Finishing Campus, Lessons learnt

“The next time you going to live like this will be when you are a millionaire,” the old taxi driver carrying my stuff from college to new home was telling me.

“Out here, you don’t stone other people’s cars because water is not running in your tap or there is a black out.” There was a ring sadistic sarcasm in his tone no matter how well intended his unsolicited advice was.

Over the last couple of weeks, I had been having a series of meeting with Mr. Reality. A fortnight ago, while having a house warming party at a colleague’s place with whom we have just cleared campus at a flat in the Eastlands, the caretaker came breathing fire and served a notice that killed the party completely. Only the other day I was shopping in the neighbourhood supermarket and I discovered that price of Unga is six times what it was when I joined campus four years ago. These are some of the vagaries that the deceptively comfortable life in college shields you from. Not funny at all.

Reality is the ugliest monster one can encounter, especially when he turns up naked. That is what a number of undergraduates who cleared campus over the last month are experiencing. On the last day, as we cleared from our prized rooms, from where we have played the loudest music, drunk all the alcohol we could afford and of course other substances, I saw the word ANXIETY written on the foreheads of my colleagues, FEAR on one cheek, and a TEAR rolling down the other. A certain inexplicable apprehension engulfed us born of the immediately uncertain future. There are no guarantees out here.

Finishing college is not funny. Out goes the wild and reckless youthful days of irresponsibility and in comes the life of marriage, mortgage and mainstream living. You discover the vulnerability of many Kenyans out here. They are not secure with the national politics, the government is bleeding them dead with taxi returns, the Matatu Industry is rips them off daily, yet no one can stand for them. Out here, the clichéd COMRADE POWER is sheer nonsense, even getting to know your next door neighbour is a problem.

The protective shield of collective conduct common in college is gone and out here, everyone is pursuing his or her interest with unbridled capitalistic zeal that blinds many to many realities of those legitimately suffering. The socialist nature of college life has no place in the outside world. We live in a society that can’t even give an expectant woman a seat in a public vehicle. You get out here and discover how voiceless the citizens are until everyone is extorting them until it has become a routine that they have become immune to. Think about the City Council.

As a student in a public university, if arrested, you can proudly present your school ID and make noise to a police (wo) man and you will be released. Law students, especially in their first year can be a nuisance to the police and anyone from the police force who has ever dealt with them can tell you that they can be a handful. As a student you disregard every single rule and always believe that the country owes you a living.

Some of these things are understandable and are bound to happen in our youthful years, only that we go overboard. Some of us party our entire life in campus and forget even to build a career when it matters. Some of us are always consumed with nonissues that the best moments pass us by. By the time we discover that our time is over, we have made some costly blunders that are quite irreversible.

But college teaches us so much and some of these experiences permanently shape our social political and economical attitudes. Some of the unchanging perceptions that we wiled towards either sex are probably formed in campus. While women learn that men are biologically polygamous, they prove to men that for them they do not need any biological validation to fool around.

Men probably learn that in the absence of height, charm and humour in the process of dating; money has the same biological effect on women as the previously mentioned gifts of nature. Women learn that in this world the end justifies the means. You can a take a short cut to wealth or fame but the death lurks in that route. Some trust men so much that when the very men turn against them, they lose it completely and take to a life of recklessness. So much for trusting human beings. Where is Jaguar to sing for them?

The college must go through someone as (s) he goes through it. For women, it is about having the capacity to fend for yourself, but more importantly knowing the limits of pushing that independence thing. For men it is about suitably readjusting to the fact that what men can do, women can do it both better and worse. Just look at how women have taken up the bad habits of men and their only answer to the raised eyebrows is invariably, ‘but men do it.’

As we go out and become full tax-paying citizens, we are faced with a life of uncertainty, untamed expectations that exceed reality from many quarters including ourselves. We don’t know about the future but many have been through it and many will be joining us. We must learn to get into the systems and hope that we don’t get sucked into the cliched, 1-2-3-4 type of life. As in, one wife, two kids, 3-bedroom house and driving a four wheeled.

They say ambition is the only currency that never depreciates; It is my wish to everyone who just cleared college that with ambition, hard work, a little luck and more importantly prayer, we will make it. Let us step out, roll up our sleeves, swallow our pride and start working towards making this a great country.

Here is to a good start to citizenry to all those who just cleared college or about.

