“I’m rolling like shiyieet!” Njeri’s characteristically sassy, hoarse voice was pouring out Caleb’s phone that is by default too loud for the next guy to eavesdrop into the conversation comfortably.
“There are no funny plans. It is just a weekend out, no hanky-panky…” Caleb was pleading as he was wading through the Saturday morning traffic along Jogoo Road.
“No. I am in a bad shape and nursing the mother of all hangovers, I won’t be ready by 2.” Njeri said firmly. Caleb’s face went foul with disappointment written all over his face.
See, Njeri is that rare Kiuk lady who is sexy. Kiuk ladies are mostly pretty, never sexy or shapely-no beef, so Carol and Anne, spare me any argument-at least by consensus. Njeri is an exception. Every straight dude I know has ever stated a wild desire to bed her. Just a week ago we were getting smashed at Delta, I saw a nigger caressing her bum asking her in a low voice if she had anything under…
Njeri. She would have been good company, but she was not coming along. It was a painful fact, at least to Caleb and the trip was turning out to be what he had not anticipated…
Winding it down at Naivasha
Saturday 25th June 2011
This is the day that I officially finished campus. I was confused. Clearing out was proving to be impossibly difficult given that I was due to get a house. Hence Saturday Morning I was in the Eastlands trying to get a roof over my head, but to this later.
My last semester in campus was frantic to say the least. It started at the peak of reinstating SONU. The SONU constitution was being reviewed and the process was no significant difference with what happens when the stupid and illiterate councilors meet. The old annoying Luo-Kikuyu rivalry was always rife. Fists were exchanged. There was nothing intellectual ever exchanged or something targeting the welfare of students. It was always about money and who should control it.
These meetings were wasteful and frustrating as individuals turned up high on bad stuff. After delivering the constitution, it was time to start the preparations for the elections. It was a time consuming process and milked life out of most of us. Money was the bottom line. The stakes were pretty high.
Soon I plunged into a very short-lived relationship that had a quick courtship process and an even quicker separation after discovering some secrets that can get people killed elsewhere. When a beautiful woman comes easy, be wary. So much for believing and trusting what women say against my often correct instinct? Next term papers were upon me and the exam beckoning. So there was never a dull moment in the semester and I didn’t see the final day coming too soon.
So it was only in order for me to find the best way of wrapping my four years in campus.
In the preceding two weeks, my extremely wicked friend Caleb had conceived a plan. The plan was that we pick a few beaus from school, go to Naivasha and get smashed. I readily agreed, in spite the worst timing possible given the financial constraints and the inconvenience of having to move out of campus pronto. But a good plan it was.
The ladies in question here were my classmates who have been good friends to me; a few like this blog and we have generally maintained a good rapport for the four years though they spent their first three years pursuing CPAs and all of them are certified accountants. It was one of those outings that anything goes, but due precautions were already playing out. The plot was, get all the liquor from HAFCO, order the juiciest goat meat possible down at Naivasha and go camping at Cray Fish for a night.
At exactly 4 pm, we were gathered around Hall 12 getting into the three cars driving us down. Am cut from my boys, Bon-I and Paul but I’m safe and comfortable around this unfamiliar partying crowd.
The ladies were full of expectations from the outing just as much as the men. The expectations of course varied. During such outings, there are always those who desperately need a shag anywhere, anyway. There are those who simply want to go and have fun; food, drinks and drugs and that is it. And there are those who don’t know exactly what is it in for them. The lot that can turn up in that part of the month.
With the rides ready, money in our pockets, and the psyche within, we got into the rides and proceeded down with Caleb, and chap called Joel and Moha behind the wheel.
I instantly hated this Luo dude who was behind the wheel. A fat spoilt kid, who looked, sounded and even smelt obnoxious. Whilesome of my closest friends are Luos, I have a specific aversion to the overbearing flamboyance that really pricks my nerve. His name was Mohammed. Moha is Christian. I pointed out to my homeboy Moseti that Moha looked the type who if denounced sex by a chick might resort to abusing her that she is ugly. I knew from the word go that Moha was going to be our trip’s undoing. And I was right. He nearly killed us in his car but thankfully again saved our lives…we will come back to this.
The mood was buoyant as Moha drove down with all the zeal he could muster, thumping his chest, Lord he could hurt it. We were only three men in the car against the five women. The third man is a young, inordinately shy guy who kept quiet all along. So it was me and Moha doing all the talking and trying to keep the ladies entertained. We faired on fairly. But, given we had never interacted with Moha, we were both cautious but the trip was uneventful until we met some policemen in some corner down at Limuru with a new digital speedometer that can tell from a far how fast a vehicle is moving. The cops ripped us some Ksh 500 which parted with very fast, because we couldn’t wait to get to Naivasha…Dusk was upon us.
