The stalker, the most beautiful woman and the fool

I have been stalking her for more than a year. I turn up for a house party she is likey to attend but she gives it a wide berth…The stalking goes on
Sheila. That is the name of arguably the most beautiful thing in the University of Nairobi. She is sassy and sexy. Bold and beautiful. Elegant and classy. She is alive.
Her body is some perfect piece of artistry that is rare to come by. Her feet are so ripe that the only thing that you need is ketchup and you are good to go. She simply turns on the cannibal in me. If she is conscious about her beauty, then it ought to be modestly so. She dresses neatly. Always in formal fitting pants or short skirts with the hemline slightly above the knee revealing thighs that seem to be inflammable near fire. She is slightly tall, no more than 5’8.
When you see a woman of her caliber several things cross your mind. If a pervert, you will eye undress her, eye-f*** her and many other endless things that are possible with such bodies. If you are a gentleman, you see a girlfriend to keep. If a player, one of those women that must go to your list, never necessarily to keep. If an average guy, you acknowledge that some things were meant to be seen, never to be touched….
Sheila is everything I need in a woman and more. She is girlfriend, wife, partner, companion, and lover, freak all rolled into one. Many have accused her of shyness or attitude but anyone with such kind of beauty can be allowed to behave whichever way she wants. She is above the law…at lets if I was dating her, I can live by her rules.
So who is Sheila? I have the keenest eye for beauty. This has always been validated by my ability to instantly noticing of any beautiful one in any gathering long before my friends agree amid moving in for the kill.
I met Sheila under inexplicable circumstances about a year ago. We was surfing with my homie Plato down at KC (Kenya Cinema for the slow ones). Then the building began to shake. Like there was an earthquake brewing. Like there was some thunder works totally unanticipated. There was collective uneasiness in the whole building. People were shaking their heads from left to right and I knew right there that something was cooking.
Turns out that the most beautiful woman in Nairobi was in the house. I should have figured that one out. She was staring into her PC keenly like she was editing a her CV. I could offer her job, instantly. Hers was a beauty that inapproachable. Some women are just too beautiful and reservfed to walk up into them and throw an hackney line and expect better treatment.
We stared at her with everything on our faces…ears, nose, mouth and eyes. She seemed more preocuupied with whatever she was doing than the penetrating gaping and gawking going on. I stopped browsing and asked Plato…
“Wud up daddy, that seems like the best book you can read,” I asked
“Which one?” Asked Plato with all the eagerness he could master. “Turn right, Chimamanda Adichie’s Half of a yellow sun…
Now let me bring you to speed. In my closed circle of friends, we refer to women as books, and any mention of the word book is instantly wired in us to respond to the presence of some lady whom we must take notice. Any reference to any colour has to do with the colour of her clothes. We can gossip a woman in our presence and she can even comment or think us as the most serious academicians, but nothing can be further from the truth.
As Sheila sauntered away from the cyber, we decided to stalk her. She took the lift and we took the stairs to throw her off guard. Plato looks murderous and can scare a beautiful woman like Sheila into daymares. We followed her up to Kencom and we realized the futility of our stupidity before dropping her off, hoping that fate, no matter how slim, will ever bring us together. I prayed.
Some three weeks later after that blinding encounter…I stumbled upon Sheila in campus. I could never have told her from Eve (the first woman) had she not wore the very clothes I saw her with. Thank goodness. I went berserks. Plato was a few yards away and I called him confirming that she is the one.
Luckily she was talking to a former Maranda High School boy (the first school from Luo to debunk the myth that Luo and Swahili never ever crossed each other on the road.) Plato happened to have gone to Maranda though he ended up in BA and his Swahili is quite apologentic…
So Plato walked up to his former school mate,(quite an unapproachable chap) broke the ice and came back with the 411. Turns out that Sheila is Luo(unreliable) and she is in a stable relationship…That was pretty discouraging. We got a few sketchy details and moved on. Since then, I only used to see her once every month. Always busy and circumspect.
I have worked so hard to meet her but all my strategies have failed since I have not been able to trace her to her class. I asked everyone in the School of Journalism but they all seemed oblivious of her existence. Then out of the bluez..I see my cousing Emman, cracking a joke with her in Main Campus. I literally run up to them but they had spoken too soon. I her walk away and her bum swinging suitably and every single erotic nerve in me was activated.Sheila…
I quarreled with Emman that this is the chick I had been talking about and he was like…
“Aa Sheila…si daro hatumutambui…”Lakini ako na boy…lakini kaa unaeza kaza jaribu.”Then Emman’s friend chipped in that she has the attitude of all women in China and India combined.
“Well I said I don’t care, but I was glad that I can easily access now having traced her in campus through outright stalking.”
So when Emman was havin his birthday and asked for drinks, I hesitated. He mentioned that Sheila was going to be available and I offered to come along, down to Jogoo road. I mentiobned this Plato and he said that we should show up and behave our best…doing talks along this lines,
“Yeah, I love that song, but I don’t like Drake when perfoming…he seems that all he can do is wave and wave song after song….”
Or,” Music will never be the same, ever since Nate Dogg has done left…”
“Or Biscuits…they are my secret vice…I can’t have enough of them….My sister has often insisted that my sweet tooth will have me pay that dreaded visit to the doctor.”Yah all know that plastic, nay, metallic talk normally associated with middle-class Nairobi.Emman having insisted I turn up I had to. He is my cousin one. Two, Emann gets what Emman wants. Three he can be very persistent (a quality that I treasure and admire in young men and women.)
Come Saturday, I picked on Bon-I who was already too high and his meddlesome but maliciously funny…sample this
“Maze tunaenda..kutakua na madame…wa ina gani hao machips? Tuende na juala am na fork…)”That is Davie for you(I’m yet to meet a good Davie)
We bought some hard stuff and I carried a dozen Reds, hoping that I will meet Sheila…After witnessing a very freaky accident along Jogoo Road…I’m perturbed. It looks like a sign of bad things to come. Surely, I turn up and Sheila is not there. Reason: she wasn’t picking anyone’s calls.
So my stalking got an extension and I don’t think whether relenting is an option. But let us see how far I will go first….