Campus survival; hustlers’ stories

Starring; Kevin Munguti, Alex Kirui, David Gitau, Ndeda Paul Peter Oduor, Boniface Mwalii and Silas Nyanchwani

In my final WEEK in campus, I focus on the means we have used to stay afloat in Kenya’s most expensive city with the most demanding women. With the indulgence of my friends and largely partners in crime, I move on to share some of the highlights of our stay in campus; unedited, uncensored.

If you are a man under 25 and you have ever impregnated a woman, raise your hand. What was the feeling? I bet it is more dramatic than that pressing long call that threatens to burst open your rectum. It is more frenetic than the pressing long call from a surging bladder after having one too many. It is feverish. It is scary.

One, it always happens when one is desperately broke with another demanding issue. Two, there is always that persistent doubt whether it is you or that other man, it is impossible to trust a woman these days.

I have found myself in one such situation that we shall return to in long while.

Pato, Wizzy saga

In July 2008, I was in a situation. I had just been handed over my first long holiday. Three months. Three freaking months. No job. No internship. Nothing financially rewarding to look up to, other than my inconsistent freelance writing earnings that would only amount to a salon fee if I was dating. Thank God I never quite did.

I could hardly feed on that without knocking up on my sister’s office to borrow money. A very emasculating thing, especially if your beard is just sprouting out. Going up-country was not an option. Taking care of cattle and tea-picking are the least inspiring tasks I know and the old man is such an enthusiast of farming. He believes any man who scorns farming is not worth the two balls and the penis bequeathed to him by nature.

We cleared from our prized rooms in campus, I took my stuff to my uncle’s place across the fence from my hostel and I joined my cousin Patrick and his buddy Wizzy. Patrick had just cleared from Lower Kabete and Wizzy from the College of Architecture and Engineering having studies Bachelor of Commerce and Urban Planning respectively. We were shacking up at Joe’s place in Mamlaka, having broken into the adjoining room that the occupant had just cleared campus.

The two were with their girlfriends. Wizzy had impregnated his four year, campus girlfriend and she had decided to keep the baby. Patrick was having issues with his girlfriend who was tired of dating the latent potential in him. See, Patrick is your typical bad boy with looks, swag and energy to match and there isn’t a lady I have met when with him who didn’t drop a compliment such as; cute eyes, good height, funny guy and all those other tiresome compliments, especially when they have to pass through me. So this girl was so blind to the reality that Patrick was a broke ass and was not going to get his shit together anytime soon. But his animal magnetism just gets him going in town.

Engineering students normally have a provision to keep their rooms for their internships. We bought one such room and moved in with Patrick and his girlfriend Ciku. It was an uncanny arrangement, given that there was only one bed and anyone familiar with Mamlaka knows too well that there is, but a thin corridor to accommodate a mattress and barely one individual.

I used to sleep down and Patrick on the bed with his girlfriend and that meant that all other activities could only take place during the day so as to have a peaceful sleep. Besides, Patrick was in such a bad a shape and their relationship was going straight to the dogs. And these guys loved each other. And they used to quarrel. I could wake up deep into the night to find them quarrelling and fighting but the most interesting thing is how they used the word swits in their conversations and quarrels.

Swits was their full stop, comma, semi colon, full colon, dash and hyphen in their conversation. Even when Patrick was in the verge of hitting her, it was always swits. Dramatic couple they were, I must concede. Ciku did manage to see the light and drop the loser (No my cousin ain’t a loser but at that moment, he was as a good to her as a broom without a stick.)

Why am I sharing with you this story? Simple, come Saturday the University will spew me out in order to pave way for others and that de javu is creeping in. Lately, we walk around the word ANXIETY on our faces. FEAR on one cheek and a TEAR rolling down the other. We are in a state of inexplicable panic and my boys are confused. Suffice to say that my boys laughed so hard last year when we saw fellow fourth years confused and so nervous it hurt.

But our nervousness is unfounded given that we have pulled it off in this city where life can be insufferable. Basically, there is nothing we haven’t done to stay afloat. In the thickest and thinnest of things we have survived. How?

Davies has held to his job as a civil servant even when the perks have not been really commensurating. Back in time, he gave freelance writing a shot and got a few things published with the Standard, but it was demanding and he chose to stick with his job and the monthly stipend from the Ministry has kept him alive with the ever unreliable HELB. He has led a modestly good life that befits any college boy.

