Let's go to campus

We are in some not so classy restaurant in the heart of the city in the sun, Nairobi. In the midst of the ongoing El-Niño rains, the sun has shown its face perhaps a bit jealous of all the attention that’s been going to the season. She caught many by surprise, ladies downed in their denims and leather boots and men with those spear shaped umbrellas and heavy duty leather jackets. I couldn’t help but smile at how the weather had many fooled, there’s an aroma of burning leather in the air, add some aromat to it and you have a meal. You literally add it to anything and it’s a meal, my pal Ken boils some old leather shoes adds aromat and has his dogs chewing noisily on them.

Sitting across the table is my date, clad in a close fitting but snug orange dress and a chain length bead necklace with a fist size silver pendant. The type of necklaces that are popular with campus chiqs. But don’t be fooled, she’s not your average campus girl, not the type that are constantly on your phone asking for a Friday plot. And definitely not the type you invite on a date and she turns up an hour late with her gang of friends who hold no reservations when it comes to make up, you are even convinced that joker from batman is hiding in there somewhere. My date, hiding behind some red rimmed glasses with some faint tint of purple is chatting playfully while stirring her startella and caramel blended ice-cream. I am intently fighting the tint trying to make eye contact, she must notice because she pulls off her glasses and places them on the table. And she has these gorgeous eyes that resemble a Child's, so clear and milky white unlike mine that are 50 shades of red. I am having mars and Oreo Ice-cream and she keeps stealing scoops from my cup while laughing it off casually. She’s quite a character. 

She stole me from class and that’s how we end up on a date. We have so much in common except some track she send me in the name of music, till now I cannot figure out if she had the motive to torture me to death with it. Hanging out with her is so much fun; I am enchanted by her brilliance. She is quite ambitious and a dreamer. By her informed comments you can tell she is into reading, the good kind of reading (informative as well as purposeful). A mature head on young shoulder, she is a living proof that indeed girls do mature faster than boys. At her age I am even embarrassed to say what was going on in my mind, while her, she’s already contemplating a smooth retire without financial stringencies.

It became a bit clear why girls go for older guys; their intellect and needs are a bit advanced for guys their age. The difference between the two is like the opposite sides of the crocodile infested waters of the Nile. Trying to bridge that gap is a fatal risk, although there is greener pastures once you cross over, so many are lost in this endeavour. My point being guys don’t get bitter, we are not ready anyway, trust me.

That being said, there are some exemptions. And they are quite common; the second reason girls go for older guys. Do I see a hand? Anyone know the answer?? Off course we are all thinking it, and damn right you are, it’s all about finances. Ladies look at their peers, playful characters whose only weapon is charm (needless to say, it quickly disappears without a fat wallet after draining the HELB account) and some silly jokes. The girls have already locked them out even before they get a chance to ask them out. Sipping on some nasty tasting liquor which has to be forced down (wash down is quite an overstatement) with some carbonated beverage is mostly if not all these poor chaps have to offer. Their idea of fun is drinking themselves to a stupor on a Friday night and getting quick shag. Maybe once or twice these girls have fallen for that trick, but eventually the novelty and the fun of it soon dies down.

Soon you (they guys) are being avoided like a plague. The ideas the ladies have for clubbing and partying are too far fetched for your starved wallet. And that is how your find yourself in gangs of six or more drowning your sorrows in devils piss. Complaining and lamenting how your classmates have turned to the oldest profession. But who can blame them, future you couldn’t even hang out with you in that state. But in the state you are in, a world of your own, nothing really can come between you and the pleasure you are deriving from the bottle. Well nothing except for an ugly girl you make out with at some point in the night, it’s no surprise she is equally wasted. You are convinced she’s pretty as a goddess until you hook up with her the next day. It all begins to make sense, the line in every alcohol commercial about alcohol impairing your judgement.

It’s not all downhill from here. Actually this is one of the most exciting faces in a guy’s life. You’ve heard this saying by ladies that you never forget your first? Well, you never forget your campus life either. It’s that point in life where you let out the inner beast in you, the untamed, hairy chest, barbaric and macho man out. You are a rebel, you can spend nights out and hook up with chiqs above your league and all this squeezed into a budget of ksh.1000. All you have is character and some cheeky pick up lines. Speaking of pick up lines, this guy Moses from the office, always fast to control find his name to see if he features in the blog before he reads has one for you. He walks up to lady and asks,

Moses: when is the funeral? And the lady confused is like what funeral?

 Moses: You have killed so many with your beauty.

