exam sting

It’s been a while since I posted. You can lay the blame squarely at the feet of the exams that have reminded me just how average I am. Sometimes it’s funny how time flies away. Just yesterday we were registering units ready for the semester to begin; now the boisterousness of the first days has been replaced by a somberness that has become characteristic of campus exam time. That is not to say that the Student Annex-the official beer center in campus has been closed. Far from it, its doors remain open to comrades who wish to drown their sorrows in shots of liquor or those who albeit temporarily wish to exit this world and find solace in trance. All the university cares for is just their pass mark, how you get it matters less. That’s why the  first thing anybody would learn in school today is the art of multitasking-listening to loud music on headphones, a beer in one hand, your hands around some damsel who conveniently forgot her purse today and you guessed it right-a book on the other hand!

I remember just before I travelled to university for the first time, my uncles and grandma gave me advice on the importance of remaining true to oneself, shunning bad company and most importantly avoiding evil men. Looking back, I wonder which parent didn’t say that. But looking at it now, I don’t see any extremes the way they paint at. Of course we know paragons of virtue either. The mention of the name student in our televisions is not about some inventions they made or the picture of different tribes uniting for a common purpose. It’s usually the image of students on the rampage, looting and destroying property of much value. It’s about some student leader giving the government a two week ultimatum either to increase HELB funding or to resolve some mysterious murder. It’s about comrades barricading Thika Road or Waiyaki Way. Oh, I was talking about my exams. I just detoured to create the picture one has when coming here.

As is the nature of university students, I won’t feel complete until I complain about something. This week I will just have to complain about the good time tabler. In as much as he hit the nail on the head in the first week of exams, I bet he got exhausted. How would one explain an exam in Monday and the last on Thursday? It could have been on Friday, I guess. Maybe I should just be thankful to Good Friday after all! Now that I have helped perpetuate this whining stereotype, let me get back on track. But at least it gave me time to see those I had not seen throughout the semester among them my good friend Nyaikai. What a name, what tribe? Admit it that was the first question on your mind. Nyaikai was my roommate last year. The name evolved from his enormous nyoka that has been the reason behind the high number of cases of ladies fainting in Usambara Hostels .In case you are still not catching it, my official condolences. A man can’t go far without putting the posterity of his jaws in jeopardy in the process.

So upon successful completion of my exams my friends and I decided it was party time. We had to abolish our illusions of grandeur and settle for something feasible. So armed with thirty bob each we raided the gym-not to work out of course. Years of extensive research had proved that this was the place with the best uji in campus prepared using a secret recipe only known to select few. As I mentioned earlier, this is the place where sweaty muscled men with aura of the gods retire to mingle and share tips after a hard day of turning fat into muscle. One guy who was conspicuously missing was Sad News. Far from the implied meaning, his name stems from the Kiswahili words ‘mambo mbaya’ which can be loosely translated as invincible. Of course we had no option but to accept his excuse that he had to go to the library (after the exams I must add).After all none of us has ever had the opportunity to pursue a degree in medicine from an ISO certified university!

In a bid not to appear any lesser beings, Wekemeu started to dispense his two cents knowledge of gym and technical terms such as which training should precede which at times breaking into monologues of how dangerous unsupervised training  can be. The slight tremor in his voice was that of unmistakable passion. Looking at him we repressed a desire to laugh-he cut the image of an experienced sportsman even though three months on a hockey pitch and a month on the gym probably doing aerobics is all the sports experience that would make it to his resume. I could see men with big chests turn to listen to him and I learnt one important lesson- That in as much as muscles are important, guiles and a bigger mouth are of more vital significance. In case you are reading this, just know that ‘we ni mzee inspirati…….onal.”

Did I say that we were in the company of Mzee Default? The name Mzee just is coz of his wisdom and nothing to do with his age. Why default, well there is a wireless network in KU called Default .Let’s just say that he used to spend almost the whole day downloading the latest series and software save for the thirty minutes for meals and one hour for lying horizontally on his bed. Well, the reason I mentioned him is of his extreme love for uji that made me remember my late granddad. The only difference is that the old man used to drink his uji in an agwata- a sacred calabash that was not to be used for any other purpose and Default would use a 1 kg tin with a faded blue band colors on the surface. Just like my old man, Default believes that food shouldn’t be wasted so instead of pushing his tin away after consuming the content, he used his hand to lick the side of the container the traditional style.

Well, now that I remembered my grand dad, allow me to boast of a man who was extraordinary in his beliefs, approach to life and philosophies. I know everybody says this of their kin but he was an exceptional man who counted family among his most prized assets. There was always something special when we went home for the holidays something that made us look forward to going to shagz as we called it then .If it wasn’t ripe mangoes, then it was paw paws or boiled maize never mind that it was well past the harvesting season. His favorite dish was mudfish and he made an attempt to treat us to this delicacy every market day. If you see me carry fish in my hand with no polythene cover, don’t think it’s due to my strong environmentalist tendencies, its coz I learnt something from this great man. I remember there was a time he came home with a live fish .In our minds, it resembled a snake and we screamed as we receded deeper and deeper into the compound. I couldn’t remember the old man break into a heartier laugh. As we learnt later, he wasn’t a sadist, he just wanted us to learn important life lessons the hard way. Let’s just say that the next time he brought a live fish, we were better prepared.

Still about the old man, he used to have a walking stick that was multifunctional. Just as it could be used for our happiness, it could also be used turn out to be used for gloom. The stick could be used to point directions, used to fall ripe mangoes or paw paws from the trees. It could be used to point at chicken that was to face the butcher’s knife or even a goat for Easter! However, the rode could also be used as a tool to correct errant behavior. I remember on many occasions I fell victim for committing some serious crimes like playing ‘uki ‘with the girls. Real men don’t play with girls is a lesson I learnt only to well. Just in case I lost you there, uki is a game in which a rectangle is drawn and players have to run around the box stopping at the edges .The opponents can ask you the number you are in at any time. Any wrong number could lead to ‘death’. As we learnt later the hard way, the game was not won by those who panted and sweated the most but by those who were brighter in the divisibility test. It was not my intention to make you an uki expert but in case you are, you know who to thank. Forgive my detour, if I were to write about Bernadus Okombo, probably half his life would be enough for a complete book.

The end of semester is though not all rosy. At such times, the yoke of luggage storage and transportation hangs over the comrades’ head like a hangman’s noose. It’s during such times that you realize just how much clothes you have that you didn’t wear during the entire semester. Maybe next time all carry just a bunch of clothes-who am I kidding? If the annual wildebeest migration is considered a wonder of the world then maybe the flurry of activities around such times should be given some mention in the world records as well. What with the transportation of bed and tables to and from school every three months! Of course am not complaining, I would have hadn’t I whined about the good time tabler though.

So as I head to Oyugis Town for my long holiday, am suddenly hit with the reality that all be away from this crew for another six months! We toast and promise to keep in contact. Of course we will simply go back to the circle of friends we left at home and try and get cozy again after six months. Maybe forward a few funny SMS during those times. If the impending attachment would not help the time go away fast then I hope playing professional hockey on tuft under flood lights would do it. Sorry, I just had to mention that. Varaq is now a proficient player having signed for Vultures Hockey team for a staggering sum of nothing Kenyan shilling! Don’t laugh; you will soon see me on DSTV! Of course all miss my new mystery girl more but that’s a story for another day.

Baadaye! In case I lost you there as well, that’s among Sad News’ contribution to the linguistic community. It simply means till next time.