the saturday before the last one, at about 11:30 pm, a friend and I inadvertently walked into a situation.

we were fresh off an attempt to wolf down a ‘bad mexican’ at a midnight cafe. in my case, it was came up too fast up in a projectile by the roadside. alongside walked clearly inebriated youths, howling like mad dogs. i paid them no mind, until minutes later, ahead of us, a fight broke out and died out as first.

we saw some people scatter.

nonchalantly, i was first on the scene.

right on, a lanky fella still in the combat mode, turned and pounced on me. i was instinctively on the defense. he did bother to hear if i was ‘one of them’.

still at it, and absorbing the ambush, a second guy, a gym enthusiast no doubt, leaped at my scruffs hurled me from the pavement over to the road in an attempt to pin me to the ground. my cap was knocked off, but i had stubbornly held on.

as i rose, dusting my hands, i was ready to fight, looked back for my friend and back – up, only to see him fleeing. i exclaimed my surprise, turning back – gym guy now had me fasted by the chest, staring at me with intent.

i was half-expecting a blow, raised my hands in a half gesture of diplomacy, half self-defense.

he held on.

it was under a mulika-mwizi floodlights. he was dark skinned, his eyes pinched with a detachment, and not as much drink as his mate. it is then he picked out his left eye which had a gush as if hit by a blunt object, and a subsequent swelling.

” you did this to me!? ”

still holding me by the scruffs, i knew then that my only shot was the encounter where i had thrown up the ‘bad mexican’ and that it was actually him who teased me on it.

the lanky fellow was now back, leaping over gym guy’s shoulder, trying to head-butt me.

– and so was my friend.

behind me, he pleaded, ‘we have surrendered’.

“surrender nini, hakuna ku-surrender hapa,” lanky fellow charged.

it is then that i picked a third guy, older, about 35, stubby beard, just by the road holding on to a black paper-bag, just watching.

suddenly, i felt gym-guy’s grip ease, followed by a pat on my back

” hawa hawana noma ”  *

pissed off as i was, i could taste freedom.

straight up, i went to for my cap, dusted it as i turned to my boy, who for his stature, we call ‘biggie’

“why did you ran?”

they  were strapped.

epilogue

i felt an icy chill as the magnitude of the situation dawned. not at once did gym guy assault me, only roughing up, perhaps to provoke. they were not after money, or gadgets, just a fight that would likely end up with the victim riddled with lead.

‘biggie’ had scattered when lanky-fellow sized him and decided to fish his ‘number’ instead.

i was the bait.

all the time he looked me in the eye, perhaps he was looking out to see if i was the one.

I was onto one of those random two-three many with a childhood bud, let’s call him T. His friend had a gig as a DJ at some haunt in the Ngara area, Nairobi. This was not my original plan, though. I had reluctantly tagged along from T’s prodding and more so, for lack of a better plan.

Soon, dawn begun suggestively licking the drowsy nightscape. I picked my cue to nudge T into joining the great migration that throngs nippy Nairobi mornings the day after. Well marinated and stubborn as ever, we just managed to moved joints. He said he was intent on grabbing some this or (l)ass.

We ended up in a smoky, stuffy underground spot where I remember following a South American football tournament. A cold Pilsner thrusted my already violated throat and kept the ‘Smokey Robinson’ image in check.

Right across was a lady. Or as they call it nowadays mteke!

She wasn’t particularly a thing of beauty,  but those Gazongas elicited involuntary jaw-dropping. She was serious too, and not an off the mill ‘trapster’. Still, she was worldly and very particular on Stickmatisation which just intensified my interests as she appeared feeery ‘innocent’

All this, I learnt on the second meeting. It was on a random weekday and safely tucked in a corner ideal for canoodling. See, she was full of surprises. This time, she flipped some Chinaman phone and be hold, her glorious preciousness shot from several possible (and impossible) angles appeared in all the graininess pixels could offer!

I almost tilted the table over as levers worked my fulcrum when I peered closely enough –

Man,  even Moses had not seen anything as dense one as that. The bush was stronger on this one!

Don’t ask why I kept on – I dropped enough hints for a smooth course of action, and on a particular Thursday evening, I was to transport the ‘Merchandise‘ home. One liiiiiiiiittle problem. I had about Kshs. 550 /- to my name. The month has taken a particularly nasty turn, but blue balls know no month, rather the many months gone by.

I had to wait for her to leave work (at some cinema) and had planned on hanging about the office until it was time.

All the same, I couldn’t sweep her off straight away to the stage. Tact. So I decided to gamble with one as I waited. She came, and naturally, had to order for her as well. She seemed in no rush. Therefore, even as I drained the last drags from my bottle, I steered the conversation towards leaving.

Then she ordered another.

My balls cringed.

Shortly after, I had only 150 /-  to my name.  Fare for both of us would be Kshs. 200… even as she kept asking what my plan was.

Bang your brains off ya mean?