Advertisements

Types of men in campus

Meet your men in campus
“Campus men are not that interesting to look at, ” so begun an  article for the stillborn magazine I was editing some time back. The annoyed female student then proceeded to classify the men in campus in the most impossibly hilarious manner that it got us laughing uncontrollably  in our editorial office. She hit below the belt and even though unsavoury, we chose to run it. Too bad the magazine never came out. Building on the same, for my four years in campus, here are the men I have encountered. Every stereotype and insalubrious statement regretted in advance.

 

Without much fuss we roll:

 

Edu-Mum’s boy
They are always small in size. They are young, most of the time one or two years younger than the standard age at their level of study. They are ever cheerful and walk in pairs of friend from home or those they went to high school together.

 

Even at fourth year, they are kids. Can’t cook, can’t wash their clothes and believe that spreading their bed is a crime. Alternatively some can be painstakingly orderly and I presume their mother must have had a military approach to parentage. They have a fascination for play stations and annoying parties in the hostels. They are either shabbily dressed and don’t care but their attire is unmistakably fashionable and pricey.

 

Most of the weekends, they go to the estate: to eat well and sleep. They finish college and go back home until they get a job or start working for the family….

 

They only spot a beard when in fourth year.. They need al the time to grow.

Thomson-The villager
Mostly, they have Christian names such as Peter (Peterson on the ID), Paul and Abel. Probably they went to the best school in their districts and made it here in every inch a villager. Four years in campus, the village is still existent in them. Thye have not shed down their prejudices or stereotypes.

 

These guys cook all the three meals in their rooms. They are the most patient individuals in campus…I mean, who else has the time to boil beans until they are ready. They have every cooking gadget, from the cooking stick to the tea sieve. They take food matters pretty seriously. HELB sustains him and they have never seen the need of owning a phone with a coloured screen. They dress formally and their lives revolve around the lecture theatre, their rooms and the place where they buy vegetables.

 

Weekly, they receive foodstuffs from the village, sent by Eldoret Express or Nyamira. They never polish their English. Hakuna haja. They never polish their mannerisms. Why should they…

 

These individuals go through school without school passing through them at all. They turn up for employment and the employer instantly enrolls them for an etiquette class. They shave at the college at the college barber shop and read the newspaper their. They dutifully attend classes and their transcripts are normally admirable.

 

They date women from the village or equally villager women in campus. Their visiting girlfriends are always dressed up in choir uniforms, but then again they look wifely than most women around.

