The music is so loud and inviting and with every young person in the club dancing themselves out as though they are shooting a porno but with clothes on. Again, Caro hadn’t mentioned that I had to dance like this, and, I don’t even know how to dance. Thanks to my strict and Christian upbringing, dancing was only allowed in church, and the only kind of dancing involved was the clapping of hands while swaying gracefully from left to right.
My alter ego is over excited. She wants to drink herself silly, strip off some clothes and shoes before jumping on the dance floor as the crowd cheers her on to shake her body like a snake. She’s thinking out loud,
‘If this is how all campus club scenes are like, I surely have been missing out on a lot!’
“Of course you’ve been. Wait till you check out the VIP. It’s awesome! Come on.” Caro shouts amidst the heavy loud house music before leading me up the stairs into the unknown world.
There’s a lot of beer, wine, food and a smoking zone at a far corner by the balcony. I have tasted almost all these kinds of drinks before, but never gone beyond tasting. I am always hearing a couple of my friends talk about how they go to these kinds of clubs, get high and the next morning; they find themselves with nothing on but their birthday suits cuddling next to a guy they know nothing about. I don’t want to become another 'It also happened to me' story teller, but I surely want to experience this kind of stuff now before I’m all grown and tired, or before the mid-life crisis turns me into an old impulsive and irresponsible teenager.
Looking around, I am in my own world. Everyone is busy making a fool at themselves without showing any shame. They all seem to have everything in-order; all except a designated driver. But since I do not know how to drive, I choose to join in and have weird fun.
“I see that the nerd's having a time of her life!” Shout Sera as she hands me another glass of wine.
I want to say something back to her, but I know it might kill her to hear the truth, so I leave and sit by myself at a corner. The music is blaring loud, everyone is acting wild and dancing their minds off, but here I am, watching it all from a distance. How I wish I had a camera to record this and years later, I could use the tape to blackmail them.
Suddenly, someone startles me from the back. I turn. He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen…or has the drink started taking control over me. His dark chocolate skin, his sparkling white teeth and his well toned and firm biceps are a total turn on. He looks exactly like my future husband.
“Want to dance?”
“No thank you.”
“No thank you? No one says no to me.”
He grabs me by the hand and starts pulling me to the dance floor. On a normal day I would kick him and shout at him for his lack of manners. But tonight, the alcohol content in my body embraces his behaviour as an act of being a macho guy who knows what he wants and how to get it. My half empty glass of wine falls to the floor and breaks into tiny pieces. A few of the people around look but continue with their business. He doesn’t know how to take it slow, and in no time, he’s placing his hands all over me, forcefully pulling me closer to him and aggressively struggling to lock his smelly drunk mouth with my innocent supple virgin lips. I try to fight him but there’s no way I can even pull myself away or him far from me. I want to scream but what difference would it make. The only thing that could bring this crowd to a standstill would have to do with a nasty cat fight between best friends who've been dating the same guy, the DJ playing Barry White's ballads or, a misunderstood Somali guy pulling out a gun and start shooting randomly at the crowd.
Slowly by slowly, I can feel my arm getting numb and my mind clogging, like I am losing myself to him. I have no idea what I should do.
‘Please God; let me not be another front page headline at school.’ I start praying.
I pull myself to the floor and start biting and scratching his arms. He splashes his drink all over me and slaps me. As I lie on the floor, I see another guy come to my defense and start a fight with him. A small crowd gathers around. I start getting the feeling I always get whenever I am about to pass out; the feeling that everything is at par, serene, quiet and beautiful. Caro comes, pulls me up to my feet and takes me outside with the help of Sera and another girl. I must have switched from being conscious to unconscious a couple of times before I finally breathed some fresh air.
This is not new to me. I have passed out countless times. At times in very weird places such that people thought I was possessed, others thought that I was dead. I have had people feed me spoons as though I was having an epileptic attack; others have stripped me naked while others have grabbed the opportunity to give me an unnecessary mouth to mouth. But the most memorable moment has to be when my teacher slapped me and I passed out, and all she said was,
“Wachana naye, ataamka akimaliza kupumzika.”
The only person who knows how to administer first aid to me is Caro.
“Are you alright?” She asks me.
A couple of other girls and one gentleman join us outside. I am feeling much better now that I have somehow been resurrected, and have puked almost all of the alcohol I have been gulping down over the past few hours.
“What happened?” The gentleman asks.
Though it’s a bit dark, I can tell that he’s really handsome, not beautiful as the first. Beautiful men are either immature, or gay. He’s dressed casually; fitting pair of blue jeans, an untucked shirt with the first button unbuttoned and, a loosely hanging tie, as though he was interrupted while in the process of hanging himself. But maybe I was seeing my own things. After having drowned down all of those free drinks, every man I come across seems to look gorgeous.
“Are you okay?” He asks of me while holding up my chin and taking a closer look at my small bruise on my forehead.
“You should have this checked.”
“It’s nothing…I don’t feel any pain.”
“I doubt if she can feel any pain when she’s this drunk.” Sera adds.
