

“Hello. Ni Kendi. I wanted to speak to Mutinda. We had matched yesterday on Tinder.”

Now I realize that if he did have a girlfriend or a wife, I had just instigated the next fight.

“Eeh ni mimi,” said the most shrill soprano you’ve ever heard. “Unajua nimeamka pia mimi nikikufikiria. Hata ni fafect umenipigia wa kwanza”

Erm. I was shocked. I asked him what he was doing that day. Just to hear him mercilessly butcher Swahili and English words alike. At some point I think he switched to Kikamba because he was talking too fast, I almost made a beat.

Anyway, this is not a story of how I deleted tinder because of Mutinda. Or to make fun of anyone that mispronounces words due to the effect of a first language.

This is just my first and only experience of me attempting online dating. And why physical dating will always be my cup of tea. Thanks to, Mutinda from Tinder.

Ms M’nanu’s Musings by wa_katheta

Mutinda from Tinder, a piece authored and curated by Ms Kendi M’nanu wa Kathiita, happens to be the first piece hosted on jaturanet.co.ke by a guest writer. You’d wonder why I’d have her as the first guest on this blog. Well, in her own words, ‘Not to be vain but I can write till your eyes bleed’. She talks big and backs it up with words (not actions), she is a writer, remember? I am huge fan of Kendi and in my humble opinion, you should too. Not only is her writing bloodletting but it intricately slits through you artistically. This is not a mere out of pocket endorsement, go see for yourself the goodies she has to offer at wakathetas.wordpress.com


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8 thoughts on “MUTINDA FROM TINDER

  1. This piece drew me in..wow so good
    Im a fan of Mutinda! And can i get his github please, I also want to work remote in Berlin

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