This blog highly respects its readers. It appreciates them and would do anything to ensure they know that. The views presented here may not be true words of what goes on in the mind of the writer. At times they’re thoughts that excite people.
I will not dwell much on what went on in the classrooms because many of us were there. My spotlight will be on events that happened and some weren’t there to witness them. To those who were absent, I will make a summary of what we learnt so that you too may benefit. This will be on day six. In between, I’ll throw in excerpts of the same.
In these writs, I am going to use real persons. Do not take offense if you appear in this diary. Take it as being part of a great story.
Let’s get going.
Diary of a lost Casanova
KISSING THE ASS
I wake up at exactly 6am, 25 minutes shy off the alarm. My hand goes to the switch and on goes the tube dangling over a study table. It gives light to the rest of the room. A brief prayer escapes my lips. I do 20 planks, 50 pull ups, 30 push-ups, and 30 squats for my legs and a two minute still jog. I am bare-chested and in a pair of sleeping shorts.
A train honks earsplittingly as I take a look on the small mirror fixed on the wall. The chest is gaining mass even as it heaves up and down. Then there is this beard on my chin, unshaved for two weeks. Not looking bad but not my usual tall glass of executive look.
The alarm tic tocs at 6.25am sending me to the shower. The fact is that no one ever remembered to carry any flip flops. So I hit the shower bare footed. Thank God the place is clean and chances of anyone suffering from gout or athlete’s foot are almost nil. Furthermore, I revile getting sick and going to hospital. Normally, I get even worse at the smell of hospital mix of innumerable meds.
My body gets rejuvenates. I dress and by 7 sharp, I am ready to go. We leave with my roomie, Vincent, and catch up with a friend of him staying on the same floor with us. We keep talking as we head for breakfast.
We have tea, two croissants and a boiled egg for breakfast. Not my favourite. You see, I am a simple folk who is concerned about his health. He loves matoke, ngwashe and porridge. In my life, I have had enough of these niceties, to an extent they left me begging for my life. That is why I prefer natural food that is void of sugars and fat.
The breakfast taking consumes around 30 minutes because we all care about our surroundings. First impressions matter. Everyone is kind on their food. Holding a croissant with two fingers and pretending that you come from a civilized hood, wait, a have-it-all home. Truth- reverse psychology. You pretend like you eat sushi and chicken tikka masala every day of your life, or that you take your coffee at Java and some Pizza on lunch. Fake people.
At seven minutes to 8, we’re outside Ole Moiyoi building. Some mean guy in a white shirt and maroon tie is addressing the assembled “students” in a threatening voice.
‘Remember, no taking visitors into the hostels.’ Come on man! Where are we supposed to take them? Lecturer halls!
“You MUST finish the programme or else you’ll be BLACKLISTED from participating in any Ajira programme in the future.”
“You must observe time. Be punctual at all times, or else you’ll not be allowed to attend classes.
“Always wear your badge at all times. You’ll not access any services without it. Replacement will cost you a whopping 200 bob.”
No one is shaken because to be realistic, what is 200 bob to someone?
I just discover he is reading the programme of which each one of us has. My mind wanders off because I am no nursery kid to be echoed things that I already can read and understand in less than a second. I start talking to people around. I join others seated somewhere on a pavement and scroll through my phone to read Daily Nation.
After what seems to be a yearlong lecture of rules and timetable reading, all of which are in our custody, we are shown to our classes. This is how I end up in class 3, zone C.
SECRET ADMIRERS EDITION AND KU BUGS
The first person I greet is Ruth. I just greet her. Nothing more. From the look, I can tell she’s still in college- not going to work for me. No offense. So I sit tight and busy myself with more news updates before things get astray. She is on my left. And my bloke, Vincent, on the right.
Later on the facilitators jet in. They start of sluggishly. This sets my mood. Being fast with sound judgement on issues and situation, their slow operation tells me that the programme is not gonna suffocate me.
There is Linda, Rodgers, Chris, Ronald and Alice. Great team. All are good. I however fall in love with Alice, such a beautiful woman with a soft voice. She doesn’t look much concerned about what goes on in the audience. I think she is the kind of person whose awareness on the surrounding environment is mute. She belongs to the kind of trainers who come, train and leave. They don’t bother much. It is something different with the three dudes. They’re engaging and try to include us in their talk, which is a lovely thing because you get hooked to the presentation. Linda talks a little. She is the lady who jam starts us every morning with an array of games and ‘be attentive exercises.’ She always sets the mood for our classes.