Kevin is one hell of an individual. If there is one thing that he has thought me is the power of positive attitude. He has been working with a middle-sized company that does just about anything. I don’t even know how is business card would realistically read. This week, he is down in Busia dropping something. Next week he is an event organizer hosting high flying guests in one of the five-stars, mostly Hilton…Another day he is stuck in the office doing God-only-knows-what…But nonetheless he has led a life and the weekends he offered the rides to ride the women in town have been worth. Kevin, I owe you one and that should be the spirit, but punguza masom(get the drift).

Paul, a notable thespian is another one. At one point, we broke into a room in campus to stay around and witness the East African University Sports that took place in our university. A benevolent brother gave us meal cards when our last cent was gone and we ate like players. In the meantime, Paul had joined a theatrical group that stages plays for high school kids. He didn’t quite succeed with it for reasons as flimsy as that ladies in the group were so much into him and that meant that little or no work used to take place. The envious bitchy boss sacked him.

But Paul has been one of the guys who have kept the University Travelling Theatre alive and vibrant. A talented chap, we have done a couple dirty stuff like attending Consumer Insight researchers and posing as accountants, when our knowledge in accounting is no more than that of a cockroach for a measly Ksh 500 or shopping voucher worth the same amount. Also we have helped Module 2 student do assignments for a measly Ksh 200 when in the thick of things.

But I knew we had crossed the line when I met Peter doing an assignment about armed conflict in Somalia. This was the height of academic fraud. Peter and military science; fish and chicken. Alcohol and tea. Peter has enjoyed a considerable career with the Standard. When they couldn’t publish him around, he even crossed over to Uganda and had his article run in the Monitor (owned by the Nation).

His interest in the PR industry has seen him land a good deal with a moderate company and this can easily be a launching pad for a good career in the PR business. This boy got nerve. But he has been part of the syndicate that helps many a Parallel student handle their assignments. At one point he was teaching Module 2 students a unit he had not been taught and was the most difficult ever since Science and Technology…fraudster.

Alex or Lex is the kid in our block. He is only 22 and I swear if this kid was in a place where imagination is allowed to do the magic, he will be Kenya’s answer to James Cameron. Alex has one quality that we wish many kids would have these days…that deep belief, conviction in what one does. Alex knows what he wants and pursues it with all the zeal he can muster.

He is a talented cartoonist who has worked with the Nation, Standard and Kass Magazine. He has tutored a college on animations, a field he now wants to venture into fully. Guess what, the next big thing on telly might just be from him…watch this space. He has done all sorts of design dirty works, sometimes without pay but he is now, sharper, better and understands this town than any other person.

This brings me to Bon-I. Bon-I. Bon-I discovered that life is one big scam and doesn’t care how you put two ends together, granted you don’t kill. Bon-I has come to a conclusion that in this town, everyone is a scam, and regardless of the job is a thief. Even as we venture into showbiz, he is duly aware that it is all about fleecing here and there and sitting as you wait for the cheque to mature.

We began with Bony by involving ourselves in the not so lucrative campus politics. The big spenders we are, meant that we always kept ourselves busy chasing after shadows and every promising moment brought much disappointment than it brought chumes. We attended Synnovate/Steadman researches at the Sarova Stanley posing as pilots when our only interaction with the airplanes has only been the photos and the escorts to the JKIA.

But we have come a long way. Somethings we did were dirty. Dirtier perhaps. May be we stooped too low but we were basically surviving. Nobody knows how rotten I am than Bon-I and the reverse is true. At his request I will spare everyone the details, but one thing you can be sure is that we were within the limits of the law and have mainly fed ourselves from our writing activities for the papers and elsewhere to stay afloat.

On my part…I am your typical hustler with no fewer than 15 deals running on my head concurrently. There is that Magazine for a constituency that I’m working on. There is that magazine for the school that I’m working on. There is a book I’m editing for someone. There is that relative who wants some fake document from River Road or some institution and willing to pay. There are rich students who want help with the assignments due on the very very day and can buy lunch and drinks afterwards. There are foreigners who want my help. You can only do so much. All these I juggle and while I often deliver some bad quality stuff, it is matter of necessity.

It wasn’t always an easy story. My pseudo participation in student politics did earn me access to quick cash that disappears like it is cursed and a fat cheque at the end of the day but I have learnt that such kind of money keeps on disappearing and accounting for it is a futile exercise.

But what really helped me is that I never quite dated or met a demanding female student, even though I met a few needy ones. The few needy ones I met, I could handle. Some were admirably independent even though that meant I cede power. Dating for a male student is an impossible task. I have gone out with first year female student who vowed never to date anyone in campus and I really sympathized with the male folk.

