So last week I shared with you
why 2012 remains my most practical unit of the fifteen units I registered for
in the last academic year. You might not understand what a major fete that was
beating serious units like Maternal Health that contains intellectual topics
like how to breastfeed, when to initiate coitus after delivery, or how lactational
amenorrhea affects copulation and by extension family planning. The unit CORDed
LIFE 2012, I maintain was more practical than how depo causes long term
fertility concerns or the epidemiology of Nyeri’s current population state and
the underlying factors for the male battering in the county we learnt in
population health in development by Dr. Dr. Dr. Onsongo, the guy from Yunaired States
(Ugenya, Siaya, and Alego).
If you don’t fathom any of the
above terminologies don’t beat yourself, it took me three months of pilgrimage
to The Kenyatta university postmodern library to acquaint myself with some of
this basic terms. Biko Zulu once said that the tragedy of bloggers is that they
think people get time to just sit, relax
and read page after page of hard prose. With this in mind, I cut short my story
last time, to live to write another day-today.
Sometimes when they say it’s the
small things in life that matter, relationship experts and some arm chair
analysts have always confused us. To them the small things in life that matter
are like opening doors, paying compliments, acknowledging new hairstyles among
other such chores. What the founder of the phrase meant, in my esteemed opinion,
is that petite objects such as SIM cards, USB cables, flash disks, IDS and such
tiny stuff that have a high propensity to get lost should be handled with
care.2012 taught me just why it’s of crucial importance to remember where you
left your keys, all keys including Omsakhulu’s bike with a mounted one band
radio which ‘catches’ only Mulembe FM radio and has got huge speakers made of
clay. This year I have heavily invested in a trench coat with pockets the size
of my sufuria where I will be keeping such stuff to avoid the mental anguish of
turning my room (ok Byudeh, I know it’s your room too) upside down in search of
small voiceless objects. Just hope it rains heavily so that you get to see my
orange trench coat.
Listening is a skill that can
never be taken for granted, it’s a must have for anybody who wants a fulfilling
relationship. Women, I realized are just like radios, one doesn’t know what to expect.
Some Bonokode and Mbuside may strike a conversation in the middle of a
beautiful song. Those Celine Dion songs that you just listen to and slip into
another world. You not sure what the next caller to Maina and Kingang’i is
going to say. Whether it’s ‘all men are
the same’ or ‘aki I don’t know wat’s
wrong with him’ or ‘I used all my money in December’. You not sure
whether Alejandro wa Githu is going to be busted by one Wamaitha. And though
they share that uncanny ability to speak all day just as the radio, they are
even better in that they can’t be switched off. I had figured the best way to
have my cake and eat it was to feign interest, pretend to be listening, nod your
head sometimes and an occasional mmmh to spur her to go on. I was always
careful to remember to laugh when she smiled or show the face of Aladeen when
required. After all you don’t want to be smiling while she’s telling you how
her friend sat on her baby Sue. Sue in this story is a teddy bear. To cut a
long story short you’ll get caught, guaranteed. This year I choose to listen,
or to skim through. Surely a nigga can multitask, just so how you know how not
to reply to texts like;
“Babe uko wapi?”
“Tufanyaje sasa ile story?”
Even for those of us who went to
a school with the motto perseverance shall win through and saw the truth of
this statement in our high school lives, sometimes it gets so tough that you
just wana quit. When we left the Maseno School Bakora Hockey Team we thought we
knew all hockey. Alongside Odhys and Byudeh, then called Dunda we used to be
the perfect midfield. So getting to Vultures Hockey and finding a pool of over
70 players, we weren’t afraid of the competition for the 16 man match squad.
However, that wasn’t meant to be. This team had people who could hit the ball
from one province to the other, people like Gilly who could score from any angle.
Sometimes we used to appear on match day in suits with our hockey regalia
lurking in the background. If you dint get to have a jersey well and good, you
could always claim to your super fans that you got an injury. If you did get an
appearance, mostly five minutes, you could still use the same line,
‘the injury I was telling you is why I dint
play much’.
But we dint give up, we trained, I perfected
my curve, he perfected his sembe. The situation may have drastically changed
with the retirement of senior players and the rise to captaincy of one Juma
Juma but it was surely a reward for our perseverance .Even though today he
might not be as popular as Messi, but any sports journalist in East Africa
worth his salt surely knows who Byudeh is. They would tell you something like;
‘Ah, you mean that guy who plays to the left
of the Varaq?”
 | |||
| match day, |
sorry i coudnt get you a photo of omsa's bike,alikuwa anataka kuku mingi,he still does barter trade pekee
2012 also taught me that contrary
to what our primary school teachers said, women are beautiful people. They are
our sisters, our mothers, our significant others and our daughters for the
early birds who caught the early fertile worms. They are great company, they
can sustain an intellectual conversation, one can lay bare their genuine fears
and get reprieve. There’s of course the probability that your insecurities will
spread across the campus with some new details inserted to make the story
juicier. Conversation between Wekemeu, Gythy, Mcwho, Sad News is usually about
who the stronger man is, who Manpower and Adam would be most proud of. Sorry guys,
am not ratting you out, am still a loyal member of your little sect. 2012 made
me realize that there are two types of ladies to be afraid of; the one with
more ambition than you do and the damsels in distress. The former because she’ll
drop you like an empty bottle of liquor when somebody with more balls passes
by. I don’t understand why my basic anatomy classes taught me that all male
Homo sapiens sapiensa have the same number of balls. As for the damsel in
distress you can figure out why, that aint rocket science.
