I reach for my phone in the back pocket, press the menu button and the screen lights up. The time is 3:46pm. All this a waste of effort had I been an owner of a wrist watch, I would have avoided. But we all know those that sell for about 300 Ksh have a lifespan of about two weeks, and getting an authentic Rolex is beyond my financial capability. I look in front and there’s still a good number of people.
I had been standing here for the past 2 or so hours under the tropical solar. The coastal humidity gave that feeling of suffocation. Why did I have to wait till today? I kept asking myself. Answering this seemed tougher than facing an examination paper set and supervised by some no-nonsense professor who thinks the only way his superiority can be recognized is by making a comrade’s life a living hell. But it wasn’t my fault that I was here today. Definitely not these others’ too. The last minute rush, could be, but not the whole thing. Let’s just say being a victims of circumstances.
Someone thought he was Snowden and decided to infiltrate some unwarranted systems. Since the extent of the breach couldn’t be established, everybody was supposed to present his exam pass to the finance office where the CPA holders after consulting their other books of accounts will rubber-stamp the pass and sign it. Now you know why these campus ladies and gentlemen were standing in a line at a place other than the school mess.
There were 2 queues. One was under a shade and somehow moving faster. I had joined this one initially but had to change stations. The dude in front of me was smelling like my grandma’s bearded he-goat. The stink of his sweat, YUCK! How do you afford a 19,000 Ksh infinix smartphone, get a pinky girlish cover for it and a power bank but the thought of buying deodorant and a bottle of cologne doesn’t hit you? You don’t have to go for an expensive Armani that the Kardashians’ better halves use. A cheap stuff within your means, dictated by HELB and Sportpesa handouts is good enough, provided it serves it’s purpose. And please Mr. he-goat, brush your teeth in the morning if you can’t after every meal.
I change queues, and there is a huge contrast between the two. This was full of ladies, the beautiful ladies. Those who dressed with an only intention of feeding my ever hungry eyes. Damn! This was always an excellent way of crushing my ego. I always look but I can’t touch. That feeling of helplessness that then sets in is worse. Starting a conversation with them is always kinda difficult, especially in such a place where there were people from all walks of life (different faculties). Should the ladies decide to turn down my advances in a manner likely to suggest I was below them in the food chain, there is no corner of the institution where I could get to unnoticed. Say negative publicity doing its job. And did you know that girls in a pack tend to be snobbish than usual? That’s why I just restricted my addiction to observation only. The fragrance of their perfumes was wow! Though I’m sure I smelt that scent of my washroom’s air freshener on some girl. But at least this was an effort. Hope the he-goat could learn a thing from her. She gave me homesick, or should I be saying washroom sick (pun intended).
It’s normally during such moments, when I’ve known that the prey is beyond my reach, that I look for something else constructive to do, like stalk my crush and exes altogether while deliberating on their pro’s and con’s. Seems stupid but believe you me, it’s a good way to kill time. But here under the sun, it wasn’t possible. It was proving very difficult to look at the telephone screen under the summer sunshine. But being the up and coming creative writer I am, I use such settings as an avenue to get my stories, or maybe part of a story. Analysis on the different fashion sense of some ladies in long dresses or multicolored swimming trunks (tight pants) and you have almost 450 words, 300 on their make ups and wigs, and you will only require 250 words to describe how they walk on those heels. Our 1000 worded article is ready in under 30 minutes of research.
But today, there was some sweet story, sweeter than how some lady tripped with a 6″ heels and in the process of obeying the various laws that lay the foundation of physics, such as lowering centre of gravity increases stability, she exposed some of her nether regions. The girls at my back were saying something about their friend, Mary, who after consuming one too many, confessed that her mother is a night runner back in Homa Bay County. Did I say that correctly? she confessed that her mother IS A NIGHT RUNNER after two tots of mnazi (Champagne expertly crafted from coconut). I was also shocked as you are now. I almost turned around and ask “ni ukweli?” but that would have killed the story there and then. This was like sitting down to watch your favorite series on a long weekend (weekends are never long though). You wish that that’s not the last episode. That was the case here. I listened without interrupting lest they question my manhood for listening to girl talk…
*To be continued*