But the highlight of my hustling came when I took a chalk to teach some kid in Umoja II and I discovered that I had forgotten everything I received in High School. Too bad that even what I have received in campus is all gone. Did they say 8-4-4=00

And Nairobi, better be prepared, we about to invade big time.

Campus survival; hustlers’ stories

Starring; Kevin Munguti, Alex Kirui, David Gitau, Ndeda Paul Peter Oduor, Boniface Mwalii and Silas Nyanchwani
In my final WEEK in campus, I focus on the means we have used to stay afloat in Kenya’s most expensive city with the most demanding women. With the indulgence of my friends and largely partners in crime, I move on to share some of the highlights of our stay in campus; unedited, uncensored.

If you are a man under 25 and you have ever impregnated a woman, raise your hand. What was the feeling? I bet it is more dramatic than that pressing long call that threatens to burst open your rectum. It is more frenetic than the pressing long call from a surging bladder after having one too many. It is feverish. It is scary.

One, it always happens when one is desperately broke with another demanding issue. Two, there is always that persistent doubt whether it is you or that other man, it is impossible to trust a woman these days.

I have found myself in one such situation that we shall return to in long while.
Pato, Wizzy saga
In July 2008, I was in a situation. I had just been handed over my first long holiday. Three months. Three freaking months. No job. No internship. Nothing financially rewarding to look up to, other than my inconsistent freelance writing earnings that would only amount to a salon fee if I was dating. Thank God I never quite did.

I could hardly feed on that without knocking up on my sister’s office to borrow money. A very emasculating thing, especially if your beard is just sprouting out. Going up-country was not an option. Taking care of cattle and tea-picking are the least inspiring tasks I know and the old man is such an enthusiast of farming. He believes any man who scorns farming is not worth the two balls and the penis bequeathed to him by nature.

We cleared from our prized rooms in campus, I took my stuff to my uncle’s place across the fence from my hostel and I joined my cousin Patrick and his buddy Wizzy. Patrick had just cleared from Lower Kabete and Wizzy from the College of Architecture and Engineering having studies Bachelor of Commerce and Urban Planning respectively. We were shacking up at Joe’s place in Mamlaka, having broken into the adjoining room that the occupant had just cleared campus.

The two were with their girlfriends. Wizzy had impregnated his four year, campus girlfriend and she had decided to keep the baby. Patrick was having issues with his girlfriend who was tired of dating the latent potential in him. See, Patrick is your typical bad boy with looks, swag and energy to match and there isn’t a lady I have met when with him who didn’t drop a compliment such as; cute eyes, good height, funny guy and all those other tiresome compliments, especially when they have to pass through me. So this girl was so blind to the reality that Patrick was a broke ass and was not going to get his shit together anytime soon. But his animal magnetism just gets him going in town.

Engineering students normally have a provision to keep their rooms for their internships. We bought one such room and moved in with Patrick and his girlfriend Ciku. It was an uncanny arrangement, given that there was only one bed and anyone familiar with Mamlaka knows too well that there is, but a thin corridor to accommodate a mattress and barely one individual.

I used to sleep down and Patrick on the bed with his girlfriend and that meant that all other activities could only take place during the day so as to have a peaceful sleep. Besides, Patrick was in such a bad a shape and their relationship was going straight to the dogs. And these guys loved each other. And they used to quarrel. I could wake up deep into the night to find them quarrelling and fighting but the most interesting thing is how they used the word swits in their conversations and quarrels.

Swits was their full stop, comma, semi colon, full colon, dash and hyphen in their conversation. Even when Patrick was in the verge of hitting her, it was always swits. Dramatic couple they were, I must concede. Ciku did manage to see the light and drop the loser (No my cousin ain’t a loser but at that moment, he was as a good to her as a broom without a stick.)

Why am I sharing with you this story? Simple, come Saturday the University will spew me out in order to pave way for others and that de javu is creeping in. Lately, we walk around the word ANXIETY on our faces. FEAR on one cheek and a TEAR rolling down the other. We are in a state of inexplicable panic and my boys are confused. Suffice to say that my boys laughed so hard last year when we saw fellow fourth years confused and so nervous it hurt.

But our nervousness is unfounded given that we have pulled it off in this city where life can be insufferable. Basically, there is nothing we haven’t done to stay afloat. In the thickest and thinnest of things we have survived. How?

