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.

Is he nuts, no- he’s insane!
Right now am as high as hell. Getting to where I am is hell by itself. This post doubles up as my highest post…as yet.
Eminem’s relapse is playing in the background….helping me accomplish my drunken chronicles,
As yet.
In between sips of refreshing twenty bob h2o, I could need another rush of bagpipes from Bhang-dad.
Really, I had such a mind-fucking day.It was the the first time I admitted I love-d someone. Really, I do.
Ask me when I am sober, and I am sober sure, I will confirm that.
Why?
I have the least of ideas. Why the heck, i don’t even care.
It’s simple, yet complex.

Like how i had such a gisty comp, in a dark back street chum.

Back to love.
I wonder why we complicate it with theories strapped with our bitter pasts.
Yeah, been there…and I know realities of life do kick hard as an electrocuted ass…as our as wheels of time spin. But yes, hell yeah, as sure as I am high, so do I love someone.
We never text, call…whatever, but we met today: by mere coincidences of my plan B-ullshit stunts.
As I knocked, lost in thought at the affluence of those South D flats, I had no idea I would scribble this tonight. I had my friend in tow, and her little sister who distracted my newspaper reading moments – I admit, I’m an information addict. Later on, time did catch us staring, mouth agape at the Kenya Burning Book…displayed on a Kwani stand…Yep, was at some book fair and the presence of so many book minded souls sure gave me a wooden hard on…no-need-ta-save-the-mau-if-this-is-what-we-get…but hey, that’s not where I be driving at. In fact, we were cruising in mats, all expenses paid, till the deep-hearted moment came….er, I mean, departing…saying goodbye?
She didn’t want to let go….ah, kitu ka hiyo: hi mneno yu nichanganya kiasi: the only thing am sure…
Is that when soberness doth dawn on my court, I’ll be saying: what the hell was I high on?

Ghettogolfer-word of the day.

This word has been stuck in my mind like the stench of cham. I think i picked up in those random mindless talk that dot the chattering box (Kenyan radio).

So, i pictured myself as this ghetto golfer…and the whole outfits starts fitting on, not perfectly, but just in the awkward way things always look in the Ghetto.

Nothing is ever original. If one has a really gisty phone, so many phony details scream out at you once it rests on your palm. Some day, in one of those drinking session at some random backstreet back in the hood when on Pita chomoad an iphone and all our mouths were like: Whoa…

But later on, we had a reason to laugh out loud over the discovery. Wait, it wasn’t really the kawa fake-ass China iPhone…but as he tried to fiddle it over and make it work, its shortcomings were enough to make you make love to you Kabambe or Mulika mwizi ata bila gloves, ha!

I mean, you know those phones unaombanga beshte yako akuokolee na call alafu anaanza tu zile za:Finya 3 na nguvu…space bar huwa haiwork, ha!

Stori na kwambia!

Anyway, kenye imeni-inspire nichore hii risto ni mshe-fulani tumepatana na yeye this week amenimada kima da ga…wawawa!

Ushaiona roho ya ghettoboy ikobonyeka tu ka andazi ya ashu pale ivi base ya jenga mwili?

Time ka hizi ndo mi huseti tu ki-kolo [mbo] kwa keja, mkono ndani ya chest na-count nywele za chest tu alafu ma-ol’s school bluuz zi-na whisper from my ka-palito..bru ha ha ha…

Hii story bado hai-jasink, bado mie tu nacheki tu ka ita-flow vitamu alafu niwamwagia mtama, au vepe?

Meanwhile, checki checki hizi ma-lyrics za Bishop ujiseti kwa scale…

U know u ghetto (dont be ashamed )
U ghetto
U ghetto ( dont be ashamed )
U ghetto
U know u ghetto

[Bishop]
U know u ghetto when you got rats and roaches
With the fan in the window, front door wide open
U know u ghetto when u say “I aint offended”
Change the channel with some pliers, got a hanger for a antenna
U know u ghetto eatin chicken everyday
With color weave in your hair and you trickin for a pay
Gold teeth in your mouth
Out talkin loud
And the car that you drive cost more than your house
U know u ghetto when your job is illegal
Live in the projects with furniture like rich people
U know u ghetto when you cook with lard
Only credit that you got is your food stamp card
U know u ghetto when you own section 8
Have dues everyday, but you pay your bills late
Understand this song, get your jam on
And yo grandma whip you with whatever she get her hands on

[chorus]
[lil kids (Bishop)]
U know u ghetto ( look at the way you walk)
U ghetto ( c’mon, listen to how you talk)
U ghetto ( look at the clothes you wear)
U ghetto ( haa, look at that style of hair)
U know u ghetto

[Bishop]
U know u ghetto pickin boogers and you flick ‘em
And eat with your hands stead of washin ‘em, you lick ‘em
You dont know your daddy
And your hair nappy
People catch the Holy Ghost in church gettin happy
U know u ghetto call the crib your house
Be at funerals screamin, fightin, then fall out
U know u ghetto sellin clothes that you stole
And when you go out it’s like a fashion show
U know u ghetto with a name like Shaniqua
Pookie, Red, and Peanut puttin codes in your beeper
When you hear stuff, helecopter, city bus
????? straight out of the ice cream truck

[chorus]

[Bishop]
U know u ghetto only shop when there’s a sale
Late everywhere you go with an excuse to tell
U know u ghetto when you pee outside
Catch bronchitis, get ?????? and sleep tight
U know u ghetto when y’all stealin cable
Cussin and DJin on underground radio
Sayin Yo’ Mama jokes
Fightin on talk shows
Matress against the wall
Aint no frame, it’s on the floor
U know u ghetto with dreads, ????, and braids
Weave, colorful nails, afros, ??????, and ?????
U ghetto, wont pay back money that you borrow
And wearin an outfit you gon’ return tomorrow
U know u ghetto bettin on a number
Usin words like “Uhh-huh”, “Naw”, and “Uhh-uhh”
Stead of “Mom” you say “Ma”, stead of “Dad” you say “Da”
You see nickel stores, bar-b-cue stands, and laundromats

[chorus]

[Bishop]
U know u ghetto punchin aint playin house right
Your kids bare foot playin outside
Eat food of the ground, say “God, bless the church”
Let your kids drink beer talkin bout “It gives ‘em worms”
U know u ghetto borrowin your friends clothes
Ran out of water supplies from people next door
U know u ghetto heat the house with the oven
And anybody famous from the hood your cousin
U know u ghetto cussin out your teacer
And when somethin happen your mama screamin “Lord Jesus!”
When you use street knowledge
Graduate from school and go to jail instead of college
U know u ghetto bar-b-cuein every holiday
Pizza man wont even deliver around your way
Whjere the gang hang out, cornerstore hang out
Mom’s at the gas station beggin for some change now

When i was fresh off Fourth Form and the words of my ‘former’ teachers suddenly started to re-sound true a new world  was opening up.

Not in the sexy way you imagine your dream girl undressing her perky package: NAH!

You’ve all been there done that, i know, and i am not about to repeat it…not again, tsk.

But see, i miss my days in Eden.

I miss the days when all was naked and no Hehe-cum-Majimaji ‘uprisings’ ever took place. The days when the nanny would tell me to undress and i would strip-hip-hop naked without.

I mean, what happened to the innocence? Was it lost forever like the virginity of many girls i know?

Is it retrievable?

I was going through my junk when i came across this passport photo taken when i was about to join High School.

I had only one conclusion: in all the necessary orifices, life has really done me in!