 

These guys listen to Kameme or Ramogi and sometimes you will hear them blasting their favourite Benga tunes, much to the chagrin of the neighbours. These burgers block the sink with refuse remains which they never learn to dispose. And I suspect they are the ones who soil the loos forever…

Pato-the college Casanova
In his first year, he laid every loose or naïve girl in the vicinity. In second year, he laid every naïve and loose first year he came across. The cycle continued. Now at fourth year, most women loathe him.

 

His life revolves around women. Everything he does is geared towards laying a woman. He dresses, talks, sprays himself to impress. He is a constant source envy among his peers. His list of booty calls is endless. And make no mistake…they are all beautiful. Often he was the luckiest who laid the prettiest thing in class before the prettiest thing grew some attitude towards men in class.

 

He can do anything to lay a woman. When it is a dry season, he can even fake a part and buy drinks where he can even spike the drinks just but to lay. Sometimes he is spotted by very young women who he calls, vitu ya mtaani. He is never the tallest nor the most handsome; just that he has a way about women.

 

Average Calvin

He is of moderate built. He speaks impeccably. The coward mostly cut his teeth with a fist year when he was third year. He works out privately and he is a cool guy to hang out with. They are popular among certain circles.

 

He is average in every sector; looks, bed, seduction, class but a nice guy. He is monogamous and often can marry his college sweetheart. He is the vulnerable man. If he meets a respectable woman, they make the best of couples. But again, he is often the most easily played man, and he will never tell. He could be a romantic and nice guys, but guys often laugh behind his back how often their (most of the time pretty) chick gets laid.

 

Mr. Average will finish campus, get some banking job, three or four years late runa wedding that will be shown on telly….
The sophisticated villager
Most of the time, he is of the Nilotic region…Teso, Turkana, Saboat et al…Unless of course, his name is Douglas Mwati…he he

 

They listen to BBC. Read outdated, high profile magazines such as the Economists, Time and Newsweek. The fellows are normally intellectual and their political insights are worth giving an hearing.

 

They listen to country music or rock. They have a certain inexplicable tastes. Most of the time, they never lay a woman while in campus, but even so there is ever the likelihood that he is married. They belong to those constituency bases or county organisations and they give the word marginalisation a whole new meaning. Of course, there are normally three or four of them and they know each other. They can access their MP pap, like that….

 

Saved David
He came and straight went into church. By second year, he is shockingly the head of his denomination in campus. Most of the church stuff, books, guitars and materials are kept in his room. Their rooms are normally impeccably clean. These men hardly participate in sexual jokes are often prudish in an annoying manner.

 

They have read the bible and they are pseudo preachers. There are those who are fanatical. The type that conducts prayers around funny corners of the universities at funny hours. They are spiritual. And overzealous. They dress formally and believe jeans is evil. They like their shoes leather, brown and black.

 

The Hustler
He doesn’t sleep. He has worked in every single organisation, from a bank to teaching high school kids. He has worked with GNLD and Tanaj. He is enthusiastic and corny. He can sell you anything, from computer parts to pirated movie copies including the rare Avril Lavigne collection.

 

He is well connected and he knows where a body can be dumped. Hustlers sell their rooms and go head to live with someone else. They are very economical and most of the time, you wonder where they take the money. They never go to class. They only sho up exam time, loaded with Mwakenyas .Needless to say they pass.

 

To be continued…
Next week…we take on women.

To all the women in UoN, class 2011

Dear All female students, Class 2011,

I must first apologize. This treatise should have come much earlier, but I’m a firm believer of better late than never. I dedicate this to all women we started the journey in campus together. It has been quite a good ride with you; we have been the best of friends and the cordial relationship we have enjoyed together is very much celebrated.

However, I believe it is time we talked. It is time I told you what your men have been thinking and saying about you behind your backs. Some were good. Some were bad and others quite ugly. But I know, we(men) do not have monopoly over these things and I certainly believe that you neither had the sweetest compliments for us, so the feeling, whether good or bad has been and will always remain mutual.

As we start our final semester in this great institution, we can start by having a look of what has been happening over the last four years.