Davies has held to his job as a civil servant even when the perks have not been really commensurating. Back in time, he gave freelance writing a shot and got a few things published with the Standard, but it was demanding and he chose to stick with his job and the monthly stipend from the Ministry has kept him alive with the ever unreliable HELB. He has led a modestly good life that befits any college boy.

Kevin is one hell of an individual. If there is one thing that he has thought me is the power of positive attitude. He has been working with a middle-sized company that does just about anything. I don’t even know how is business card would realistically read. This week, he is down in Busia dropping something. Next week he is an event organizer hosting high flying guests in one of the five-stars, mostly Hilton…Another day he is stuck in the office doing God-only-knows-what…But nonetheless he has led a life and the weekends he offered the rides to ride the women in town have been worth. Kevin, I owe you one and that should be the spirit, but punguza masom(get the drift).

Paul, a notable thespian is another one. At one point, we broke into a room in campus to stay around and witness the East African University Sports that took place in our university. A benevolent brother gave us meal cards when our last cent was gone and we ate like players. In the meantime, Paul had joined a theatrical group that stages plays for high school kids. He didn’t quite succeed with it for reasons as flimsy as that ladies in the group were so much into him and that meant that little or no work used to take place. The envious bitchy boss sacked him.

But Paul has been one of the guys who have kept the University Travelling Theatre alive and vibrant. A talented chap, we have done a couple dirty stuff like attending Consumer Insight researchers and posing as accountants, when our knowledge in accounting is no more than that of a cockroach for a measly Ksh 500 or shopping voucher worth the same amount. Also we have helped Module 2 student do assignments for a measly Ksh 200 when in the thick of things.

But I knew we had crossed the line when I met Peter doing an assignment about armed conflict in Somalia. This was the height of academic fraud. Peter and military science; fish and chicken. Alcohol and tea. Peter has enjoyed a considerable career with the Standard. When they couldn’t publish him around, he even crossed over to Uganda and had his article run in the Monitor (owned by the Nation).

His interest in the PR industry has seen him land a good deal with a moderate company and this can easily be a launching pad for a good career in the PR business. This boy got nerve. But he has been part of the syndicate that helps many a Parallel student handle their assignments. At one point he was teaching Module 2 students a unit he had not been taught and was the most difficult ever since Science and Technology…fraudster.

Alex or Lex is the kid in our block. He is only 22 and I swear if this kid was in a place where imagination is allowed to do the magic, he will be Kenya’s answer to James Cameron. Alex has one quality that we wish many kids would have these days…that deep belief, conviction in what one does. Alex knows what he wants and pursues it with all the zeal he can muster.

He is a talented cartoonist who has worked with the Nation, Standard and Kass Magazine. He has tutored a college on animations, a field he now wants to venture into fully. Guess what, the next big thing on telly might just be from him…watch this space. He has done all sorts of design dirty works, sometimes without pay but he is now, sharper, better and understands this town than any other person.

This brings me to Bon-I. Bon-I. Bon-I discovered that life is one big scam and doesn’t care how you put two ends together, granted you don’t kill. Bon-I has come to a conclusion that in this town, everyone is a scam, and regardless of the job is a thief. Even as we venture into showbiz, he is duly aware that it is all about fleecing here and there and sitting as you wait for the cheque to mature.

We began with Bony by involving ourselves in the not so lucrative campus politics. The big spenders we are, meant that we always kept ourselves busy chasing after shadows and every promising moment brought much disappointment than it brought chumes. We attended Synnovate/Steadman researches at the Sarova Stanley posing as pilots when our only interaction with the airplanes has only been the photos and the escorts to the JKIA.

But we have come a long way. Somethings we did were dirty. Dirtier perhaps. May be we stooped too low but we were basically surviving. Nobody knows how rotten I am than Bon-I and the reverse is true. At his request I will spare everyone the details, but one thing you can be sure is that we were within the limits of the law and have mainly fed ourselves from our writing activities for the papers and elsewhere to stay afloat.

On my part…I am your typical hustler with no fewer than 15 deals running on my head concurrently. There is that Magazine for a constituency that I’m working on. There is that magazine for the school that I’m working on. There is a book I’m editing for someone. There is that relative who wants some fake document from River Road or some institution and willing to pay. There are rich students who want help with the assignments due on the very very day and can buy lunch and drinks afterwards. There are foreigners who want my help. You can only do so much. All these I juggle and while I often deliver some bad quality stuff, it is matter of necessity.

