You call on your pal on a Friday on your way to school. He is in his final year, pursuing a course that doesn’t really excite his eyebrows because to him it’s a matter of shifting goalposts later. He never does anything that looks like entrepreneurship, the programme his ass is taking. From the face value, he looks more of I don’t care what goes on in the world, I just live on and survive. The kind of guy who loves ranting and shifting blame when things don’t work out for him. His name is Martin. Si we can call him Marto?
You and Marto were in the same high school. Your friendship goes back then, strong buddies who look out on each other, you were partners in crime in high school, remember? He rarely visits you but he calls often, long calls like those made to a girl because you want to hit on her, a booty call. With you, you care nothing about calls, you text once in a while when you see his WhatsApp dp having a good looking bitch. More than that, you fancy a man talk. And that is why you take the edge of paying him courtesy calls often, when cash is handy.
Marto’s life is a shit house. He got his house organized but his life if decorated furiously with complains, blame and other grueling stuff. He doesn’t relish in positivity. It is hard to stand this dude as he clicks almost every fucking minute. His phone hangs a little, due to lots of stuff he has on it, he might bang it on the wall, of course with louder curses. Man, you wouldn’t wish to have Marto as your old man, with those uncouth curses you might catch gout or die easily from depression.
Both of you are finalists. So life is taking a new twist because soon you will be out and start your life. Sucks, right? He doesn’t care. Instead, he cares more about his girlfriend, a high school delinquent who has confused his mind. And now they form two wazzocks. Of course the bitch isn’t that attractive but she got those wifely traits. She is cool. A cool missus. One who knows where to put a table and a chair? One who knows the dynamics of the kitchen and its hardware? Yeah, and she cooks well, as you discover later.
A usual banter gets in between; missus is having her own troubles with the kitchen hardware. It is time for dinner so she rocks the cooking mood. Slow songs to keep her busy and not interrupting the men in that single room, seated on bed.
Her name is Wendy. In a country where the second name is a biggie, you don’t say it. You don’t wanna know either because she might come from locations that you personally loathe, like Nyeri or Kiambu. Wendy sounds just fine.
The night crawls in. exhaustion from your journey really sends you to an early doze. You take one bed and the couple the other. They watch soap or anything that a couple watches on TV at night. None of your business.
Few hours later, you are woken up by a bed creaking nosily. Not your bed, the other one. You doze off again. A few minutes later, louder sounds wake you up. You are very sure that someone in that room is breathing heavily, another gasping sweetly, and a protesting bed. All those combined, they send your sleep to a long vacation.
Your buddy is shagging her girl. That is the news. Not too good news because no man wants to be in the presence of a tempting situation. It is against the bro code. It is very illegal to screw your girl in front of your own buddy. But a man like Marto who lives by luck doesn’t look like the guy who knows if bros code exists in the first place. You forgive him because ignorance might have affected his decision making skills.
Sleep is gone. You are there. Listening to moans, gasping, hard and quicks breaths, squeaking bed, and imaginations. The latter is lethal. The face of Wendy being shagged paints itself on your eyes in that long range darkness. You draw her coverings. You see her in a magical form. You run your own hands down her body, the not so good body, at this moment everything is laced with loveliness. You hold her face and kiss her; you run your tongue on her hard nipples.
You listen to her moans with each calculated touch, discovering new entry points that excite her. You hold on as her pelvic sways from side to side underneath. Mr. D will be trying to rise to the game. He will stretch out his muscles as his time for the job is nigh. Therefore he warms up.
In that darkness, then everything goes silent. The other bed is still, and the air is loudly still. Actually you can only hear your breath. You plunge back into reality. Deep in your thoughts – why should Marto disrespect me like this? A queue of thoughts will jostle here and there until you drown into a slumber. You sleep heavily.
When the sun kisses land in the morning, you wake up. You act like everything is cool, like you didn’t here Marto surrender before Wendy could dig her nails into his back, like you didn’t here Wendy saying, go slow baby, you’ll cum fast, like you didn’t hear Wendy gasp when Marto’s fingers ran over her clitoris. You forget it never happened, but you don’t forget the incident. That Marto doesn’t do it well. That Marto can’t make a girl call his name and beg him to use her. That Marto is another sick dude of the cabbage generation. But again, if Wendy isn’t complaining, who are you?
Two days later you leave for your place. Time goes on.
Life will have moved on. You will be busy with your studies. Books will have had your face depressed. You will have grown an academic beard. And had a few things going on in your life because after all you want to live a better life.
Hookers, girlfriends and cougars will have had a share of you. Some will have dented your life. Some will have helped you build an empire or opened your eyes.
You will have watched a whole series, a number of movies, joined a yoga class or gym class to get some muscles. You will have met lots of people, made connections and stopped sending hey bro! Niokolee kathao ivi nkusort next week. Niko kwa fix noma texts.
One year later you will be seated in your bros car, you haven’t had yours yet, when a text from Marto will pop in. you got occupied so much that in that span, plus the violation of bros code, you didn’t talk at all. It is a long text. But is reads partly;
‘Mama ameget kamjunior, na ni ka mine.’
At 24, Marto will be a dad. But he doesn’t have anything to feed Wendy and her baby because Wendy’s parents are dead! Wendy has to stay with Marto, who is now about to graduate, still living in that single room. Marto has no job. His folks are old and look up to him.
Years later when you meet Marto, he is so beaten up and broken, dilapidated and living by the hook of misery. The kid is 3, with malnutrition problems. Wendy looks like a ghost now. Her face foretells of real misery. Once a young, fine girl now looks like she was locked up in a pit latrine for all those years.
In the world where Marto found no need to worry much about life, he also found that misery existed and it didn’t care much for those who had no much worry and lived recklessly.
We laid Marto off a few weeks ago. Wendy and the kids are now living with a family whose magnanimity cannot be explained by text.
-Photo Credit: Hansick