Written, courtesy of #CreativesKenya (new blog alert!)
He bolted. Talk of Usain Bolt sprinting for Jamaica in the 200meters relay, my knight in shining amour of many years also bolted, and never thought to look back. To think that I had a bun in the oven was a predicament he could not decipher. So what he saw best to do, despite the preaching on love he gave that finally made me agree to be his; despite the manifesto he presented to me in the days he claimed he had seen the sole fish in Lake Victoria, he ran. Left me to handle my own pickle as if the sinful deed had been committed by me alone.
Well fellow readers, love is just a fancy word for pain. When an Adonis walks to you and presents his well detailed manifesto -what he will do when you down your tools and let him in- piece of advice, run! Take off and never look back lest you turn into a pillar of salt! Love is an unwanted affair; and sad thing is that this thing called love is quite overrated. Men, when you see that lass who appears to blow your mind away with just one glance, my friend call upon your God and He will answer. Ask him for guidance as you take off like the whirlwind; because love is pain.
A moment of silence for those of us persons that have been lied to; played like mere cards; treated worse than the garbage we trample on every day. As we all take a journey into this amazing world of creativity www.creativeskenya.com , let us all remember that it is only us that can make ourselves better people. Life is full of ups and downs; today you are in school, the next day a long unending strike looms! Thus, stay woke and please yourself where you can. For if you do not, nobody will. Just as my colleagues have decided to come up with #CreativesKenya for you, why not try finding yourself in their awesome articles? They are the best!
It is only in #CreativesKenya where when you feel like your whole world is crumbling before your very eyes, you take a breath then sit down to marvel at creativity! CreativesKenya gives you a tip of better days to look forward to. Read through and get a chance to marvel at how pleasing yourself doesn’t have to include doing what you would have done had you been in a those God forbidden relationships, rather, it shows you that it involves an easy activity such as going through entertaining yet informative articles once in a while! About the bun in the oven, well, check out #CampusSnapshots to find out! www.campussnapshotsblog.wordpress.com
Like student leaders who walk around campus in an air of exaggerated self-importance, unknowingly pretending to be politicians with loads of money, a string of clandes (mostly first years) and the ability to call a press conference, taunt the Vice Chancellor and foolishly proclaim comrade power as the only power that can defeat Kenya power, university beauty pageants are a waste of time, resources, an excuse for organisers to eat student union money and a chance for students to drink their parents money, dance the night away only to wake up in a cloud of hungover wondering how they’ll find 200 shillings to purchase P2 pills.
Where I school, Mr and Miss MMUK fairs are a ridiculous event for lustful dudes, losers and chicks who have no worthwhile activity as a pastime. There’s less of modelling and more of bosom, thigh and booty showing by lady contestants coupled by taunting of those ladies not considered good looking enough or sufficiently endowed to strut in front of horny and useless 1st, 2nd and 3rd years. It’s always a charade my friends. You should hear and see the fellows shouting and cheering a booty gifted 1st year babe, you’d think they are from Pluto and they don’t own or have never seen buttocks.
On male models, I strongly believe no man, even the Queen of Sheba’s descendant should cat walk in front of anyone let alone his lover if she fancies this type of thing. Imagine your son, a bulky 21 year old rugby player in later day K.U, asking over dinner what you did in campus. 49 year old Ben sips from his glass of water, steals a look at his wife before replying, ‘I was a model son. We’d borrow fancy clothes to catwalk in on the runway.’ What a shame!
I have it on good authority, well researched data complete with diagrams that about 2% models are smart enough to be the face of a university as a Mr or Miss University. No offense intended but when an idiot who owns a big booty or a tall dark and handsome man is chosen as Mr or Miss University then that university consists of idiots.
If winners of these fairs have no defined roles, if their presence can’t be strongly felt and if they can’t be the appropriate face of a university, then let the money used in organising the pageants be channelled in research, purchasing of condoms or buying free keg for serious students like me.
This piece was first published in The Nairobian.
I hear that being at Daystar university is heavenly. People like me don’t go there, lest we embarrass ourselves during lunch. In fact, my friend Makori tells me he visited a long time friend of his at Daystar last week.
He says the guy had changed, resembled our president, all bossy, composed and in a well pressed suit with a matching red tie. And no sooner had the clock struck one that this ally of his loudly uttered “ Let’s go for high tea!”
I bet Makori embarrassed himself since he refuses to tell me what his answer was but rather stresses that Daystar isn’t for the common mwananchi. He must have explained that he’s only used to normal tea since high tea contains harmful chemicals… To cut this long story short, high tea means lunch!
You see, us comrades in these normal schools remain hopeful despite the sea of hopelessness we’re in,that one day, while Matiang’i will be cruising through various public universities, perusing through transcripts of each student, he’ll point at our transcripts and declare: Let this one go to Daystar!
Still, that place remains divine. It’s the kind of place where a security guard drives himself in a Chevrolet to the washroom and comes out side by side with the VC, where the guard then requests to drive the VC to his office and eventually bid each other ‘good day, see you at lunch!’
I hear when a student spots a lecturer feeding on a malnourished looking burger, he immediately suggests: Sir, your health is our greatest wealth, let me buy you a healthy meal. And together, they walk (most likely hand in hand) to the school cafeteria- probably has a better name. Boy! Is that school celestial!
Just a day ago, as I was in my kabedsitter in rongai, trying very hard to prove my ‘upishi bora’ prowess to my boyfriend, he made a snide comment “Darl, we should try this sport pesa thing sometime, we’ll earn money enough to go for terrific tuesdays, don’t you think?
I recall calculating what to answer, lest my hand lead to a ‘Kidero you’ve slapped me,’ incident. You know, Matiang’i brought a lot of confusion when he dropped the KCPE bombshell. I tended to believe he had sent my jamaa into turmoil too.
Like an ugly baboon eagerly waiting to snatch a banana, the guy anxiously glued his bulbous eyeballs to me expecting an answer.
These campus males and their addiction to sport pesa! And now considering Cris’s suggestion of ‘us’ trying it out, it is quite obvious that the ladies are having their arms twisted too. Sport pesa is like a single rotten potato in a sack. Once it spoils, it destroys even the good ones in the sack.
Have you sat near a group of young campus men? Nowadays its not about how the Chelsea team needs God but rather how much these boys expect come the end of the day. The betting game is becoming a major crisis in universities since the money being used ‘ni za mama zetu’. It is a pity.
Cris’s provoking maniacal outburst yanked me back to the current situation. I had been so lost in thought i almost forgot that some rat in my house needed a beating.The guy was in a guffaw state, I almost thought he’d go the way of all flesh. In an uncontrollable laughter, he screamed: Babe! I told you we should try! I’ve won the bet!!!
Truly, something ought to be done.