Back when I was young and naïve (read still innocent in the evil ways of this world), I was that uptight little girl who thought that cheating was the most horrible thing ever (said with a suitably pious look on my face) and that all cheaters needed to be drawn and quartered. Then I got into an intimate (read not innocent) relationship with a noble young man, one who nobly left me for another girl, and all because she had a job, and longer hair (he really liked long hair, at least he did till the woman cut it all off, and then he really liked short hair, silly boy…). When that idiot inflicted the first of what were to be many cuts, I started to revise my long held views on relationships, it started to dawn on me that perhaps I had no clue what’s really going on, but that’s a story for another day. The boy/man I began to see shortly thereafter, and by see I mean shag, was a great guy, but an amateur whore, the man was on a mission to shag his way across main campus in a most chronological fashion (year of admission was the criteria used). It was only a matter of time before I cheated on him, no? Oh the drama!
Or not, as it turned out. What they don’t tell you, all those makers of heart warming TV dramas and romantic (read girly) movies, is that infidelity doesn’t always come with the angst and drama that demands several ice cream fuelled heart to hearts with your girls, complete with hand wringing decision making, sometimes screwing around is as simple as, well, screwing. The sky does not fall and the world around you does not shatter. All that nonsense I watched on TV growing up was a lie dammit, a lie! I felt so cheated… Up until that point I’d always assumed that cheating required some defective genes and a sadistic personality, I thought a cheater had to be as fucked up as Hannibal (Dr Lecter, not the conqueror), but one warm December night all it took was a small carton of wine (yes, a carton, I was a student, and a broke one at that) and a little Tupac. The following morning I expected to feel remorse, or at least slightly conflicted, but I didn’t, not really, I was too busy wondering if the man on the side would make a better main man. It helped that we were home for the holidays and said main man was in another province, I didn’t have to deal with the repercussions until January, and in campus a month was a long, long time. Come reopening, my indiscretions had been pushed to the back of my mind, aided by the fact that man on the side was completely uninterested in anything other than the odd roll in the hay. Life with my lovely whore continued, undisturbed, he chased anything in a skirt and I just kind of drifted along, working out my kadha ‘first love/heartbreak’ issues. The few times I’d think about my (not quite a) fling, the only thing that would come to mind was, ‘Kumbe it’s that easy? No wonder this idiot keeps doing it.’
Or not, as it turned out. What they don’t tell you, all those makers of heart warming TV dramas and romantic (read girly) movies, is that infidelity doesn’t always come with the angst and drama that demands several ice cream fuelled heart to hearts with your girls, complete with hand wringing decision making, sometimes screwing around is as simple as, well, screwing. The sky does not fall and the world around you does not shatter. All that nonsense I watched on TV growing up was a lie dammit, a lie! I felt so cheated… Up until that point I’d always assumed that cheating required some defective genes and a sadistic personality, I thought a cheater had to be as fucked up as Hannibal (Dr Lecter, not the conqueror), but one warm December night all it took was a small carton of wine (yes, a carton, I was a student, and a broke one at that) and a little Tupac. The following morning I expected to feel remorse, or at least slightly conflicted, but I didn’t, not really, I was too busy wondering if the man on the side would make a better main man. It helped that we were home for the holidays and said main man was in another province, I didn’t have to deal with the repercussions until January, and in campus a month was a long, long time. Come reopening, my indiscretions had been pushed to the back of my mind, aided by the fact that man on the side was completely uninterested in anything other than the odd roll in the hay. Life with my lovely whore continued, undisturbed, he chased anything in a skirt and I just kind of drifted along, working out my kadha ‘first love/heartbreak’ issues. The few times I’d think about my (not quite a) fling, the only thing that would come to mind was, ‘Kumbe it’s that easy? No wonder this idiot keeps doing it.’
Fast forward to my next serious relationship and my skewed view of cheating was further tested, this on one particular night/early morning when I found my then man canoodling with a strange woman in the bar, at 5 am in the morning. ‘What the fuck?’ I asked, pun wholly unintended, convinced that if I hadn’t appeared at that precise moment the man would have staggered out the bar and into her bed. See, its one thing when the cheating bastard is some random good-time fella, but it’s another when said genius is a candidate for father of my unborn children, no? And before you ask, I don’t know if said man shagged that woman, or others before and after that night, I left him sitting at the counter and went home, reasoning that if he was going to cheat on me, dragging him out of the bar on that one morning wouldn’t change anything. A man is going to do what a man is going to do, at least that’s what I told myself back then, but the truth is that relationship had just begun a steady descent into decay, and at that point the fact that he was in the bar long past the hour of sanity was of more concern to me than the presence of the seemingly smitten young girl (she looked like she was kendo 21), seeing as how I was convinced the man was becoming (if not already) an amateur alcoholic. As traumatising as it was to see him attempting to get intimate with another woman, it scared me more to see him acting like a fool, courtesy of the booze. Again the mantra that ‘cheating is the worst thing that can happen’ was proven to be false. Folks, in a relationship there is much, much worse that can happen.
Let’s skip forward to a few years later, I’d just crossed 30 and I was single and searching for the first time in four years. The last time I had dated was when I had just left campus, back when life was simple and men were plenty. Can you say culture shock? Dating after 30 should be renamed ‘the time when almost every man you meet is attached, to someone else’. You know the ‘men are all cheating bastards’ chorus? In your 30’s you don’t just get to sing the song, you lead the bloody choir, because 4 out of the 5 men who approach you will be either:
a. officially married, or
b. engaged to be officially married (length of engagement notwithstanding), or
c. unofficially married i.e. living with a woman, or
d. married by association i.e. has woman, occasionally shares house with said woman, but has not been informed of said marriage, yet.
