You lose your virginity, yes. And the first thing people tell you, told me, is that I was about to enjoy the best pleasure in the world. Like it was some exclusive door to the wonderland all along stacked and imprisoned inside my pants.
The next thing I knew, the act of it opened up a can of public transparency, ever since the young generation has normalized discussing sex and all that’s in between — the legs, that is. I soon learnt that everyone in Kigali was having coitus, and they were very open about it.
In the morning, at night, in the car parked outside my little apartment. I could practically hear the moans. My friends — seasonal athletes at the sex Olympics—wouldn’t stop talking about their one night stands from nightclubs, the women they’d brought home, and the ones they were cleaning their houses for.
As it’s imprinted in our human nature, I was filled with the sudden urge to get my foot down and find the same experiences I was constantly hearing about. Which meant more sexual relations were on the menu. If I could find the restaurant(s).
However, as a late bloomer in the game, I found this terribly beautiful and alarming. Don’t get me wrong, sex has its long list of benefits: Better sleep, lower risk of heart disease, a cool rapper-walk of shame the day after.
However, the apparent significant problem is the bubble around having sex, one that Rwanda has accommodated for far too long. One affecting youngsters mentally. And no, it’s not Drake being a 69 God.
With the sedated increase in sexual activities in the country for people not married or in relationships, it’s easier and more encouraged than ever before for young adults to indulge in sex. More so, what used to be a point for men to be the instigators of lust now also lies in the women’s court.
Whoever wants the fun goes for it. And it’s that simple. A girl or a boy is thrust into sexual-hood just as fast as pills down a throat, and whether it’s peer pressure, or for some score, or they simply enjoy it — we all know it’s that good — the colloquially fun scene referred to as “Streets” takes a big chunk of what motivates them to do what they do. But is it sustainable as a lifestyle?
More and more people are taught to have sex fast, move on and repeat. At no point, do we sit down and think about what we’re doing or who we are doing it with, past the usual need to mate. People having less sex are, though not blurted out loud, considered kind of losers.
This backward inspiration, however, doesn’t serve anything good. In fact, it launches whoever is the recipient into a dark mission of getting laid, whatever it takes. Think Drake drawing six packs on his belly kind of effort. But more mentally demanding.
The sprinted effort often blows past essential action items and controls that ensure a good time. Like preparing yourself for intimacy and being comfortable and ensuring your partner is equally mentally prepared. The big message display states “Go on, Tiger, make her orgasm.” No point in safety or the expectations afterwards. The longer this continues, the more people are corrupted by the idea of it.
The Kigali days when I was running stakes as a self-acclaimed bachelor eluded anyone who dared be too open about casual sex over relationships. These days, the roles have reversed. I am called mature and grown up if I can be a friend with benefits without catching feelings.
While this generation has also come a long way, the onus has transcended to a deeper mental level. Are we in some control of our lust? Can we spend months without having sex? Are we partaking in sexual activities with a latter goal in mind or simply for the hell of it? These are some questions this writer is asking.
Long gone were the days when we wondered if we were good in bed, now the overall feeling is “Who’s next?” And sure, arguments might favor the youth of it all. “We’re young and free”, “We’re enjoying life”. But as great habits and addictions are hard to dissolve, how easily do we think we’ll get over this when we supposedly grow up? When will that be? What comes after? What sort of culture are we creating?
The long tunes of these questions might not offer any solace. But unlike our parents or elders who were close-lipped and cringe-faced about sex— as they were with mental health—talking about sex and mental health together like we already do with somewhat a down-poured vision, might help put it all together.
In a Kigali where it’s apparent we share more than what we can recount —as the beautiful Rwanda men and women keep exercising their freedom of sleeping with whomever they want, whenever they want, without shame—we might need to start sharing more of our feelings about sexual desires and what we’re doing about them.
Ever so slowly, we’re growing up—and opening up. Hopefully, this too, becomes a topic of discussion other than the rising tide of body counts under our belts.