We got to Naivasha and parked in town as we searched for someone to grill the meat for us. We opened the beers and the party started right there along the highway. I obtained some cigarettes for me, already I could feel that something was going wrong and the only way I can regulate my nerves is to smoke. Smoking has a funny way of calming my nerves, unbelievable as it may sound.
We proceeded to Cray Fish where it was bound to happen. As we waited for the grill, we got playful, chasing each other around in the chilly biting weather. With my height, I carried them around, all of them were actually petite and don’t even look quite 20. It was a good evening and all the alcohol was registering well in our bloods. The mouths were getting free. At some point, we were engaged in conversation with Happy, a chick whose company I have hankered many a time only that lately she has been on hard stuff and it seems it getting into her head. The conversation was deep, really questioning the value of 8-4-4 after finishing quite successfully.
I was doing my cigars quite well, minding my own business, unduly preoccupied by the tough non-student days ahead. The Luo who outnumbered us were doing quite a bad job of ensuring a good mood prevails. They were trying to carry us as baby (forgive the direct translation) as if we had not paid for our fun. This touched on my monumental ego and I was out of the picture completely.
Then came Sunday on our way back and Moha chose to be a nuisance. Having drunk all the beer and hard stuff he was too intoxicated to accept that he was high, yet he was supposed to drive us back. He had developed a liking for Lauryn, a sweet, petite young girl in our midst who is instantly likable. He couldn’t even start the car, and the chicks in the ride all decided to change the cars leaving me with Moha, Jack and a certain George who was too high that he thought we were in Kisumu.
Moha was greatly affected by the desertion that he decided to prove a point to these ladies that he was a man and he was still capable of driving back. Whenever someone does something to prove point to someone else, something is bound to happen. In this case, Moha was hitting the bumps and blaming the breaking system. The car was a very light Noah, yet he was doing 140. It was God at work. At the time I was trying to tell him,
“Omera, bed’mos”, he was arrogantly telling me that Omera, I’m the one driving. I gave up. It was only a matter of time. As we hit the Highway, he was speeding so fast that he did not see the traffic ahead of us. There was a bump far away and he was accelerating fast towards joining the many vehicles in the light jam occasioned by tracks. As he was breaking to cross the bump, he could break fast enough and he rammed into the next car, while trying to avoid the accident, he swerved and on the side of the road was a deep slope but thankful to his experience he managed to regain fast enough to get the car back to the sidewalk. The man whose car was knocked turned out to be an unreasonable character, but given his age and the drunken state of Moha, he was excusable. For the small, negligible dent, wanted Ksh 5000…Moha told him to go to hell and caused really a show in Naivasha town in the lazy Sunday afternoon.
This potentially ruined the generally good time that I couldn’t account for what might have transpired the previous night. Anyway, we got to the Delamere and ate more goat meat, all of us quiet of what had happened…Thank heavens we got to Nairobi and that wrapped our life as undergraduates in Kenya’s best University…
Settling in the Eastlands
The decision to settle in the Eastlands didn’t come easily. See, I was born in Lang’ata, grew up in Kibera before abruptly moving to the countryside where I did both my primary and secondary schooling. I have lived in Kibera, Dagoreti Corner, Kiserian and Ngong Road. I have never had anything for the Eastlands. I loathe the Eastlandz. In fact, prior to my settling there, I can count with my feast how long I had visited those sides.
I had searched for houses in Zimmerman and Roysambu. I had been to my favourite and dream place; Dagoreti Corner. It proved to be too expensive for me to afford. I was back to Roysambu and Zimmerman and did get some decent diggs at very convenient place but Eastlands was beckoning…
I talked to my godfather, and a man I always turn up to when I fail to comprehend women, Wizzy. Wizzy was anti-Eastlands and for him, I’d rather fake it in B in a single room until I get a bearing. I picked opinion from all the friends and folks whose opinion I so much value and weighed all the options and Eastlands was the only one left.
The commonest question was, “Where would you be telling your fly Mamaz you stay…certainly not Eastlandz, or where would you be hanging out…where would you be passing with your laptop…?
Anyway, I’m the Eastlands, from where I will keep running this blog as we depart from campus and settle for more mature stuff and content. Keep it up here. But how do you hit on chick in the hood…?