“Yeah, yeah, we hang around this local, have a few,  dance, at least before dawn…”

She had high heels and the walk to the stage was a painfully slow torture as my mind shuttled between how I’d make up for the fiscal shortage and giving her enough excitable reasons – in case she decided to change her mind mid – stream.

Boy, I dint even have fare back to work the coming day –  but I was fery fery determined that the Syokimau Train spends the night at the Embakasi terminal.

We’re seated on the mat, at about 12:30 pm. It’s one of those late night javs run by a racket intent taking advantage of transport shortage.

————–

Part II, en route.

They say a nigga return, but I never left

It’s been a while.

How I’ve always wanted to say those words.

Just for the personal triumph of leaving a stone unturned.

Has it gathered moss? Are there earthworms beneath, wriggling through a layer of wet, fine red soul so neatly subdued?

Aahh old habits, most of them pensionable, wistfully resting. Dusting them from a store room behind the main house: always a welcome relief.

See, a blogger passes, the blog remains.

Will you blog about it?

It doesn’t feel right to be served supper with a side dish of comments on a post.

No, it wasn’t that bad.

Some evil alter-ego nemesis masquerading as my adventurous self is to be framed.

Speaking of framing, have you ever held an item for so long before finally deciding upon appropriating it a position it deserves?

Yesterday I put up a painting of some African women in song and dance. It was a gift from some quarters. As I stepped back and looked up on the first item I’ve ever hoisted up my wall,  there was a sadness about it. Inexplicable. Perhaps, it was in terms of : is that my only achievement to date?

ffwd >>

Company.

Last interaction, a transaction. Gone wrong.  Circumstance of elephants on the loose, rogue!

In-house.

Sparsely furnished. Minimalist. Ha!- who-am-I-kidding. My place, I mean.

So yeah. Postmortem:  They phone notably on a higher end. Sleek even. Also, on my dressing drawer were coins.

It hit me too late: she counted them.

Every single one of them.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.

_____________________________________

playing: uptown anthem ~ naughty by nature

I want to walk down an umarked street, kicking a misplaced pepsi can, see the end of a street I have never known – think about home. 1 000 0000 miles away.

As far, as exaggerated, I still want to get up, pack, fly…crawl, walk, what- ev for as long as my body fuel can burn, as far as the edge of the planet stretch.

What’s with the look?

Here!

Feel it – my chest. Or the scraggy ribcage.

It’s thumping, right? – heard of the Tum Tum dreams from West Africa?

In my veins, it’s throbbing, like an uncured erection.

Chill.

Hold these thoughts…for me – as i take a leak.

The cig stick dancing on my lips, as I talk to you, holding my brief nut case.

Try to look away, as I unziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

To tell you.

But every once in a while, i get sucked in-

Sucked in the growing mist of self-interested  sessions.

Do you-

Do you remember that night?

The night i called, asked how you doing?

Stated my desire to see you- and talk?

To tell the truth, or something near it- i wanted to:

To rip apart this chest and spread all, before thy blind sight-

Bloody, cuddly and chilling

were the thoughts that mapped my brain.

Pictures of you, ran a gallery in my inside anatomy-

Through the biting cold night, Keeping every part of I, raw and restless.

Now, that night, i told myself, just one more joint, and my eyes will whiten up,  head straighten up and my crisped Guggi (never mind, misspelt Gucci made by Ngugi & Sons Tailors) shirt would appear more crisper. I know you are a neat girl. I like the primness and proper-ness about you. The simplicity in your gaze, the way your eye-liner, probably the most exaggerated make-up on you, slightly touches down on your eyelids and dances off a heavenly radiance. I like your brimless clear glasses, and clear white eyes that roll around with unpretentious intelligence. the small and humble dashy-board – potent with ticklish prickliness (the hugs, hm.).

That night, i crawled tales of hellish desires,

My paws preying on my warm wooden Eastlandoh pet

on which, i spot few blood droplets.

Tonight, for your sake-

I’ll take a hiatus- give those brainless humanoids a ceasing fire:

Only today, i’ll stop being Darwin’s helper-

And I’ll multiply with you, the Nat Geo way.

But i am not, so here we go.

Every semester, there is a student Hostel that literally wikas. That, is, in simple-complex English- IT HAPPENS. Here, you’re either a ‘mamas’ boy (live in School) hostel, or are ‘daring’ enough to live in the jungle called ‘Off-Campus’. I, in all my wisdom, chose the latter- and everyday, i got a tale. Anyway, when i was a freshman, a hostel called Runda,did call the shots.One Friday,a guy hired a whole DeeJaying unit complete with the lights and set up the craziest bashment i had seen. Complete with free drinks and warembo ivi, t’waz the first time i got lucky- though details still remain scant in my memory

However, for most of my stay here, i avoid hot spots. I prefer to feel the heat from outside.

Along came Vegas

Now, as  last Semester drew to a class, word went round, on a new hostel that would have facilities ranging from a swimming pool to a student center- all in one location. It sent jitters, because, since the days of a certain Bright Night hostel (’90s- i was not there!!) , no one had ever built such. I must give props to the marketing skills of this guy, because, soon as Jan Sem came by, all party hoppers were rushing to fill in the rooms – and trust me, they’re all FULL.

