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7 Signs That Prove You Are Benched In A Relationship



Why are you single? Hold on, before you say it’s a long story why don’t we have a look at this!? 👉👉👉Modern dating is getting complicated by the day. And if you’ve been chasing love, you’ve undoubtedly encountered this sneaky yet successful tactic. It is known as “benching.”

What is benching?

Benching is the highest level of emotional manipulation. Most of the
time it occurs when someone refuses to date you, yet won’t let you go. Plain and simple, you are an extra option.

How Benching differs from ghosting

Benching is about maintaining communication and keeping your options open, while ghosting is when the person entirely cuts off all contact and disappears from your life.

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Here are seven signs that prove that you’re being benched!

7. Your crush returns your texts and phone calls when it suits them.

6. They prefer texting to hang out.

5. They abruptly cancel arrangements or ask you out.

4. They Send Mixed Signals.

3. They never plan or commit.

2. They occasionally vanish and when they return, they act as if nothing happened.

1. Their actions are too ambiguous, making it difficult to know where you stand with them.

What you should do?

Don’t let anybody manipulate your feelings by occasionally offering you false hope. Become on the same page and choose a course of action immediately if you suspect you’ve been added to the “I will think about you” list.

What should you do if you’re doing it?

It’s time to be open and admit you are playing games. Although this act seems harmless, it hurts.


Being in this position can be quite confusing. It’s advisable you evaluate how you’re being treated, talk things out, and, if necessary, end the relationship.

After all, who wants to be with someone who is actively seeking to end a relationship after all?

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I grew up knowing funerals as festivities. Everything in it was a celebration and meant for entertainment including the sniveling of women whenever they approached a bereaved homestead. Very few people except a few old women would be bothered seeing a woman wailing as they approached the kitchen (of course that is where majority of other women would be, hours before burial, few would be surrounding the body) covering her face with Kishutu.

There is this one funeral celebration I may really not forget with ease. Although I was young, I had to pay the price to be allowed to go; cry for a whole night. I wanted to attend the whole burial from the first day to the end of the counting of the waters. A day was considered one water day and a man’s burial celebration went for five water days, a woman, three. I knew my mother was preparing to go and because there would be plenty of meat and songs that mentioned the male and the female reproductive organs, I wouldn’t want to miss the gamble.

In the morning, Aunt Mbodze dressed me in my nursery school shorts, one I had inherited from uncle Gume, he had just completed class eight just the other day and was expecting to sit for his final exams. Leaving masters did not need school uniform, those days. At my age I did not need a shirt.

It was amazing. Those days you would be dressed before bathing; just washing and applying castor oil on your face. I tell you that is one of the reasons I will always remain grateful to Aunt Mbodze. She used to wake me up with beatings, I cherish her for that and whenever we meet, I will tell her to beat me.

More than ten women had passed through our home to pick my mother and the rest of our delegation. At least each one of them carried something. Some were carrying beddings, water, food and their husbands’ clothes. Their husbands would be up and about looking for goats to slaughter for the dead.

Although Aunt Mbodze had been appointed to go to take care of me, Hawe-Samini volunteered to carry me on her back. She used to call me ‘my husband’. I cannot remember where she is now and I am not sure if she would have dared to call me ‘husband’ today. I was both happy and sad. Happy because I would enjoy the meat and music, sad because Aunt Mbodze would not tolerate my nonsense. So I cried happily, inwardly.

A long line of women from all corners of the village and her neighborhood slithered into the thicket. Everyone wanted to bid farewell to the dead boy, Kalisho, a class eight boy who was believed to have been bewitched by Katheri-theri. He was a high performing learner and as it was rumored, were it not for the bad efforts of his grandfather, he would become the president of Kenya, if not the whole of the African continent.

The young man had held position one from nursery to class eight and it was a mystery how he decided to commit suicide, three days to the KCPE examinations. His body had been discovered by Habili, the village pastor’s son hanging from a branch of a tree in the forest.

That is why, I was now carried from the back of an old woman, listening to all the secrets of women as I went to give my last respect to this legend.

I had been tied with a black piece of cloth on Hawe-Samini’s back, her turbine hindering me from seeing everyone in the line. I could only see her head, unless there was a corner or she went into the bush to relieve herself. My only responsibility was to hold onto two things, the faith that the piece of cloth would not be torn and her neck.

I have always wondered why, for one to become a CID in Kenya, they have to go through a complicated training! What for? Believe me, for all the time I was with the women, it was as if I was in the midst of Secret Service gurus or Federal Bureau Investigations officers. Their coded language could only be understood by a few of their members and in fact, at some point I could hear young married women seeking clarification. I therefore appeal to the president (I want to contribute in building the nation) to consider employing Aunt Mbodze as the head of the CID and no one will nose around the resources of this nation and go unpunished.

I could only get a few insinuations from their stories, and believe me, if your wife was among them, I may be storing very important information on your bedroom matters. See how you will convince ‘me’ not to speak about your issues to do with… I don’t know inabilities and low batteries…something like that. I was there when she told us.

We reached in peace only that…


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I was randomly scrolling through feeds on social media when I came across a friend’s post recommending the White Elephant Sea and Art Lodge.

I did a quick search about the Lodge and my first impression as an art enthusiast was enough inspiration to make me want to visit the place.

Located on Casuarina road in Malindi, the White Elephant Sea and Art Lodge has creatively woven art into the fabric of a restaurant.

The family- oriented Lodge is composed of an art auditorium at the entrance that is filled with awesome artwork selection.

The pathway that leads to the reception area continues the art theme with thoughtfully placed art pieces that ushers you to an inviting atmosphere. At the reception, I was welcomed with great warmth and met genuinely kind staff at the restaurant.

When walking towards the restaurant, you’ll not fail to notice how the Lodge has established a relationship with the art world offering guests a unique experience.

The garden is also dotted with sculptures and an art gallery that further builds the character of the space. The restaurant is warm and spacious and its walls are adorned with some uniquely done carvings whereas the outside is surrounded by the beach.

I ordered for a prosciutto funghi pizza which was divine. Their menu has a variety of drinks and cuisine to choose from including sea food and the prices are fair for the food you are ordering. Reservations and walk-ins are accepted.

The ambiance is great and if you have long dreamt about a family vacation spot, then the White Elephant Art & Sea Lodge would be ideal for you. The pools are right on the beach so be sure to have a wonderful pool experience.

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