When we joined, the majority of you came straight from the village. I remember many used to wear clothes, hairstyles and shoes that screamed village. We laughed. Not that we were any better, only that sometimes it is too demanding being a woman. I know of men, especially from my tribe who never quite styled up and probably never will, including yours truly. Like there is one from my village,(he is an Enkororo, believe you me) who has a thing for yellow shirts, pink ties brown trousers(no exaggeration whatsoever). He irks me. I hate his fashion sense, but he seems to be enjoying his monstrous, nay, hideous, colour coordination. So for the ladies who arrived from the village and switched into the city ways, kudos.

The pressure was to conform was too much, I know. Men never looked your direction and female friends could never stop to gossip, like yesterday, while having a toast to an old comrade, one female friend mentioned that her roommate in first year never knew what Pizza is…(Ann, never mind…it won’t go beyond here). With such kind of peer pressure, it was nearly inevitable that you got an extra coin, get yourselves a decent wardrobe and hairstyles. I was impressed it happened in good time.

Where you got the money was never and can never be part of my business. Whether you got yourself a yuppie, a sugar daddy or whoever, I know you did it for survivalv purposes. In the jungle called Nairobi it was inevitable. Those who have maintained, hi 5 from all of us. . .

Those who were a bit generous with their bodies in first year, thanks. You helped, many a boy learn a few things. You probably gave many of us from the village our first pornographic sex in the name of blow jobs and the likes. We couldn’t have learned otherwise. Some of you were quite loose, I must say, we understand it was young adult adolescence. A time to explore new sexual avenues beyond the puppy nonsense prior to campus. I know, many of you were disappointed by the lackluster performance, but we both were learning.

I remember some even forged relationship that lasted some time; I must say it was commendable. It is good to try than not try at all. At least it is a marvelous learning experience. Those who ponyokad with older guys, you have been forgiven. At least you were realistic in your demands that we could not deliver, due to obvious constraints. You also fed us with grudge to revenge upon you and you doubly contributed to the vicious circle and cycle of older male students dating, or getting sex from young ones forever. Very few such liaisons actually did last. In retrospect, I have come to accept such relationships are more sexual for the man and materially beneficial for the woman. But good nonetheless. The breakups are never any sweeter but again, whatever else…

I was never especially lucky with any, I tried one but learnt in good time that I was not the right person for her. I was rather too worldly and she was quite the reserved type, literally. I still owe her an apology and if she is reading here, I hope she does, accept my apology. A nother one nearly got me ran over…My God, will I ever get over this…I like her name…it sounds and tastes good in my hear and mouth…

Those who remained religious and stuck in church, my respect. Anyone who follows the right and the righteous path, I support them fully. That is the only right thing you can do and I hope to God that He supports you fully and may grant you all the wishes of your heart, that are heavenly.

Those who get knocked up, sorry for the accident if it was not planned. Accidents do happen in the bedroom. The condom can burst or things have been known to spill. Those who aborted for various reasons, extraneous or otherwise, I leave you with your personal gods to judge you. Those who braved and gave birth, our respect. That was a sign of demonstrable maturity. It is never easy being a woman, a young mother with an absentee daddy,and a student; all in one stride. I envy them. How I wish by now I was a father…By giving birth, whether the pregnancy was acquired in one fit of orgasmic naiveté, goes to show someone ready to take responsibility of their mistakes, which is not an easy thing as age has taught me.

Those who refused to date us, because they thought we were down and out, I have sad news. The men you so much despised will be running this town. You will admiring them on the cover of glossy magazines and on telly. They will be everywhere and the much you can say is that I was with him in campus, and may be tag a photo on Facebook, taken by Oloo in one accidental afternoon as evident. And I know most of the time you will be hating and cursing inwardly.

We knew where we could not cut the mark. Those high flying mamaz!!. We didn’t have many per se. But the few we had, we secretly admired you and we knew that you were totally out of our reach. We bit our fingers, but did little. But we do hope with good jobs and decent jobs we will ever meet, even if for aka one night stand…

To the politicians of my years…you know where we will meet, I will skip here for reasons best known to me, if I write anything it will be deemed personal, I can’t look the gift horse in the mouth.

To those who have served us with clean, reliable notes, dutifully attending class, you deserve something better in life. Good jobs. Good husbands. Good lives and all that. Some of us could never have made it here were it not for you…Lilian and Sophie, we owe you a million and so much respect. To God, we thank you for your academic generosity.