Lady: what a jerk! (Pours a glass of whatever she was sipping on into Moses’ face and walks away)

Hehe I am so evil

 The problem with pick up lines is that they really never play out how you imagine them. It’s like a scene and you are the only one with a script, it won’t play out. So don’t do it Moses, just don’t. But I promise to finish off with one that actually works, make that two am in awesome mood.

 And who would forget that heartfelt victory when you got that girl from the club to your hostel. A Masai Moran may have just put a lion down with nothing but a dagger, but he can’t match up that feel, not as far as you are concerned. You run the world; you even blandish yourself the new sheriff in town. Such silly moments of joy elicit a totally different reaction from the female fraternity. You will be called immature & silly especially when you high five to such an accomplishments.

And it is such moments you should savour, enjoy them while they last. Soon it will be you, god forbid, driving around campus in sleek vehicles picking up these girls. There’s plenty of time to make money, just don’t lose your front tooth in your endeavours, Kamiti I hope you read this. Remain ambitious, be a responsible drinker and shout the streets of Nairobi for it’s your time. They might try to whisper for you to lower your voice, to be modest, and it is to them that you will raise one eye brow in Dwayne Johnson fashion, make the meanest face and shout IT DOESN’T MATER WHAT YOU WANT. And damn right it doesn’t, so go out there and take the night. Live while you are young.

Some advice for the ladies.

If you are a lady in campus or some university college (or college university whichever excites) and you’re looking to date an older guy please make yourself interesting. Read some books, have your own stand on issues not just going with whatever the guy says. Don’t let canoodling be the only thing you can bring to the table, occasionally one should enjoy a good chat. I am just from a call with a campus chiq who insists on long dull content-less conversations before she sleeps. The only thing we have to discuss is how she is shivering in bed and our conversations are filled with long uncomfortable pauses and forced laughs. It’s really a nightmare, having to hum to communicate. I feel like I have teleported back to the days before the homo-pithecus discovered speech.  So gather some knowledge, be passionate about something it will do you both some good.

Meanwhile it is getting dark outside, and my date is still recovering, trying to catch her breath. I just narrated of the time I attended a wrong lecture for two hours before I realized I was in the wrong class. And I still do mix classes but she is my guardian angel, always there to direct me to the right class. And I am happy of the decisions she is taking in life, the life she is choosing for herself.  Although I haven’t known her for long I already know this will be one interesting friendship. I walk her to some convenient distance near her hostel and we part ways. I turn back to watch her go, and a smirk cuts across my face. And guys it’s not only for her impressive rear but because any guy would be lucky to have her. Way to go girl.

Pick up artist.

Class sees a girl standing or sitting clearly waiting for someone. Class walks over

Class: Hey...

Lady: (abit shy) Hey

Class: He is not coming (smiling)

A playful argument ensues, from here the convo takes any course you lead it.

Case 2. Class walks over to a girl

Class: excuse me but this is a no smocking zone.

Lady: but am not smocking

Class: (with a silly smile on his face) yes you are :-)

Class introduces himself.

Odyssey of a heavenly encounter

 

If you see this, it means you got high and you were afraid you would forget what you were experiencing. This is just a reminder, and you called Alela just as a confirmation.

Your mind is playing tricks on you. It is against you in this. Managing to jot this down is a struggle, it’s all about persistence and resilience. Your mind is mixing up the letters of the alphabet. This is the inner being, the guy whose voice you hear when you are thinking to yourself.

The phone rings and you cannot trace its exact location, the direction the buzzing is coming from. Your senses are completely disoriented. Concentration is hard to maintain. You give in, try to sleep it off.

Here we go, as Alela mentioned, there really is no option but to sit back and enjoy the ride. This had me thrilled; he had struck the nail on the head with what I was experiencing. I wanted out but there really wasn’t a way out. I was stuck with it, but it was not really that bad since its forcing me to be happy, to be hysterical, and to keep that smile going. And I give in. I chuckled when I remember high school, the movie about an entire school, teachers and parents included, that got high. Its Saturday evening, you are in your bed typing on your tablet. But how did we get here, how did we (inner being and mind) end up like this? To answer this I have to take you back to Friday.

It’s Friday afternoon, a day every employer dreads. This is a day when nothing gets done and everyone is trying to buy time and push all commitments they had to Monday. Although everyone is striking that busy pose in-front of their monitor, you can tell by the silly smile they are struggling hard to conceal that it’s not business as usual. The only business that gets done on Friday is accepting friend requests on face book, watching that new hot track on You Tube and planning  your weekend. That is until your boss announces you have to come to work on Saturday and you can hear people’s dreams shutter by how grumpy they get. It is like working with kids. Lucky for this particular day, the weekend duty has not yet been called.

