I was bullied during my first supper in high school. After queuing, I received a plate of ugali and boiled sukuma wiki. I sat at a table that was unoccupied. The next table was occupied by 4 form 3s taking their supper as well.
I scooped a spoonful of ugali and sukuma wiki and tried to eat. They tasted awful. One spoon was enough to convince me that I was not an animal to take such a meal, at least for that day. I decided that I was not going to take more than a spoon of the meal.
I rose to my feet to leave. One of them, Nahashon, called me to their table. He asked me where was I taking a plate full of supper.
‘I am full, I am going to throw the food away into the dustbin.’
‘Pass me your plate,’ Nahashon said.
He had a robust body physique, an intimidating face, and an officious voice. At that time, his plate was empty. ‘Now, take my plate, go to the taps and clean it. After doing that, come back for your plate.’
I went and washed his plate.
I came back when he was halfway done eating my supper. ‘Now, walk with my plate to the queue, get served another meal, and bring it here,’ he ordered. Meekly, I did as he had ordered. I had heard horrifying stories about bullying in high school.
I didn’t want to get on the wrong foot with the senior students. I did what he had ordered me to do.
I went and queued for a second plate. I heard the cooks serving the meals whispering amongst themselves; ‘huyu form one anurudia chakula on his first day in school’.
After getting served, I took the meal to Nahashon’s table. He was done eating my supper and immediately started devouring the third plate of awful ugali and tasteless sukuma wiki.
Nahashon was one of the famous students in school owing to the fact that he always ate before the rest of the students ate, ate alongside the rest of the students, and ate after the rest of the students had eaten.
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Screams of terror rendered our apartment’s air with calls of distress. A woman was screaming from one of the houses on the upper floor of our apartment. The first thought that launched into my mind was of a woman being assaulted by her husband.
For the sake of gathering this content, I dashed out of my house without locking the door with a padlock. I had a high false sense of security which was inspired by the agency of the matter and the knowledge that my fellow tenants could not steal from one another.
At the door, I met my neighbor at his door. None of us was privy to what was happening, yet he asked me what was going on.
‘What is going on?’ He asked.
‘Jesus is blowing his trumpet to signal his second coming,’ I shouted on the way up.
THE POST-NAIVASHA SAFARI RALLY VIOLENCE.
My friend, Manu, woke up when he was added to a Post Naivasha Safari Rally Violence Whatsapp group. Perhaps his relationship is the first casualty of the post-Naivasha Safari Rally Violence.
It is a three-member group; Manu, Sarah (Manu’s girlfriend), and Deborah (Sarah’s friend and roommate). Deborah created the WhatsApp group deep into the night while the two were asleep. The aim of the group was to share with Manu what transpired in Naivasha over the weekend.
Manu and I live in the same apartment. He works as an academic writer. Sarah and Deborah have been friends since they met as first years at Parklands. They are fresh Kenya School of Law graduates. They stay in a one-bedroom house; a neighborhood away from ours.
My girlfriend believes that all executive barbershops with female barbers are fitted with massage rooms and brothels that offer their customers aftershave steamy massages and sex. One day I came back home with a scrubbed face.
She asked me if I had had a cut in such a barbershop. I denied kipetero kiyesu. To acknowledge that I visited a barbershop of the ilk would have been an admission equivalent to confessing that I had visited a brothel.
More often, the mention of an executive barbershop arouses moral contempt and aversion in the minds of wives and girlfriends.
Mariana and I once walked past an executive barbershop of such inclination in Ruaka. The barbershop was famed for its happy-ending after-shave services.
I was from the streets, where the kind with a ring on their noses belonged, he was from the church, the pastor’s son. He was the most eligible bachelor in church when I joined his father’s church. When the preacher requested the church newcomers to stand up
and introduce themselves, I sprung on my feet, enthusiastic to pursue and stick to the new year’s resolution that I had made. Attending church was one of them.
I looked around and almost shuddered at the stares I received.
Was it because of the half-bareback that my off-shoulder dress had failed cover? Was it because the straps of my bra were visible? Was it because my dress was very short? Was it because I had forgotten to pull the ring off my nose before going to church?
‘Come over, come,
I was recently dismayed to learn that my former schoolmate still hates me 11 years since we had friction over a girl back in high school. It has been 11 years since we had any kind of contact.
I wonder, how long should one bear the burden of harboring hate born out of a trivial matter like a fight over a high school girlfriend? And to what extent would one go to revenge?
Alex was very excited when he followed me outside his NGO’s premises with a sneer on his face
and a ‘karma is a bitch!’ expression on his lips. He disqualified my friend and I from a startup funding that we had pitched at the NGO. He occupied a high-rank position.
11 years earlier, I attended a school in which we shared the same church with our girl school every day.
Early 2020.
I am at my house. A lady calls me. Her voice sounds euphonous in my ears. She is in Nyayo Estate. She requests me to make a delivery to her. She is traveling to Mombasa this evening. I have to deliver in three hours. She offers to pay the delivery fee.
It is an ambush, I think. I prepare in a haste. After all, it just a delivery. I am not keen on the nitty-gritty of grooming. It is just a delivery. I can wear anything. I convince myself.
In Nyayo. I meet her at the doorway of her mansion. She is wearing a big ravishing smile.
She is joyous and easy on my eyes. Her beauty intimidates me. I coy because I am shy next to a beautiful woman. She lives in those courts with mansions in Nyayo Estate. I reach the zipper of my backpack to pull out the book, but she stops me.'Sakwah, you must come into my house.'