A Night at the Pub and a Conversation That Changed Everything
I’m sitting at the corner of the counter in a cozy pub that I love for its proximity to my home. I’ve been drinking elsewhere, so this visit is more about finishing up with a last beer—or maybe two. The atmosphere is relaxed, and the hum of conversation around me adds to the comfort.
As I flip through the pages of a newspaper, I notice a man seated next to me who keeps glancing in my direction. It’s clear he’s curious about what I’m reading. I can’t help but wonder if he thinks I’m eccentric or perhaps even struggling with some kind of mental health issue. Why else would someone choose to read in a bar, surrounded by loud music and the occasional drunken chatter?
I suspect he’d rather I engage in conversation with him than be “arrogant” enough to prioritize reading over human interaction. So, I close the newspaper and place it on the table. Starting a conversation isn’t difficult for me; as a writer, I’ve always found it easy to connect with people, even strangers. After all, how else do you gather stories?
The man—let’s call him Costa—has a lot to say. Our conversation quickly turns to our school days, where he reminisces about a time when schools were truly educational, unlike today, when children attend school and college mainly because their parents insist on it.
Then, out of nowhere, he brings up a topic that catches me off guard: women. He describes “hawa watu,” or women, as utterly thankless creatures. According to him, no matter how much you spend on them, they’ll always want more. He blames this on social media influencers and even some preachers.
“But aren’t influencers actually helping people lead better lives?” I ask.
“No way!” he argues. “These social media counsellors and some preachers are constantly spreading the lie that women are meant to receive while men are meant to give. That’s why our women keep asking us for more and more, even when we have nothing left.”
“But Costa, that’s not a bad thing,” I respond. “We need to meet the needs of our women, especially if they’re our wives.”
“You mean even if she earns more than you?” he asks, almost shouting. “No way!”
His views on women are so harsh that I feel compelled to ask an intrusive question: “Now tell me, bro, do you have a wife?”
Without hesitation, he replies, “Well, I sort of have a wife, but she and I don’t live together anymore…”
“Why?”
“Things got really bad when our three children grew up and got jobs. She started treating me like rubbish, and my kids looked down on me like I was inferior to their mother, even though I was the one who worked hard to get them through school and college.”
“My wife is still working while I retired four years ago, and I only get a few pennies for a pension,” he laments.
“I’m sorry, bro,” I say, then ask Halima, the bartender, to add another beer to my bill.
Costa drinks the beer quickly, as if he’s being chased away. He steps down from his stool and heads toward the washroom. He doesn’t return, which means he’s left without saying goodbye. I understand.