During tea break, I line up with this dark plump lady. I greet her and we get talking. She tells me she didn’t sleep. Bedbugs sucked her all night. Yeah, she even tells me how swelly and red her eyes are due to lack of sleep. It is not normal for me to pity people, but since it is a lady, a rub her back and tell her softly, ‘KU is known for its terrible bugs… but you can steal time off and nap…’ she jerks when I tell her KU bugs had been on the prime news sometimes back. To ease her jolt, I lean over her shoulder and whisper in her ear in the most romantic bass ever invented on earth, ‘all shall be well, woman.’
She hands me a cup, plus other five people behind me. Why did she do that? Okay, maybe just like the Driver’s Bobo (from Day 1), she is simmered in magnanimity.
Let me say that I have done online writing before. I started years back when I was a sophomore in college…wrote till I started Mzangila Writing Masterclass. At this point, I literary understood everything in the writing market and was ready to become a trainer. I did train students, and mentored many others until I opted out for blogging and freelance journalism.
So being in class didn’t really add a big deal to my work. I already knew the stuff, I was just there to interact, know people, maybe get a wife or something, create more networks, and enjoy the public coffers for once now that we normally don’t get such an opportunity.
In my first class, I get to know Eric, Ruth, Tess and Winnie. The last two, we never talked. I heard their names. Well-fed ladies indeed. But I notice some lady in the room with a petite body on top and a voluptuous ass below. She blows my mind. Takes me ages to know her name, Mary.
Here is a thing you’ll realize in my 5 days stay in KU. My life is centred around Mary, Mercy (she’ll come up later in the story), my phone and sleeping in class. Others are just compliments- tea, TV, friends, meals and other things.
We are served rice, beef, cabbage and fruit drops for lunch.
First day in class, introduction to online work.
Later in the evening, I meet Mercy. She had called me, when I didn’t pick ‘cause my phone was in silent mode, she texted that she’d seen me and wasn’t taking her calls. I call and we meet at around 5.30pm just adjacent to the KU Companile.
Meeting Mercy changes me. My life suddenly takes another trajectory. We come from the same digs, back in shags. We’re like 10 homes apart. Though they hama-d and live somewhere else. I met Mercy first in 2014 in my third year in college when my cousin and I paid them a visit. I had studied with Mercy’s sissy (Sara) in same elementary school.
I fell in love at first sight with her. Did it mature to be something real? No. So meeting her was like opening up a fairy tale book afresh. Seeing her makes me relaxed and happy.
She gives me this tight hug that digs up deep memories from my inside. Memories vaulted for years of reprieve. What was once a normally boring life rotating around rice and beef changes to a lit life of friendship.
We talk on our way to the hostel. She’s in Ngong Hostel. We part ways ‘cause she wants to get to the hostel and back to one of the lecture rooms where there is a live session on TV. She tells me she wanna be seen on TV. Hahaha, really! TV. I tell her to buzz me.
Never saw her again. We texted though.
Supper included rice, beef, greens and a banana.
I meet Evans, Kevin, Henry and other college mates. We talk and talk. But I go back to the hostel with Allan, watch TV because Jubilee are launching their manifesto in Kasarani.
Okay, let us get one thing straight. Down at the ground floor, there is a tuck shop that a woman sells by a window. I passed there to buy air time. Some girl came by. ‘Nipee kdf mbili.” She told the shop keeper, a middle aged lady who I can call mommy. I burst into laughter and ask her, did you just say kdf? She nods.
“Mum uku mnauza kdf, si unifungie traffic police tatu.” Every one laughs. She laughs this heavy laughter that leaves tears flowing down her cheeks. She tells me “Hakuna traffic police. Kuna Jubilee na Nasa. Hii ni zone ya Nasa.”
I get to learn that the hostel is usually inhabited by NASA diehards. At the TV room, I also get to learn that 90% of the guys are tired of Jubilee. They sneer when Uhuruto talks. This worsens when this ad keep running after every few minutes. This ad about what the government has done. It pisses off so many guys including me that we all go to sleep. How can they be talking of delivery when we don’t have basic stuff, such as unga.
10,000kms of road? If actually it existed, every road in Kenya would be tarmacked. 10k kms is so long that you can cross Africa twice to cover that distance… we go to sleep bored men.
I hit 30 press ups (fitness is mandatory to me), pray and lie beautiful in my bed. My roomie is fast asleep so we don’t talk.
Mzangila Empire 2017.