Not even the fact that a swimming pool is not about to be built;  everything else compensates for that.

Like PIMP Houses

First, you can survive a whole week here w/out a coin in your pocket and you’ll drink, shag, change clothes, eat and sleep. It’s not as easy as that, but the currency is your people skills.

Vegans, as i’ve noted are whole lot of different students. Life Begins at 8pm EVERYDAY and ends at 8 a.m. the following day. A joke was going about that the owner knew about this that he switches off the generator at 8 a.m., switches it off at 8 p.m., Vegas style. Be it a Wednesday, or Friday, drinks flow and girls do what they do best.

Some other night, i was at this guys crib who has decorated his hall like a Pimp house. The lights are blue and read and a thao and one bulb circle about the room, bed, bathroom – i even wondered if he reads?

But this is Vegas, and classes are as Alien as abstinence on a Stag night.

I have several hundreds word to fill, but i have to rush and check somebody out now.

It’s Friday.

And his name is NewToad.

Observing what group work produces, all the doubts disappear on the possibility of the above. Today, i was listening to a pal who was looking for some information from me. Well, this surprised me as Biggie (the guy), is ever at Pioneer(Campus Makuti Watering Hole). His talk mostly revolves around weed, booze and questions to reality. This day, as he explains, tables had turned, and he was a group leader. Well, i’m not doubting his intelligence but Henry Wanyoike (the blind marathoner) could as well win the Safari Rally. Thinking about the attitude of the rest is another story altogether.

Joy Riders

See, when it comes to group work, campus class experience would teach you to choose your members wisely – in case you are concerned about grades. And most students  are concerned enough to slip in their name and student number (with a biro) when the printed projected paper is to be handed over.

Focused Chaps and the no-nonsense kind

Severally i’ve sneaked in my name under a group i didn’t even belong. Even so, i still hold a certain disapproval for  group work. If you be a lazy bone,it’s easier to get along when you are with some focused chaps, chicks especially, marveling at your ‘carefree’ lifestyle enough to ‘understand’ why you never attend meetings or produce any work. Actually, some go ahead to call you up when the group is meeting – and mostly, the story doesn’t end there. On the other hand, there are no-non sense types that will NOT put up your name if you miss but one group meeting. But some how, guys still navigate through this.

Jokers

As for jokers, when the meeting time is set, all agree and even go ahead to ask about the venue. On the material day, no one turns up and things move on as usual, till the assignment is due. On the eve of that day, some group mates who are pals call each other up and compile something quickly (Via Google) and leave out the cover page (to bear names) for printing, minutes to class time. Incidentally, this is the morning the printer jams, the server is down, or your flash catches a deadly virus and all work is lost.

Lecturers have a list of these excuses, and few hearken to them – but students are students, new excuses prop up by the day.

Other Side of G Work

But there is the other side of group work (not when all are friends- still, nothing gets really done) when you meet new people (read chicks) and things happen. I’ve my best and worst from these and school work and pleasure never mixed better. I’ll tell one of the tales, when the coast is safer.

Oh, and last year, there was a wedding between two lovebirds who met at an Environment Class group. Talk about not changing ‘your environment’.

Group work has some benefits too – besides churning out mediocre stuff (when everyone thinks their idea is the geratest)- especially when small ideas die.

But nothing ever GREAT has ever been born there.

P.S.

Which reminds me, due, was an group assignment which yours truly was to compile and send via email…i’ve just begun thinking about out, procrastination will surely slot it for a good sunny day.
First published here.

The words pierced his ears and wormed their way into his brain, triggering confusing emotions. Thoughts of what lay ahead whipped his sorry-self into jelly, so much that his knee caps clapped.
Without warning, a warm liquid made its way down his short pants, caressed his legs as it streamed down, giving a good-hot feeling that gently lifted his soul- the perfect escape he had..

ATTENTION!

Beret-heads turned, in unison, making a discipline shuffle.

A cold wind whizzed by his bare legs and his eyes, previously lost in the moment, came to life, like stadium flood lights:

A pool had formed below his legs.

Fear, shame inexplicable feelings meshed in his heart, crushed out all his functions, except that to breathe- short, hot puffs that expanded his nose, making it resemble two smoking barrels. Images formed in his shrinking mind, as the sweltering sun scalded his forehead, melting any possible ideas from his buttered mind…

HO—HOOOO!!

A distant command, sounded again and the sound of thumping boots filled the atmosphere before grinding to a sudden halt, raising dust on the clean concrete.

His face, a wedding cake in the rain, fell, as the flag begun to rise.

“Oh, God of all Creatures…” a trembling terrible tenor came alive, joining his heart’s hue and cry-

All faces, taut as the mouth yapped the anthem, were facing upward, in a compelling patriotic union.

On the small puddle beneath, the boy caught a reflection of the flag as it reached the peak of the pole.