Beautiful ones rarely see opportunities

By Bob .G.Kisiki

This is a parable. It is the story of Pretty. You know her well, because she is no alien to you. Pretty is not one of those girls whose parents give them names they cannot justify. She actually is. Very. And I mean very pretty. She has the face of a beauty queen and the body of a goddess.

But Pretty goes one higher — she is an accomplished young woman. Star student; later star employee. And no, this is no rosy, too-good-to-betrue description of Pretty for, as you indeed know, she is all these things. I can even dare to add that Pretty is not a lone case.

Men, like death, harvest only the best. Well, maybe not so accurate about death, but you get the picture. Though there are men whose choices want to make you touch their temples to check the temperature, the average man will go for the best in the lot.

So, whenever Pretty stepped out, wherever she went, men crowded about her, like players about a ball. Only difference is, whoever accessed her would never want to make a pass, except at her... had they got the chance — which they never did. Pretty was gorgeous and she knew it. She was intelligent and she was aware of it.

Pretty was high class, and she fl aunted it. Pretty was many things men yearn for in a woman — whether they want her for romance, marriage or as a trophy.

Pretty was in no hurry to say yes to anyone. When you have a prime plot in an upscale part of the city and someone comes offering sh50m for it, you would be a total idiot to rush into a ‘yes’, pay. It will sure rise to sh70m, sh90m or sh100m.

You might be tempted at this point, but if there is one willing to offer sh100m, there will be another offering sh120... sh150m... until your neighbour, with a pressing problem, offers hers for sale and, in one day, it is taken for sh150m!

Pretty was happening. She first worked with a major media house, then later went to an international donor agency, the finally, the ultimate — UN.

Stakes were only heading higher, market value more than tripling, but prospects crumbling. Players chase after the ball, but they are mere dribblers; they are not into advancing to a higher league. They are not into it for the long haul.

Kaleidoscopic images of chances gone by flash by, but they are only images, not the real thing. One day, after roaming the world, visiting all the cities, seeing all the world’s marvels and driving all the power cars, Pretty wanted something new, something fresh.

Something she had never known. She wanted something that was peculiar to her; hers alone. Not a job; not a flight to anywhere; not a new car. Certainly not money. Introspection told her what it was — a relationship, bonding, belonging and possessing.

Quickly, she stepped out with a white flag, frantically waving it in the face of whoever she thought might want to make peace. Strangely, instead of being taken captive, her would-be captors fl ed. Far, far, away! Now she is content to look great, eat right and sleep long at night.