I was going through the comments section of the blog. There are around 1k comments, most of which are spams. Going through them, I was sieving what to go and what to hold. The spams kissed the bin, while I approved the sense-making ones.
Then my cursor lands on a comment from Koko on Day 2 at KU article. I wonder if Koko is a woman or a gentleman without a beard. It sounds so close to Kiki, right? So I will round off Koko to Kiki and conclude that this Koko might be a woman. Her comment read, “The barefoot..the breakfast..meeting Ruth..the tuck shop..epic parts.Can’t wait to hear bout Mary…”
A thought hits me, shit, what really happened to these fine looking lassies that I met in K.U. after I just pulled them into the public domain, hoisted them to the K.U.’s Campanile top? Do I hold them there or just let a debacle of the century feast on them?
I had just taken a break from an article I was doing titled, a day by the barrel. I decided to leave the article alone because it involved a lot of retrieving information and facts from an incident that occurred to me in 2014. I had already hammered 1267 words when I lost the urge to keep on. This urge left when a bloke of mine buzzed and told me he had 1k posters he needed to be printed. I saw 1k there smiling at me. From the comfort of my couch. Money at times kills all the motivation in me. Anyway, the deal went well, and my pocket is fat now.
I am writing this article on Tuesday because I’m planning to travel to Karatina on Wednesday for a certain function. Then I’ll wire it to Rehema Zuberi, a sophomore in KU to edit it. A young and adventurous soul. She writes on reshonline.wordpress.com.
So this story is to Koko. I still believe you are a woman. I really want to believe that. Any man who would be interested in knowing what went on between me and Mary needs to see a doctor. His life lacks priorities. But if you’re a man, this is still for you.
During the Ajira Digital training in KU, I made few friends. Most of them, I have made post the training. Which is a good thing because, for some, the relationships are solid.
There is Yvonne. I met her at KU and she asked me about blogging. When she did, I was actually sleeping. She disturbed my sleep. I didn’t take it lightly so to say. Take anything, but leave me alone when I am sleeping. Over the weeks, we have become great friends. She is the kind of lady that doesn’t hug people. She high fives. If you’re asking how that makes me feel, then I would say I crave for hugs. They widen my grins and the spans.
You guys remember when this blog wanted to leave us at the mercy of Opera Mini browser? You do recall how beseeching I would become, telling you to kindly ensure you use Opera Mini? And what about the sharerama thing that always showed its ugly face on the blog? Yvonne and her friends got us out of the mess. Every Friday we roll down to National Museum and have fun sessions courtesy of Writers Guild Kenya.
She is a finesse in her own making. I don’t fancy going deep with her because then we would lose our uniqueness and then our world will be swallowed in unending boredom.
About Ruth, right from the bat, I let you know that it was never going further. Not because I saw a photo of some guy in ripped jeans as her screensaver. Nope. The circumstances are different. If anything I would love to get her to bed and tear through her flesh. She is well endowed. We’ve talked but it was more of me digging information about her life. My profession includes digging people’s backgrounds. Having that information at my disposal is like a herd of cows in a Masaai’s pen.
Maybe some better circumstances will put us where we belong. Circumstances always do. They connect people through various ways, opportunities, and platforms. One day, you’ll end up where you were meant to be in life.
I met Magda on WhatsApp. She is the one who connected me to Rehema. We talked briefly. The only thing to see is her WhatsApp profile of her innocent-self seated on UON’s green grass, with glasses on and some kamwanya completing her. I don’t know if she really is innocent as her face portrays her to be. Are you that innocent, Magda? I know I’ll know. I can’t write about you and you keep silent as if nothing happened. No, you can’t. I just hope you will not rant.
There was a brown chic. Every young man’s eyes had been on her. It is not until one day when my loud mouth bashed women of her kind. Actually, I didn’t know she was in a small group we’d formed. There I was – “brown skin chics are the worst. They believe their skin is everything because they have attention from every nigga. They don’t know how to cook, very poor in bed. Hell, they can’t even read Kamasutra to learn a bit of spicing up the bedroom.” She left that ka-group.
We later talked. I still didn’t have a clue it was her. I even called her one evening and we talked. She is the chic behind lynderchalker.wordpress.com or something. She writes well, except for the over-embracing of soap-like names for her story characters. But hell, who am I to judge if others feel she’s okay?
I’ve never in my whole life tried to be humorous as I tried to be with her. Just wanted her to know that there is a part of me that is soft. She got bits of it. I had to invest a lot of emoticons to show that I am open-minded, that I do not take life seriously always, and in most cases I let it hold me by a corner and fuck me from behind.