We remain outside for a while. The mystery guy leaves in accompaniment of Caro. She later returns with two bottles of wine and we start drinking again. I can feel my head getting lighter as my eyes keep getting heavier by the minute, but the drink wins; it even starts tasting sweeter.
“Who does that guy think he is anyway? Isn’t he old enough to be someone’s husband yet he can’t keep his zip closed for a second?” One of the girls asks, sneering.
“Weren’t you guys dating? You were so in love!” Quips Sera. She is becoming irritating by the minute, or maybe this is the real her, the Sera that I have never got to know.
“That’s not what I would really call dating. We were only fooling around, having some fun…you know he’s rich and everything but, he’s so damn lousy in bed. I couldn’t stand the torture.” She responds in defense.
“But I hear he’s such a player. If he’s as bad as you say, how does he afford to pull it off?” Caro asks.
“There’s this theory that such guys prefer doing a hit and run on chics so that none of them sticks long enough to unravel the truth.” I chip in.
“What about you Sera, what’s your story? I know you messed around with him after we broke up.”
“You had a thing with him didn’t you?” Caro rephrases the question. She thinks that she is Oprah, and that she can make anyone confess of their dirty past.
She doesn't respond. It’s obvious that she is in love with the guy, and these girls are hurting her by blabbing about his lack of bedroom expertise.
“No, and yes. I liked him alright, but that doesn’t mean that I have wet dreams about making love with him.” Her tone tells that she is hurting. One of the girls walks behind her and puts her arms around her shoulders, hugging her from behind.
“Girl, look at you! You shouldn’t be crying over that douchebag. You’re so lucky you didn’t have to go through a torturous night as some of us did.” She reassures her.
“You know what we should do? How about we hit him up?” Caro suggests.
“What's on your mind? You are not talking about creating a new diary of mad black women, are you?” The girl hugging Sera asks.
“Of course not, we are ladies. We should do something less scandalous, but more damaging.”
“No. I don’t want to be a part of any of that. What if we get arrested?” Sera asks. Obviously, her love for the guy is insanely deep.
"I have an idea. How about we slash his tires? That's less scandalous and a bit damaging right?"
"No, that's not right. I can't let you do that." Sera argues.
She instead removes a pen knife from her miniature clutch bag and walks to the guy's car. We can't see what she's doing but it doesn't take her long. She comes back breathing heaving, all smiles.
"That was less scandalous, more lady-like, and at least, he won't be taking any chips-funga with him tonight.
On Tuesday morning during the mid-morning Screen Writing lecture, I receive an SMS from a new unsaved number. My phone has the worst and most irritating monophonic ringtone such that I prefer to keep it on silent mode than disturb the peace of those around. The lecturer seems agitated, everyone is.
“Whose phone is that?” He asks.
Everyone turns and looks at me. For so long I used to feel embarrassed especially since everyone had the latest high tech phones, but, with time, I got over it, stopped caring.
“Neema, you understand what that means right?” The lecturer asks.
I nod, and the lecture continues.
Dr. Mutua came up with this very stupid rule that whenever your phone rings in class, you should bring a packet of Éclairs sweets in class during the next session. He’s also the kind that awards attendance and class participation marks. That aside, he has this tendency of always giving surprise CATs whenever he discovers that a student he dislikes has missed his lectures. Now I am torn in between missing the next session so as not to bring the packet of sweets, of which would lead me into missing out on his impromptu CAT, or showing up empty handed and having to explain why I shunned his punishment.
I have no idea where I will get the money to buy the sweets. I am broke! The last meal I ate was the day before yesterday, and that was at Sera’s place. I have an intuition that she may have put something on my plate, for it just didn’t seem right for her to be so nice to me. Furthermore, like every other month, I am behind rent. This morning, I had to make sure that I leave my home early enough so that I don’t cross paths with the landlady. All day long, I would have to fill time either in the library or in Caro’s room till its pitch dark and the landlady is gone. Like the good girl that I am, I am impatiently waiting for my father to send me money. I know I should give him a call but I don’t want him to give me another migraine with his speech.
Dr. Mutua gets a call and excuses himself from class. I check the text. It’s from Dru, the guy who rescued me from the womanizer who almost took advantage of me over the weekend.
‘Hi beautiful, it was nice meeting you. Would you mind catching up over a cup of coffee?’ -Dru
I want to type in YES and press the SEND button immediately. Only God knows the extent at which I am starving. If I don’t eat soon, or have that cup of coffee, I’ll be paving way for others to eat what I should have eaten in life as they come to pay their last respects and back-bite me during my funeral.
I don’t want my response to portray me as being cheap. But I really need some food, maybe a cup of coffee and some cake wouldn’t be a bad idea. But how I wish he had asked me out for lunch, or dinner!