It wasn’t always an easy story. My pseudo participation in student politics did earn me access to quick cash that disappears like it is cursed and a fat cheque at the end of the day but I have learnt that such kind of money keeps on disappearing and accounting for it is a futile exercise.

But what really helped me is that I never quite dated or met a demanding female student, even though I met a few needy ones. The few needy ones I met, I could handle. Some were admirably independent even though that meant I cede power. Dating for a male student is an impossible task. I have gone out with first year female student who vowed never to date anyone in campus and I really sympathized with the male folk.

But the highlight of my hustling came when I took a chalk to teach some kid in Umoja II and I discovered that I had forgotten everything I received in High School. Too bad that even what I have received in campus is all gone. Did they say 8-4-4=00

And Nairobi, better be prepared, we about to invade big time.

The good and the unforgettable women we dealt with

Not all women are bad. I have many wonderful female friends and contrary to the popular assumption among my peers that I’m anti-women, I love women and I’m very straight. I date also. So all those women who think my blog is an exercise in misogyny and chauvinism, kindly see the forest, not the tree.

 

We have all had that bad shag. For men; it was big down there, wet, noisy and not so clean. And most likely she exaggerated her moans a little. Or just slept her ass pretty as you did your thing. Or she seemed a little clueless and screamed you deaf when you mentioned a blow or some hand job or something as unnatural as that. Too prudish.

 

For women; he was short down there to excite anything, came too fast and just once before slumping on the side leaving you high and dry. Next thing you knew, he was leashing out radioactive farts adding more insult to your already insulted sensibilities. Or his mouth wasn’t clean yet he insisted on kissing you. Or he was too big and wanted to rip off your prized innards. Or he was too rough even when you dried up. These shags are inevitable in the business of shagging.

 

These are some of the things we were discussing in the unlikely reunion of Kevin Munguti, David Gitau, Paul Ndeda, Boniface Mwalii and Charles Onsati. With the exception of Charles, the other four are the men I joined the University together four years ago and we have remained the closest and the tightest of friends as it is humanly possible. We have undergone remarkable transformations.

 

Kevin and I despised alcohol so much and were quite puritanical for the first two years until we discovered that beer if actually taken ten times becomes sweeter. So sweet than anything else we know. And Kevin also took another personality that we cannot discuss here but it has continuously astounded everyone in our clique to date. Paul is inherently drunk and great company anytime, any day and around him you should be justifiably concerned if your woman is around and alcohol is on offer. And of course, Bon-I needs no introduction.

 

Bon-I has been my partner in crime and the only thing we haven’t done as far as I’m concerned is kill to make ends meet. We have been together in the thick and thin of things and certainly we got a long way to go.

 

We were having a spontaneous reunion in the wakeful realization that we have less than 14 days to zero down the 8-4-4 jargon in our heads. On Friday, my good friend, Alitsi a student already serving in the force had invited me to his crib and offered some nail-biting beef stew before giving me the honours and the grace to open a bottle of Gilbey’s.

 

It is an offer I took with all the humility I could muster, being thankful at best, slapped the bottle, elbowed it and tore the lid fashionably

 

before pouring it into a glass. You all understand this pure masculine ritual. He gave me some canned pineapple slices that complemented the famous dry gin. Altsi offered to afford me another bottle the following day as a special honour.

I had lost faith in young people but Altsi did restore this and I really wish that more and more young men would learn on how to treat their elders.

 

So on Saturday after receiving the gin, I invited Bon-I, Paul and Kevin to join me alongside my heretical pal, Charles. Charles has some of the most intriguing, mind boggling theories with an unmistakable exactness. We went to the same high school back in the middle of nowhere in Kisii, were deskmates and deckmates. He later went to Maseno and now he is a qualified urban planner. David, the man with the quietest sense of humour and with such a disarming humility came along and joined in my room where the above discussions about shags- good, bad and ugly-took place, and weren’t we gossipy?

 

After finishing that bottle, we opted to try town. Outside Club Spree, there is a Wines & Spirits joint that pulls a decent crowd of revelers in their ‘supped’ up cars. We were not about to go clubbing, our stories were inexhaustible and we had to finish ‘em first and we bought two more bottles of Gilbey’s and some Lime juice and hitherto, there isn’t a drink more calming, more satisfying, more therapeutic than this good gin. As we leaned against cars that didn’t belong to us, we plunged into our tales in campus. Nothing has ever generated so much laughter in my life. The guys were outstanding and the spontaneity of their jokes is stuff good stand-up comedy is made of.

