Tracy Chapman said, “Say I’ve known some, less than I should; say I’ve known some, too well for my own good. Say I’m a saint of mercy; say I’m a whore. I’ve been a lot of things, but never yours.” The lengths that we will go to to be his. We won’t put out on the first night in case he thinks we are easy; We put out on the first night to show we are fun and not wachimidzi. In the end, he thinks what he will and we are still not his. Tracy Chapman said, “I wear my Mama’s dress; her finest clothes…I laugh at all your jokes, but you just look bored. I’ve been a lot of things but never yours. So you say you won; it was a bet. A game of pool or cards, I repay my family’s debt. I let you lie beside me with no remorse. I’ve been a lot of things, but never yours.” The lengths that we go to to be his. We change our skin colour to fair; We put up with the most uncomfortable wear. We exaggerate his image to make him feel like a man; We rearrange our thinking, compromise our values…our family name…our plan. We do a lot of things. In the end, we are still not his. Tracy Chapman said, “You never cross my mind, you can be sure. You’ll never catch my eye waiting for you watching the front door.” We deny our feelings, hide under a cloak of pretence Talk foolishness, talk sense. In the end. Never his.