If I consult with the girls, I know they will mislead me. I have heard them say that the reason a guy keeps in touch after 3 days is to follow the example of Jesus. Jesus started his mission at 30 years, resurrected Lazarus after he had been announced dead for three days, was tested three times by the devil, was denied three times by Peter and rose from the dead on the third day. That's why a man should take three days before calling a girl in order to have a clear conscious as to whether he is being tested or, if he's going to be rejected. A girl too shouldn't abruptly respond to his requests. She should wait for at least 1 week before replying, or giving him an answer. If not, she should wait for him to make a follow-up call, for 7 is a number of perfection. If he can patiently wait for the death of her silence throughout this time, then, he's very likely to be her almost perfect match.
By following this theory, it’ll seem as though I am after a relationship, which I am not. I am only interested in a guy friend: a guy friend who can buy me a good meal or, maybe help me out with some cash. In return, I can voluntarily offer him the privilege of meeting nice college girls and doing whatever he wants with them.
As Dr. Mutua walks back in, I hurriedly respond to the message;
'Hi Dru. Been a minute. Coffee sounds great! Let me check when I'll be free and I’ll let u know.’
I press the send button.
The lecturer comes back in and apologises again. I wonder whether I should have apologised for having had my phone ring in class. As he gets started, I hear a similar tone as that of my phone. Everyone looks at me and starts laughing. The lecturer walks towards my desk with a dark frown on his face and asks,
“Should I make them two packets or what?”
I want to apologise, but I shouldn't apologise over by-laws that Charles Dickens referred to as an ass. After all, that is a dictatorial rule that he implemented without first consulting with us. I say nothing. I look at the other side of the hall and see Caro pointing at her watch.
'It's already time? I hope it is.' I silently pray.
“But sir, it’s way past class time.”
Looking at his watch, he says,
“Mhm, it’s time. One packet it is.”
I take out my phone full of anticipation, hoping to see an M-Pesa SMS from father, or another heaven sent friend inviting me for lunch. But no, it’s from Safaricom.
‘Your account balance is 0 KSh. Please select option:
1: Okoa Jahazi (Airtime Advance)
2: Send Please Call Me
3: Exit
As I walk from the hall, all I’m thinking about is food. Hot, mouth watering and finger-licking food; and lots of it...like they show it in the glossy kitchen magazines and cook books. I decide to take action in the best way that I can afford;
I send a Please Call Me to Dru.
He calls back immediately.
We have a date! He’ll be coming to pick me up later in the afternoon. I am so excited but opt not to share the news with the girls. I know them. They would force me to drag them along in the name of moral support, though what they would really be after is to flirt with him, sleep with him and steal him from me.
Dru drives in to the parking lot at around 5.30 pm. By then I am already starving as hell. The only thing I have had the whole day was one andazi and samosa that Caro bought us after class at four o'clock. These had actually left me feeling more famished than I was before.
I can feel hundreds of eyes ogle at him, and so many mouths whisper to each other's ear. Deep down I am praying that my friends wouldn’t have to hear about it before I am ready to face them.
We sit in the car for a few minutes and chat. All along I have my stomach sucked inside to avoid it making any embarrassingly rumbling noises and have to lick my lips every two minutes to avoid him seeing the cracks of hunger begging to be nourished. I hope that he doesn't misinterpret it, for some guys perceive it as an invitation to be kissed.
He is the first guy that used the word beautiful on me, said that he liked me before he sexually flirted with me, or lied about falling in love with me at first sight. He claimed that he felt the connection and that we had clicked.
“You’re really cool, and funny. But, since it’s a bit late to do coffee, how about I invite you over to my place and I'll cook for you, we can hang out, watch a nice movie… What do y
ou say?”
I know what it means when a guy invites you over to his place. But at this instance, I don’t want to think twice about the proposal. If you have ever been hungry, then only you can understand why I have to take the offer. Even in the Bible, its hunger that made Esau sell his birthright to his younger brother Jacob. The very same hunger drives innocent victims to commit petty crimes so as to be sent in prison, where they are assured of having something to eat. And, every Sunday, hunger drives non-Christians and pagans to different churches every Sunday, with hopes that visitors will be welcomed with a cup of tea and snack, or even lunch. Maybe, once I am well fed and full, I'll be able to think straight.
Dru is a real gentleman. Never in my life had I had a man take so much care of me. Maybe it’s because he could read behind the sweet smile and shy laughter. He let me choose the type of music to listen to on the way to his house, the kind of meal I wanted to eat, what movie I wanted to watch…what a gentleman!
He served me a glass of freshly squeezed mango juice and asked that I take a rest while he prepared dinner; every bachelor’s favourite dish; steamed rice and fried beef. The meal was delicious, but would have loved the meat to go with a much heavier dish like ugali, which had a higher likelihood of remaining in the stomach for longer. Unfortunately, my stomach failed me miserably by refusing to eat as much as it should have.
You see the problem with being starved for so long, you fall ill, and when you fall ill, your appetite diminishes, and whenever you try to force yourself to eat, you get stomach cramps which are worse off than menstrual cramps. That’s why millions of starving people continue starving to death long after getting more than abundant relief food.
For the next few hours, we continue to watch more TV and criticizing the shows, hosts, dialogue and even the quality of the images. He tells me that I can make a great critic. He also has a thing for ladies who know how to express themselves, and are comfortable with their looks, like myself, he says.