 

Since we couldn’t talk about soccer, given most of us were Arsenal fans, to whom increasingly soccer is as interesting as Peter Marangi’s colours are to a blind man (with all due respect to the blind), we could only discuss women and our escapades. The stories were colourfully exaggerated but nonetheless funny. As we discussed, we did agree that we have encountered some of the best women, whom we will permanently regret, never having laid in our lifetime in campus.

 

And here is the general classification of the good women we have had to deal with.

The clean ones

This specifically refers to physically clean ones. There are those women we always admire because they look clean. I often suspect if Hygiene is not their middle name.

 

These women, you can re-swallow what they have chewed. These women, you can lick their whole body. They invest so much in hygiene and their efforts are always suitably rewarded. And no man can forget a woman who is clean. I’m not talking about being fashionable and trendy. Far from it. I’m talking about women who with a simple shower, some lotion and light make up can afford to be angelic. They always carry decent hand bags that you can only expect lip balm, her phone, hanky, some roll of tissue paper and a bottle of water.

 

Most women I know whom I have had the misfortune of peeking into their handbags normally carry food, too much make up, shoes, water, afia, some unfinished yoghurt and cookies. I saw condoms in a bag of a 20 year old recently. How despicable? How appalling? As someone recently pointed out, for women, the bigger the handbag, the more desperate she is. I couldn’t agree more.

Baby Mothers

I have the softest spot for women who once they get caught up in that unenviable situation of an unwanted pregnancy go right ahead to keep the child, whether the father takes a leave only to resurface when the kid becomes a Wanjiru or not.

 

It shows responsibility and someone you can bank on. I am reliably aware that that every second chick I meet has aborted. The third knows at least 17 means of abortion or friendly medical outlets. Abortion is as common as masturbation in men. It (masturbation) is the most privately practiced practice after of course the long calls.

 

But women who keep the kid against all odds are a turn on to me. It bespeaks a rare boldness. In a world so prejudiced and single mothers more often than not despised, it takes special strength to pull it off. Hence any colleague who bears a kid in Campus demonstrates a sense off maturity that is enviable. It can be tough and worse.

 

Some of these pregnancies come at the illest of all times. The parents will hear none of it. The degree is all one has to live for and the kid can be such a complication. But I have one word for those who contemplate abortion: Go right ahead and spare the kid…Most of the great men around have been parented by single mothers. Think Wanjiru. Think Obama. Half of the politicians you can imagine are all products of single mothers.

 

I always have this conviction that there is something divine with single mothers who are sometimes driven even to prostitution just but for the kid to be alive. Hats off to single mothers. And from the bottom of my heart.

The cool, calm women without issues

A woman without issues reads like an oxymoron. You wonder if it is earthly possible to come across a woman without issues with her looks, her weight, her wardrobe, her boobs( too big they are sloppy) her feet( skwembes showed up rather too soon), thighs(too many stretch marks).

But here is the catch. There are certain things that naturally we cannot change. The first thing maturity demands is that we accept those unchangeable situations thrown to us. If you are a woman and the forehead is quite big, compensate with something else. In male circles, there is often an argument average chicks serve it the best. Maybe as a compensatory factor.

I have met many beautiful chicks with the personality of a wall. And I have average chicks or some who some may readily be labeled ugly with the most striking and amiable personality. While beauty attracts lust, mental and inner beauty brings about genuine desirability. Ever wondered why that fly dude settles for the less than fly chicks that you ordinarily sneer at?

I love women who accept whatever situation they found themselves in. They don’t fuss much. They don’t expect much from life. They know life is unfair, men are dogs and women are bitches at best. These women are so confident and mature. They don’t complain even when their parents cursed them with names such as Carol, Isabella or Rosebella.
Thumps up.
The beautiful and cool woman
She is different from the former group. Not many beautiful women know the responsibility of being beautiful. That is why many beautiful women are error prone. They fall for the bad guys. They are too insecure they bore. Sometimes, they demand that the universe revolves around them. Too bad.

 

But there is another brand of beautiful women who are cool to be with. Who their looks don’t dictate their sense of judgment. These women have no issues hugging even the toilet cleaner and no sense of attitude at all. I have talked enough about them and you have read about it in previous blogs.

 

Enaf sed.

The bad women we have had to deal with in campus

In 18 days, I will be finishing campus. It is only fair that I account for the women I have interacted with for the future generation of men to learn from my not-so-savoury experiences. One of the things you confirm upon joining campus is that nice guys really finish last and never try to be logical with a woman or a policeman. It is pointless. So here I sum up all the bad women I have encountered and wish no brother should encounter them albeit it is just inevitable.

