The freedom space overflew with bellows of conquest and hiatus in confidence. Everyone was blissful and pathetically sedulous as we celebrated the last day in the maze. Every friend esteemed the other for having made it. We all know it was not easy. Looking across the yard, I saw the little Milka; the first schoolgirl to tell me I am a bamboozle if I had never smoked a joint. Everyone told me that after Milka. She kept insisting on the abundant pros of taking a joint before taking a bread and water; I don’t like what happened and the bread I ate shares the estimation- But she was right, bread never tasted better. I looked away, but my eyes coiled of Jacinta’s gawk. I was not that lucky after all.
Jacinta had made me carry flowers from City Market to Uhuru Park when I was a first year. I had walked grudgingly in the streets of Nairobi like a virgin-boy with a bruised penis as I took the coupon of scenery to my miss college. Wallai Campo ni noma. I tried to bury my then naked fascia under the scent of the roses, but my classmates managed to give an idea about their frustrations. It is a rule; never give a rose to a girl unless you have no money problems. I had money problems, and my friends knew it. It sends wrong signals. If you doubt how factual that is, ask my brother Jeff how he lost his HELB money after sending the wrong signals. In campus, signals are everything.
Jacinta was a bad town-girl picking on a virgin farm boy. But I didn’t know; I thought she chose me over Jeymo who could afford a car hire and never relied on helb. I was funny… and I agree… Sometimes I am just that funny. She was just damn bad! Just imagineShe used to dress in fake ass panties- though I knew when in fourth year- Thanks to Ngash. Among the issues, that trouble Jacinta was why I was still a virgin at almost 20, and how does a man who does not drink look like. To Jacinta, I was just not a man! I was a spunky piece of meat with balls, coming from vast hills of central. Be it carrying some flowers across Africa, I would. I was young and fragile and a Nigga had better dreams. Hell I was almost twenty and a fresha. Excuse me, but I damn carried those flowers!
After the flowers Episode, she would often say ‘ati hukunywangi hahahaha funny!’. I was getting used to Jacinta’s rancor, which she fed me with little kisses and night outs. However, the dictum was first embryonic. Jacinta gave direction and I paid the evolution bills. Pizzas! Chocolates! Bikinis! To cut the story short, Jacinta dumped me after my flowers withered and my laptop disappeared. She hooked up my friend Brayo who sold his hp CPU to take her to coast. But ask my grandfather ‘Gutiri ngenda thi itari mutegi’ From the broadest edges of my feeble soul, I take a moment to thank and recognize Musyoka. Musyoka is a brave man from the plains, who was able to impregnate Jacinta after two destructive years. Musyoka you really saved lives. I might be a hunter, but you Musyoka, really can hunt things I might not!
Jacinta aborted and dated Lex. Some mischievous sprites are hard to tranquil, but Musyoka’s efforts could never go unappreciated
I try to look away but she is already approaching. With her big heinous smile extending beyond the legalities of a common smile, she picks her pace and attempts to swing her plastic ass. ‘At least this time I know’ I hiss.
When your friend all over a sudden appears in school with a fake ass, the least you can do is appreciate, but be wise enough not to say it is fake… Do anything, but assume the fake part. She was standing there already. I had to say something and I didn’t think of anything else than to just tell her how good she looked. Or I would have tried… hello Jacinta, how are the fake ass pants costing nowadays? Or this is injection? That is size! …I had no problem with the fake ass, but I was pissed that she picked on me with a fake ass. At least it would have been a real one. I forgave myself long time ago.
She hugged me and disappeared for more hugs. She looked genuine, natural, and appreciative. She had hugged me for a whole one minute and could not manage a word. Today, the hugs are meant. I concluded. She appreciated that I was a fool and she needed some help from a fool- I didn’t complain because in the end, I still remember all the places we visited with my money. And 8-4-4 is over.
Everyone jugged like a dog with two tails; everyone was pirating for selfies. I noticed something. The girls had evolved. The four years had taught the uptown-class girls of the benefits in warm hearts and fat wallets. They saw investment through hearts in the cocoon of the modern love. They invested in the selfies. Ladies dressed in miniature dresses took selfies with guys who had a naked potential of becoming something soon after campus. I didn’t know their attention, but I didn’t dared question their actions. As no one took selfies with me, I tried to be helpful; running here and there taking shots with big expensive phones. Lenovo, Samsung, Sony, Blackberry etc. I was in the uptown side of the class. Mose and Chalasa took excited snaps with all the women ; I just stood and watched sheepishly. I am not that guy who have potential up his sleeves. No one was sure i will make soon after campus.
But I was not okey with no selfies, so I went to the downtown-class girls. Oh, I forgot to mention that? Our class has the uptown and downtown sides. In uptown, girls are called Karen, Lyne, Lynett, Liz, Purity, Miriam and other girls with model dresses, makeups, drunk wine and never got pregnant. The downside of our class was for Lucy, Leah, Alice, and other cool beautiful name. A name that can be missed or confused in a plane call in. A common natural name. Occasionally we would hear: Ruth is pregnant, Alice got a scholarship to minister in Amsterdam. Among the overused words by these girls were Bible, Saved, Notes, C.A.Ts, Library and other serious names. In uptown, things were different, the Phrases that worked there included: Kesho kuna hustle guys, it class time but our girlfriends will sign for us, Ati form ni wapi… the overused name are Money, Events, Hustles, Interviews, peanuts, Smokie, Mzinga, Dame and Make-up C.A.Ts. Two different culture in one class. All shaped in four years.