And for good measure, the remaining man will most likely be absolutely, completely batshit insane, because life’s a bitch like that. Stop laughing. Suffice to say, by the time I realised the lay of the land, so to speak, I’d been on several (and by several I mean very many) dates with men I shouldn’t have been on dates with, and I have the scars to show for it, trust me.
Don’t worry, I’m not about to sit here and wax lyrical about how women my age are entitled to other women’s men by virtue of the (alleged) shortage of available men, that’s the kind of nonsense only found in the Saturday papers. No, my interest is in what’s going through the mind of a cheating bastard as he sets out to, well, cheat. What is the man, or woman for that matter, looking for? Is it that there’s something they’re not getting at home? Are they simply looking for a bit of excitement, or variety, or fresh scenery? Is it the thrill of the hunt that has them out there chasing skirts, or is the thrill of the risk of being caught? Are they unaware of the possible consequences of their actions, or are they simply oblivious, or uncaring? Are they being selfish or simply engaging in a bit of self preservation?
Whenever a discussion about infidelity arises, inevitably it because a debate on the pros and cons of monogamy, with an inevitable clamour for the embrace of polygamy coming from the less retrained amongst us. These multi-loving bastards love to tell us that monogamy is unnatural and that human beings were never meant to be with a single partner for their entire adult lives, that monogamy was more a tool for societal order than anything else and wrapping it up in the cloak of religion makes it easier to digest without question, such like arguments. I’m not sure I completely agree with some of the many theories out there against monogamy, but it occurs to me that given the time and effort we devote to keeping each other from, well, each other, perhaps we need to rethink this brilliant plan? Its not that I don’t see the value of being with one specific partner, I just don’t think it’s a ‘one size fits all’ solution to the problem. And before you throw scripture and what not at me, keep in mind the problems with infidelity extend to the more religious members of society, no? All I’m saying is that perhaps this conversation needs to be had.
I know there’s someone reading this and thinking, ‘this mama is probably shagging a married dude, that’s why she’s trying to convince us its ok to screw around…nkt!’. Stop nodding. Fear not, I am doing no such thing, not even close. I do however spend a fair bit of time around men who are screwing around and their constant bitching has got me thinking. Thing is, these men cheat for different reasons and a simple dismissal of their behaviour as reprehensible doesn’t even begin to capture the complexity of their situations. Some of them cheat because they simply want to get as much sex as they can, (mistakenly?) believing that one can never have enough new p… let’s just call it sex; its simple hedonistic behaviour, gluttony if you will. Some will claim that they screw around because they’re not getting it at home, not like they used to back when their woman was newer, younger, slimmer, fatter (it happens), prettier, less busy with the kids, less obsessed with her chama/church, less…boring (said with a sneer); apparently a man not getting laid in his marital bed on the regular is a license to seek another bed, apparently. And then there are the geniuses out to prove a point to themselves that they still have some control over their lives, despite what their boss or wife tells them; I know it sounds ridiculous, but they’re simply being silly macho boys. The token few will have affairs with women they truly care for, women they will never leave their wives for (although I must point out that one guy actually did leave his wife for his mistress, and lived to tell the tale, but only just…).
Now because I’m not married, I can’t really speak to the motivation of these men, but because I happen to see them with their other women, I get a glimpse of the other side of the equation. We’d like to think of these buggers exhibiting some remorse, however slight, as they’re out and about getting their cheat on, right? I mean, its only fair that they not enjoy it too much, that’s why we make them sneak around and what not, shaming them into dark corners. Well I hate to break it to you, but it doesn’t work like that. Folks, these buggers make no apologies for their actions, and they’re living it up like they’re in Sodom (biblical, not near Kangemi) that last night before the fire rained down, knowing that the following morning they’ll probably be made salty as they look back in longing. That’s right, they’re not skulking around in the shadows because they feel shame, they’re only doing it out of some misguided sense of self preservation. Its not that they don’t see that their philandering ways could inflict pain or harm on those they love, it’s simply that their needs at that point come before all others, it’s about what they want. I know, it sounds selfish, but what are we if not selfish creatures?
Look at it this way, from your (possibly frustrated) partner’s point of view, your unrealistic demands of fidelity when you know that they would like to stray (wander?) is just as selfish, no? No? Ah well, this argument was always going to be a bit of a stretch.
Look at it this way, from your (possibly frustrated) partner’s point of view, your unrealistic demands of fidelity when you know that they would like to stray (wander?) is just as selfish, no? No? Ah well, this argument was always going to be a bit of a stretch.
A couple of years ago I used to be a faithful reader of The NewAfrican, a magazine that takes anti-imperialist ranting to a whole new level, which wouldn’t be so strange except that the magazine is written and published for the most part in London. There was, and still is as I recently discovered, an editorial called ‘Baffour’s Beefs’ that’s pretty much the editor railing against the ‘West’ and all their perceived evils, just what to read when you’re having a crappy day and you need someone to blame, no? Every month I’d read it and every month I’d swear not to read it again, but then every following month I’d be right back there, reading it again, because for all his issues, and there are many, the man always found a way to put a different spin on what I considered conventional wisdom. Sometimes, it occurred to me, its worth putting up with a meandering diatribe if it means learning something new. The point? A meandering diatribe or two never hurt anyone, it may have pissed them off a little, but it didn’t hurt, and if they were persistent enough they may even learn a thing or two, who knows?
POSTSCRIPT
In keeping with the diatribe theme, Why we f*ck is an intriguing look at monogamy. Don’t let the title scare you, it’s a suitably serious piece of writing.
POSTSCRIPT
In keeping with the diatribe theme, Why we f*ck is an intriguing look at monogamy. Don’t let the title scare you, it’s a suitably serious piece of writing.