To those who came, did nothing and will be leaving this place without having done anything, please try and do get a life. To the promiscuous, kindly take care lest your fleshly demands take you down. To those who cheated on us, we will forgive you and hope that you will drop the habit. I could have gone but my word limit is gone, but I know, I owe you one final dispatch….

Sincerely,
Silas…

Starter independent woman

Three women sat around a table in a swankier joint named after this writer’s first name in upmarket Nairobi. It is newly opened and has been the talk about town in the clubbing and hanging out circles. They were dressed elegantly, spoke impeccable English and were drinking from those funnel-shaped glasses and held them with a newly acquired exotic mannerism that was unmistakable. Their choice of drink was a colourless, fizzling drink with lemon slices floating over.

They were something between 25 and 28.They dismissed all the men who stood by even to say hi. They dismissed the tall and the short, the seemingly loaded and the broke ones. They didn’t smile much and seemed lost in their own world like old friends catching up after along time, especially when one just flew in from overseas. After some time, it seemed like there was an unwritten ‘NO MEN FOR THIS TABLE’ notice as all the men chose to look elsewhere for female company.

Who were these women? Certainly, they were not the daughters of the rich. They were a bit conservative and from their look, they looked that their status was newly acquired. They didn’t seem to be in university or college going by their expensive wear and the fact that they were buying their own drinks, and car keys comfortably relaxed on the table. And since they were not interested in male company, I arrived at the conclusion that they could be starter independent women.

Who is this woman? Well, she cleared University or college less than three years ago. She finished young, no more than 24. She must have pursued a very marketable course, think Bachelor of Commerce, Hotel Management, Computer Science and other fields that automatically guarantee one a job with corporate blue chip. Within two years of working, their salary is six figure.

They move to a better neighbourhood, may be South B or C or Mountain View. They buy a very expensive car and take charge of their own lives. They are swelling in numbers in Nairobi and other towns as they take charge of the banking, mobile telephony, insurance and accounting sectors of the economy bringing in the much needed fresh blood into the corporate sector.

What is it with them? Nothing much, only that their expectations from life are a tad exaggerated. Just because they are within touching distance of achieving their dreams, doesn’t mean that they should live on the ideal lane. They are a frustrating lot, especially when you listen to them.

For starters, they live their lives in a mechanical manner. Everything to the book. While Tyra & co make a lot of sense, they invariably take them too seriously. The motivation books might have well been written for them, specifically. End product, you have a young woman who thinks she can dictate things around. They have fiery attitude and scarcely even respect their parents and elderly folks.

These women have an unrealistic approach to life. They want a dream wedding and honeymoon out of the country. They want twins and if this could be genetically manipulated they can pay a dime. They can actualize it, make no mistake. They have the money to do it. They can get the man of their dreams but it is how fussy they are about things.

They read glossy magazines and believe all the gurus employed and the million suggestions therein can transform them into better persons without even working hard. They think collectively. If Jasmine said she can only marry after her Masters or that dream promotion, they will all settle for that arrangement even one of them is already having weight problems that might scare away potential suitors.

But what irritates more is how they deal with men about their age or those who tend to go for them. In college they could have dated and slept with losers especially in their quest for that fantasy man. At 26, they can only take in a man who meets certain financial, physical social status. It is an extended illusion of their post-teenage era, where if he was not tall, dark and handsome, he was not IT…Only that this time round, they have the patience until Mr Right shows up.

Unwittingly, they skip good men and at 31, they stumble upon reality at its ugliest. The possibility of eternal spinsterhood dawns on them and they start scampering for a sperm donor.

It is important to remind these women as they form nasty opinions on various facets of life, they should manage their expectations. Life is incomplete at its best. Given a chance, anyone would trade places to be that ideal someone. In their youthful idealism, these women might be having scales in their eyes too big to see but I take this early opportunity to remind them 24-28 are the most important years for a woman to make a life time decision about the kind of life they would like to lead in their 40s.

Live individually. Consult where you can. Obey you parents and those nasty aunts even when their demands seem unreasonable like advising you against marrying that man from a different tribe. May be they have a point. Relationship can never be the same, work on yours as consciously and as maturely as possible. Understand the needs of men and you are good to go.

When all is said and little is done, remember life is not a science, but an art. Learn the art. Master the art.