As always, stories end. When the well dries, and if it is only one well that provides water, animals go to other boreholes in search for a drink. Somehow, I have a number of her photos. She didn’t send them to me. I just acquired them. I really wanted to know how she is like in private. If she makes her nails, if she still wears kamisi and baika, or she loves dresses. I also wanted to know what she looks like when she is #teamnatural, see her face minus the masking make up. If she wears stocking, her bra colours, her in jeans. Some bits of her life. Never even saw her dp. I only remember she gave me a name, Elleasia. She came, saw, and went. I see her occasionally dropping comments in our main group.
Then there is Kate. She is a smorgasbord of things. I met her on Friday. I usually invite people to join me while I go for the Writers Ekklesia. Tall. Loves her phone more than she loves her drink. I wouldn’t want to throw her personal life under the bus. Open as she may be, her stories dry up quite fast. There has never been a worse time than when stories dry up. You’re likely to plunge into a dark hole of fantasy. Fantasy is detrimental if it has to happen often. I’ll get to know her better, hopefully.
Mary is a hard woman to come by. Not as hard for a hardworking man, but she knows how to blue tick when she knows one day you might gather enough info about her to put her on a public domain. I once called her. Of course, I had to ask for her permission, call it being a gentleman.
She takes my breath away. She knows that, flaunts her ass maybe because of that. She’s got what I want in every woman, from the face value. Works in real estate, she told me. “Thank God I didn’t get to meet you. You could be writing things about me now.” She once told me so. Then I felt she was easy to get along with.
There is this one day she asked me what I do. It is the toughest question anyone can ask me. Do I have to do something? Is it a must that I do something? And what if I don’t? Is there a problem if I am not doing anything? Must life be accorded something for me to live? The question is hard because I am at a stage in my life where I have an identity crisis. We all hit that stage, don’t give me that look damn it!
When you get out of college, between 24-28, you are divided on what you really want to settle on. So you have to try anything till you crack the code that opens the door. Right from college, I knew I would be either two things- a leader or a journalist. I have been in so many leadership positions and excelled. And then there was a time that Mzangila was the talk of my college.
Right now, I got my fingers everywhere. I studied Communication and Public Relations back in varsity. It is a wide course. I do everything in it, be it branding, graphic design, journalism, corporate relations, making and sustaining relationships, social media management, politics, counseling organizations, developing communication programmes, events. I am not limited, and that is why it is tough for me to be specific as to what I do.
When it comes to being a fitness trainer, it is my love for fitness that threw me in there. I rarely see inside of hospitals because you can’t get it wrong when you work out and eat the relevant foods. I preach fitness. Fitness again goes with spirituality and discipline. You stay away from liquor, cigars, bloody sugars, unhealthy life habits and your life becomes straight. Fitness is not about hitting the gym. It is about being able to explore and discover your own happiness, uncovering inner strengths and maximizing your potentials in life. It is the one thing that makes you feel young always.
Back to Mary. I sent her all these jobs that I do. I included sleeping and eating. I am a good partaker of the two. Don’t we all work for the stomach? Without it, we wouldn’t wake up and work. You get stressed when hungry, you can’t sleep when you’re hungry, you become restless when you’re hungry, and you become sad when you’re hungry. For me, eating and sleeping are the main jobs.
That marked the end of our conversation. I later wrote, hello beautiful…Guess I became Adele in her inbox without a reply. But did I sulk? Nope. Life is about moving on. For people like me whose job is to meet new people every day, memories of yesterday are flushed down the toilet quite fast. Enjoy the moment and move on. I am not that kind of guy who keeps pricking women in their DMs unless you’re my close friend. I don’t register negatives in my memory. I have lost bigger things, and life moved on. (Mary, you’re not yet off the hook.)
As a man of positivity, life is all about catching up with the moments that matter. Pick up what you need and let the winds blow your sails to where your desire is. But it must be the right desire.
Shaz taught me what Kilimani moms couldn’t teach me. How to use strepsils, the Rexona, tropical mints and warm water in the bedroom. Where we met and if it was a room in town? I’ll send you the address.
A man of my age is on the verge of getting organized and bringing a woman home. That means there is no sticking your head everywhere. Just know what you want and go for it. If you find that people make you lose focus, then be antisocial. The shit has to be done. I fancy a family of my own in the future. But before that family comes, I want to suffer from success first. If this suffering comes at 40 or 50, then that is the time I’ll go out and bring a woman. It is not about marrying early and getting kids so that you can close that chapter. Who are you to close that womb when God extended the period to 45 years? I want my family to have the best. They should not suffer.
Erico do you hear me? Peter and Antman? Alafu organize that retreat bana.
This post is dedicated to all week four fellows who attended the K.U. Ajira Digital training.
Let’s meet on Friday. We shall be rocking a story of Zilper Drea from Homabay.
Your peace ambassador,
Kabla ya mtu wetu, Kenya kwanza.