Downtown side. There where the sun is not so shinny, and the environment not so shouting, that is where I found my friend Beatrice. Beautiful as her foreign name and natural as her African one. She was Beatrice Wachuka. She was taking pics with her CU friends. CU guys don’t take snaps or selfies. They take Pics and occasionally get them on a flames. As a man of chivalry, I again volunteered to capture these moments as these comrades took serious pics for their serious life. The phones used in downtown ain’t the same in uptown, Wachuka’s friends had Nokia Lumia’s, several Infinix, a few Samsungs and other strange and small smartphones. Campus tells it all. I wanted to hug everyone in one big hug and say how grateful I was.
I could not explain why we dressed the way we did. But I knew the last four years had a lot to do with our life. I questioned the existence of truth as I watched the diversity in comrades. Very different but so similar- a paradoxical observation with no rational explanation. I sought my memories to know what really makes me who I am. I realized it is nothing but everything. The little calls from class guys, the little hustles with Collo and Welli. The cheap school lunch with Jeff and Ngash, the poorly cooked food with my Ex-girlfriend. All that makes me the man I am. I am indebted to everyone in that class. I surely owe you.
How can science explain a mystery where a class can get divided into two by the solid belief of the future. What can be greater that a humanity evolution to achieve infighting, yet friendly blocks inspired by beliefs? The University has made all of us what we are! And we owe everything to each other. I owe my virtues of perseverance and evolution to my First year friend Otieno who cooked Omena for three months when i was a fresha. I persevered, then adapted then evolved. Today I eat Omena like nobody’s business.It is a commonality that we miss the contributions of others in our success. But in the spirit of Comradeship, we have all made it. We have tuned each other to achieve a solid and the desired finish.
I appreciate all my friends for being with me through the 8-4-4. Thanks abundantly.
After a few selfies with Beatrice and Monica, I wandered saying my farewells. I could see the timid girls get aroused after hugging too many masculine chests. At Campus, everything is just possible- you can see anything. The shy boys, who cannot point you at the direction of Riddles were stranded. But we, men of chivalry, just stood there, one hand in the pockets, composed and in our moods. Our hearts firmly on our chests. We took selfies with all the she-wolves. Girls who have made the missions at the university viable. Hippy alluring ladies who kept the bashes around the campus rocking. I judge nothing- that is my motto.
I looked for Joan. The tiniest girl with beautiful face and miniature body. When we were in first year, Joan’s boyfriend drove a BMW. Or what do you call a ‘handsome’ man, with a bellied car dating a small girl, maybe a man-friend. No boys own BMWs!. I wanted selfies with everyone, especially girls like Joan who did things my mom wouldn’t approve. The truth is after the four years, you really do not know what you really like anymore. It is however so ironical that that is the reason we go the Universities in the first place. In twenty years i will want to tell my daughter the truth. You see that Lady over there, That with the president, she used to drink Vodka at Sixteen. You see the way she is holding the Mike, that is how she held the Mzinga those days. Exactly the way she is confusing and convincing investors, that how she confused boys back then. Then i will let my daughter decide to drink or not. I didn’t find Joan. Maybe she was somewhere in Kile, with her rich married boyfriend.
I wanted to fill my phone with the memories of the lone soldiers who had lived through hell on earth and still managed a meal and a smile. Searching around, I could remember almost everyone but from different occasions. I was astonished and slightly ashamed of myself because I had no memories of classes. I am just not a class person myself.
I seemed to be the only one In a hurry. It was now 5:30 Pm and I had to leave. I went a final round and tipped foreheads of all real guys who have spoken money and studies. I hugged all girls who had helped get the notes to cram two hour before exams. I walked backwards and reluctantly in a forest of hugs, pecks, and emotions. I might never have said this, buy I love the BA 2015 class and the Econ Stat Sojourners.
I hugged my friends last one more time and promised to keep writing.
Fare the Well Comrades
Esther Nyambura, Ivy, Betty
Jean Geaorge mrefu
Carol the Redcross Iron Lady
Caroline and her friend keziah
Simo, Gathuri and Gathu
Mwash the Bouncer
Otuoma and Ericko
Esther Kinuthia- Miss I
Faith and Lilo
Anastacia- USIS Trip
Mary- USIS trip
Karen, Liz, Sophie, Chalasa, Tony, Agnes,
Maria Gesare and Cynthia
Jackie, Christine and Ken Omollo
Steve Malips and members of Literature Students Association
Babu Owino, Alvan Kinyua, Mama Yao.
Gomeo- Hall 9 congress
Abra and Stevo
Hyecad and USIS families
I can’t mention everyone….
Please: Share with Comrades and Friends.
If you remember any Comrade we Had a drink or attended Salt service together, or got arrested together in Second year, Comment with the Name so i add him or her to the Check List
Please Share With other Comrades; I don’t know what i mean to them, but they surely mean a lot to me, and i would like you to help me tell them that.
To my general Readers…. The 8.4.4 is Done. Stay tight, i am blogging more than ever. Hot interesting stories, just for you. No sugar coating, just interesting stories.
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