Timothy Bukumunhe : A Switched On Karatsi, A Scattered Baron

When I was in my early twenties, I was scattered. Not confused I add, but scattered and doing things that scattered boys did then and I guess still do today – ‘catching’ like a problem, joyriding in dad’s stolen Toyota, cigarettes, scaling the boundary wall in the dead of the night to go clubbing and chasing after pretty girls.

For a girl who I think is a couple of years out of her teens, Ronah Karatsi (below), does not appear to be scattered or confused, but switched on. Reading part of her Twitter profile, which indicates she is a part time model and drama student, she also claims she can sing, as does Nanfukka, the waitress in my local kafunda. Ronah, whose late mum Justine, first recorded her song on cassette when she was a mere 2-year old, has done a cover of Stay by Miley Cyrus and I really have to admit that she can sing and would give Juliana and the rest a run for their money. While I am no Steve Jean or Simon Cowell for sure, I surely have spotted talent here and think she does have the voice to pursue a music career. Check out the song on this link: datafilehost.com/d/ed23e46b

While I was scattered and Ronah is switched on, there is one person who is very confused. Opi Baron (below) should be doing things that 20-year-old girls do – like following the latest fashion trends, teasing the boys or like Ronah, singing. But hmm, she’s not doing any of that. Instead she sits at home beefing about her sexuality.

Now this is the time where you ask Wifey if Daughter has been acting all funny. As a teen, Opi had issues when her bust took on a 30D size. It affected her so much that she is ashamed and disgusted whenever she looks down and sees it. She is so disgusted, that she wears a breast-binder each day in a desperate bid to stop them being noticed and wait for it, wait for it, wait for it, is also looking for £5,000 (sh24m) to have a bilateral mastectomy.

But wait, there is more to her confusion. It’s not the 30D size that’s really killing her, but her sexuality too. Opi claims she is ‘non-binary’, which means she doesn’t identify as being man or woman. In her defence she says: “You are brought up and taught from a young age that there is only ‘boy’ and ‘girl’ and two boxes that you fit into, but that's not the case. While I have feminine traits, instead of it being black or white, male or female - there are a whole range of shades in the middle which is where I am.”

According to the men in white coats with stethoscopes draped round their necks, and who would jump at the chance of giving her a lobotomy, Opi is ‘gender dysphoria’ - a condition where a person experiences distress because there's a mismatch between their biological sex and gender identity.

If all that has not floored you, then this should. Opi has Boyfie - Phill Abbott who is heterosexual and supportive in Opi's choices and about the pending breast removal surgery. In other words, he is also confused.

Not even television talk show host, Jerry Springer, could have scripted this any better. I know we all have issues and however hard I try to comprehend what Opi is going through, I am none the wiser. What is wrong with her doing normal teen rebellious things like hacking off that beautiful hair when in revolt. Or putting in that extra earing because mother has annoyed?

Contrary to popular folklore that man’s best friend is his dog, it’s not – it never has been. Boobs are man’s best friend and the moment boyfie Phil Abbott undresses Opi for a sawa ya malavu session and there are no 30Ds to grope, his once scattered and confused brain will switch on and just watch how fast he flees.

All this is getting me down so you know what, rather than persist with this column that’s so vexing me and I suspect you as well by dwelling on the confused and scattered Opi, let’s instead go for it and end the read on a high.

Let's yank up the decibels and make out that we are at a beach party, kick off our shoes, do enough noise pollution to annoy the neighbours that they call KCCA and listen to our Ronah Karatsi? That cool with you? Good then. By the way, Nanfukka from the kafunda can’t sing to save her deary life, but no one has the courage or guts to tell her that.