1. Pangani Girls Loudmouths

One Mase Kamasara will be mad about the veracity of this rant. I can’t stand ladies who went through Pangani Girls. They suffer from running mouth. They define bitchy better than a million nasty black American women. My cousin Moraa was the quietest girl you can bump into but after going through Pangani, her lips have never met. Can someone tell me what goes on there?

Can the geographical positioning of the school in the Eastlands explain this obnoxious phenomenon, or is it just me. And how come Starehe, who are a fence away, are so cool. Suffice to say they are of average looks but with make-up, they pretty much turn up looking a little pretty in the Nairobian Plastic sense. They are highly opinionated and very little else. They have an overplayed sense of importance and think themselves the cleverest in town.

I ain’t hating because some of the cleverest, intelligent and funniest women I have met schooled in Pangani, but there is this clique that simply gets to my nerves. They drink anything given the occasion and who is footing the bill. I have partied with them under different circumstances and the rate at which they switched drinks from classy parties to the ones held in our campus rooms is amazing. To them, every occasion has its drink. They claim class but one can’t put a finger on it.

They can be physical for me and tomboyish. I said it here. If you can avoid them, please do.

2. The needy type
If you are dating her, be ready to provide for her everything. They were born in the very late 80s and early 90s and got stuck there mentally. They believe a man ought to provide for all their needs in exchange for sex, which again they can be mean and petty about, yet it is their only weapon. The provision party is not the issue. The issue is that they don’t want to play by the same stupid rules that governed dating or marriage in the 1980/90s. Men provided but they could cheat. Now these young women want you to provide, starve you sexually and still be good friends or lovers.

They lack ambition. They luck drive. Their life revolves around the lecture room, her room reading some addictive romantic nonsense novel by Danielle Steele and turning up for a soap opera and the most exciting thing is that dude Simon from her Bible Study Group. Essentially, she doesn’t have a life outside SALT (Weekly meetings held at the University of Nairobi’s Mamlaka Hill Chapel; highly pretentious.)

She incessantly demands that you tell her that you love her. Believes in old text book romance and will be searching for love in campus until she discovers that searching for love in campus is as good as…searching for sensible woman. She is damn possessive but if you want a dutiful woman you can groom to be a wife, if you can stand her nagging, then the needy ones are the thing. But be ready to provide everything.

3. Smooth Operator

She is stealth. She is a sharp girl. But not very clever. This is a girl who has learnt the potential of her beauty or the thigh power and knows how to utilize these. After all, very few men I know can resist the lure of an irresistibly well-shaped body. So this girl is the type that starts her evening by watching a movie in Hall 10(male hostel 1). Here she will be caressed and kissed profusely. Next stop is Hall 11(male hostel 2). Here she will take supper and grab a quickie on the go. Next stop is Mamlaka (male hostel 3) where this Engineering guy has been leashing out quite some good lines that she is getting accustomed to.

At around 11 she will be headed to Box, take a shower, dress skimpily and you will meet her going down hurriedly. Destination: I don’t know. This is not fiction. There is a category of women, especially the group that dates both in campus and out there. You will never find out about their dealings, unless you stumble upon some incriminating information.

These girls are one of a kind. She has an abortion or two to her name. She knows at least ten secure abortion methods at various stages of a pregnancy. She knows the best birth control methods and has quite utilized some. She benefits from men in manner that only she understands. Without any clear source of income, she is the owner of the latest fashion in the female circles, some of the most impressionable electronic gadgets.

4. The player

If you thought a male player is the worst thing, think again. Ever been played by a woman? It is the most humiliating thing I know. We are not talking about the case of one woman searching for greener pastures out there when a man fails elsewhere. We are talking about a symptomatic player here. A nymphomaniac. A woman who deliberates stokes up men purely for her sexual fantasies.

She has all the men she needs by the balls. She is believable. You will never discover her secrets. This weekend she is with a Joe. Next weekend, it is Kevo. Next weekend, it is the sugar daddy. Next weekend, it is the yuppie. Next, it is her men in campus. She has a million, believable and convincing lines that she tells all these men and an amazing bedroom prowess that she has learnt to utilize well. Her aim is not the money. Hardly does she request for any material benefits from men. If anything she could be the one loaded and uses her wealth to run and ruin men.

There is a category that combines all of the above. You meet her and you are dining with the devil.