Editor's Note:
He's back. You know who.
Ladies and gentleman, I give you, 'Will You Be My Valentine?' by Mr. Kerre D'yesan.
Wait, he would be really mad if I didn't mention that his alma mater, the Chavakali Boys High School was at State House the other day.
#########################
Will You Be My Valentine
The woman in front of me touches the conductor for the second time. Although the
riddim mix by DJ Lyta is loud, I manage to get what she's asking. She is
new on this route and is afraid "kupitishwa
juu hana extra fare". She keeps asking “tumefika kijana”. That’s what I lipread. The tout wishes she
didn’t do that again. From the way he is looking at her, it's obvious he is full of distaste for
her. Someone should remind him it's the week of love.
Next to her is a sweet but trampled voice. Without any attempt at eavesdropping, I listen
as she tearfully go through the normal temporary Valentine's break up break up with her one true love. His
name just has too many J’s in it. I look at the first woman and hope she
alights at the next stage. Not that she has done anything wrong. I just want to sit next to my next girlfriend. You remember her, don't you? The short red haired angel who J dumped a few minutes ago? Great.
It's valentine’s week. Nobody needs to
tell you that. Even greens in the market smell and look red with love. Forget
laughter. I know exactly what I’ll tell her. During my high school years, you
had almost half a minute to talk to a damsel while the engine of
their bus was running. You always met the most beautiful ones when the bus had started moving.
Our love at that time was hard hit by resistance from the unromantic prefects
who couldn’t even get a girl’s name after using their authority to squeeze in on six outings in
one weekend. The teachers from the girl's schools didn't make it any easier for us. And of course stiff competition from THE only national school out of Nairobi. I'm glad Chavakali is a national school now. You know level paying field and all. Not that they could match me head to head in speed dating.
I’m still doing my math here and it’s
right. During this month, you need to be an expert in speed dating. The famous eleven seconds is quite more than enough. Super coach Onyi says you only make one first
impression.
From her thirty bob fare, it's obvious she'll alight a stage ahead of me. The woman next to her will alight in five minutes. That's factoring in traffic and such. It's Tuesday yes,
but what man am I not to bag my love hopes on traffic jam? That would just be an
added advantage. And besides, too much time might also throw me out of the
game. Between my shaky sweaty hands and my trembling lips, a minute was enough
for my whole love story. In fact too much.
The tout reaches into his pockets and I
hope he gets a very big coin, probably the kobole
kubwa or the 40 bob ya Kibaki
because I know that will make enough noise for the driver to hear and not waste
another moment so that I can occupy THE seat. It’s taking long, at least
today. I rush through my twenty eight killer words and realize I only remember two quite
well. I’ve never fumbled with words or lies. This is not good.
I know after the Nyayo roundabout, the
car will race like a horse in the final forty, and there wouldn’t be enough time even just
for saying my full four names. I’m ready, the car decelerates to a stop. I’m up
faster than the one alighting and I realize it. I wish Shakes, my wingman is here to tell
me "breathe brother, breath...'
Anyway a guy will have to do with what's available.
“Hey you, am the sex God….”
"Hi sex God"
#######
Sharing Is Caring.
