boyfulani

A situation among my pals has made me re-think my stand on this HIV thingy.

As this semester unfurled its wing, i was with Ms. S,  Sanchez and his girlfriend in my campus hell hole, playing (light stripping) poker, my eye dancing off Ms. S’s watermellonish chesticles  as she stamped the winning card  on the table . Accelerated by the passing bong, the daring antics started to shift and swing, riding on the care-free mode of highness, the passing hours and the dimming light bulb.

Long and short, Ms.  S. was singular, in the cold.

And so was i.

Well, on the real, the signature never actually soiled the dotted lines. Maybe i was disappointed, may be i wasn’t, but with another party lined up  the following day,  my ‘insured interests’ seemed to be ’safe’.  I had just got to know Ms. S ‘well’ – at least how daring she could be- and the prospect of hitting it off the following day was exciting. (Un)fortunately, the previous day encounter fell off the radar as I shifted my gaze elsewhere.

Consequently,  Ms. S. somehow and some guy (my friend too) who I’ll call Soul Jah hit it off. He lived nearby and for the bro codes’ sake or some thing of the sort, asked for a ‘go ahead’ which i told him not to dare care about.  And well,that was the genesis of the symbiotic r/ship’ which has lasted all through this semester. Many are the times we’d shikisha goks (green Meru twigs) in Soul Jah’s crib as Ms. S. sat by, reading some novel or watching telly…and i won’t lie, the thought occurred to me not once, about  ‘finishing what i had started”- but the sensible me killed it off, halfheartedly (wanaume ni mafisi, i admit)

Long story short; turns out that Soul Jah got the thingy and somehow it passes to Ms. S. who has been so diva-stated she is just stuck at his digs, pretending all is fine. Her talk has suddenly changed. What would you do if you woke up one morning and found that your life will never be the same again?

It’s full of regrets but bears the spirit of moving on…and i don’t like thinking about it all to a certain extent. They are all my friends, and with all confidentiality, it just generates more and more questions as to why! why would you infect someone deliberately?

Other questions that can’t cease crawling in my cranium:

• If  I followed up with Ms. S after that naughty poker, would I be in the bandwagon too? Would I have ‘rescued’ her?
  
• What the hell would i do if i was part of the effing stats?
• Who is to blame? Is it even time to blame or live with the consequences?
  
• When will reality really hit campuserians and they quit this bila-protection adventures?
• Should it in anyway affect our relations?

Enjoying life?

Truth is, as campuserians, we like calling it ‘living life to the fullest’: waking up next to someone whose name you can’t recall, use protection for a while, then quit, get singing in the choir  (combi) recklessly…and when we discover tuna-enda, spread it all around mercilessly.

See, guys generally tend to rush over this topic as if it only happens to ‘other people’.  Nobody wants to admit that labda last weekend, alienda ka-dive (sex bila socks). We all want to appear squeaky clean and sometimes, depending on the level of intoxication, we, either out of guilt or floating in the feel-good rafters of alcohol, suddenly declare that they did it without one, severally-  kwani? We hide under theories of realities and realities mask our own insecurities through justifications like how it  is easier to catch HIV from your campus girlfriend than  in a brothel?

And it rages on and on, until you discover, that one among you, is the killer.

Or, you’re one of them.

I reported to campus early and it is not a beautiful story. Save for the sight of freshmen who look fly coz they are simply fresh and are reducing like snow caps on Oloibon peak plus endless hours before the computer (i like this) and getting stoned with abandon, there is a lot more not to write home about.

Er, whatever i meant there.

See, after a December, full of decadence and rot, i decided to go clean on New year.This was nothing like a resolution, just a resolve. For this, i decided to teleport my ass down to ocha to ‘cool off my heels’. In the process messed up some of my die hard party pals big time but that’s a story for another day altogether.

Meanwhile at the United States of Ocha, i tried to make the best of my time there with my old older man relaxing where unaware who i be (sight issues,age, world catching up, ha)…and shosh looking like i was her lastborn. Man, i was having a blast. Waking up at 11, hot milk, yams, CNN and a warm sweater with the insitenst drizzle riddled with midday sunshine. the smell of farm freshness- cow dung, oh!…and i thought i was really mooning the world- with all my addictions for…foregone?

Well, every morn, i had to travel a village up to the nearest shop for my morn puff. On one of these trips, i met one of my lost Cuzos and life took another turn. No longer was village life its cliche-self. Though not as ‘evolved’, i realised that this was a Cosmo all by its own. I was particlarly disturbed by the scenes and people that i encountered.

First, there was the brew which was a mixture of all cheap spirits on earth which was then packed and sold in 20bob and 40bob plastic bottles (formerly of Kane Extra, Kenya King, Amazon, Monalisa…funny brands). I didn’t touch that. Then the old mzees i would call dad, all drunk, disorderly, many teeth missing hassling my for a ‘ka-loosta’ was a bit too much for the conservative in me to handle. The guys who i grew up with, those who we stole sugarcane pamoja all looked trodden and not that i am better..but if i really had not rocketed out, yours truly would still be zero grazing. Altogether, nothing withstanding, i was still able to have fun, talk and exchange ideas (don’t ask which) though my vernacular is getting rusty.

Before long, the cycle, like that of bar stool tales, it grew stale on me and i had to escape…

Into other dimensions- places less frequented, like valley with a river flowing and a  bridge in the form of huge water pipes (Chania Water- which supply the whole of Nairobi, i hear) where u could stay on and watch the big river roar by.

Ultimate, escape!

With my reefer, notebook, cigs and sunglasses, time just stood still…or moved too fast.

With the next post, i’ll begin with the hot milk and weeded cake tale, mad, i tell ya!

I once joked to someone that i schooled in Machakos Technical School. Since then, the name has stuck in my head like mshuto ya duck-billed platypus!
Maaaaaaaaan!
It makes me laugh even as i like to hate on my days here sand-witched between rocks, rock hyraxes and multi-colored geckos. Talk about going to a campus under a Municipal called Mavoko..er, wait.. you think i am hating?
Dad’s actually a joker. And a hater while at it. Looking back at the school’s he has had me enrolled, i think this trend is too coinciding to ignore. In high school, our tap water supply came from slopes of Killimanjaro, just before Loitoktok township. We were a cool 100km (approx.) away. The ‘fun’ part came when the plastic pipe burst and rich as Olkejuado County Council was (noticed a trend here???) it took two months to repair them – how many constituency/municipals have a heli-pad, save a helicopter…to fly over and find, fix the leak?
Thanks God we were a complete parade of…well, boys!
Otherwise, remember the stench that they say stinks heaven high? (I am not pointing fingers)
So, basically, i don’t need a red Mau-Alert from Mau-kind (Kenyans) to conserve water: nilijua ku-survive na chupa ya 1.5 Litres ya maji kufanyia yafuatayo: kupiga passport (eyes,ears, only), ku-brush meno,kunyunyizia hankie alafu unajigusa makwapa nayo..kiaasi tu, kufua colla ya shati pekee, kuoshea plate….sare tu.

Hapa in Masaku Tekniko the highlight of my days was when i sat next to woman with a bunch of hens on those Masaku buses and the resistance to look sideways was overcomed by, well, curiosity…and right there squarely on my nose was the warm, wet chicken’s..er, behind!

~Mind-less.