 A call comes through as I am in the office. It’s Ken following up on this road trip he was organising. Ken is that friend you’ve known since childhood, he is practically family. It is a friendship rich with history, one that has been through thick and thin. One that has been to the highest point of mount Longonot and spend days in police stations (nothing criminal I promise) and came out unscratched, undeterred.  Your families are friends and you are a familiar figure even to his extended family. He has even featured in some of the family portraits, we go way back. He is a living throwback.

He wants to know how far I have gone in renting up a car. He is not thrilled to hear you are still waiting for feedback. He hangs up and although he has not mentioned it, you can tell he has made a conviction to get the car himself. He is determined to spend his 23 birthday in the outskirts of town, he has saved enough to ensure this. He has also managed to convince his circle of friend to tag along.

A few minutes later, Ken calls again. This time he has gotten some contact for a car renting agency, he wants me to act fast. And I do just that, I call the contact he gave and a lady picks up. We negotiate the terms and once we had agreed on a rate it was all to the nitty gritty of details. As a business man I like to cover all the details, or rather leave no stone unturned as the local truistic daily’s would put it. I suspect this is why he wants me to handle this transaction (kujichocha), and maybe because I have done this sort of thing before.

Everything is running smoothly, the lady demands a copy of my driving license and ID card which is all in order. The car is to come by evening before 7pm and the only hitch we are having is the fact that I did not carry my license. She also wants me to send a deposit of half the rate to book the car, an offer I boldly decline. I try to reason with her, convince her that I will send a copy of my license as soon I get home via mail. It sounds reasonable and the only issue now is the deposit. I demand to see the vehicle first and explain my unwillingness to put my blind trust in her. She does not take that statement well; she mumbles some words in exasperation. What I make out is something to do with the value of the car she is willing to entrust me with but I will not do the same. My efforts to convince her that that is no way to do business are futile and she hangs up.

A few minutes later, it’s Ken again on the line demanding to know what sought of thing I might have said to offend the lady. When I explain to him how it went down, he still wants me to call back see if there is another way this deal can be sealed. He makes it clear that he doesn’t want to lose the chance of getting this car since the rates are below the market rates. I give it another go, I call the agency again, a lady’s voice is on the other end, and the same lady I had spoken to. I suggest that we meet up in town, she is to come with the car and I am to pay the full amount and present the required documents once we meet. She will not have any of that either, explaining that the no vehicle leaves their offices without being booked in a computerised system. All this time I cannot make out why she is making this so difficult. Left with no option, I ask where their offices are located as the only way am paying that deposit is after seeing the vehicle. In a contemptuous tone she indicates some offices in galleria, and accuses me of wasting her time before she hangs up (this is beginning to get on my nerves). By now this is beginning to be suspicious and am glad Ken agrees with me . We fore gore that option. Apparently Ken had gotten recommendation from a friend, Malema. He had given him assurance that the guy is legit. I try calling the number but my call won’t be answered. I conclude they are fraudsters.

Thirty minutes down, I am still making frantic calls to my friends and any connections I have to renting agencies. Ken calls back, explains to me that the lady had spoken to Malema and the car we wanted was no longer available. I can feel this being blamed entirely on me. I assure ken we can’t miss a Morti.

By Friday evening I get an offer from a guy (Gitau) I have previously rented a car from. His rate is just above normal, not really that inflated. All he wants is an additional, refundable 3 thousand, just in case the vehicle is dented and a deposit half the rate. This I don’t have an issue with. Ken also knows the guy. We had become friends after we experienced an accident 2 years earlier in one of his cars; it’s really why we had spent days at a police station, Dog-section Mombasa.

 Coast people usually pass for slow, careful to accomplish with the minutest of effort. That is until you experience an accident at Bombolulu in a voxy and one of the doors happens to fall off. And once you alight to get the door and find it missing, that’s when you realize how lightning fast this guys can be. That all this time we were  taking sluggishness for weakness while it was their greatest strength. Well done Coastarian, you evil geniuses. You had me fooled.

Although he (Gitau) ripped us off, or rather we feel he did, he was willing to give us time to pay for the damages. Even after that we had maintained close contact and even recommended him to our friends.

This was Friday evening, we decided to make payments on Saturday morning.

Saturday morning

 I was woken up by Ken, excited, he ha d gotten another source which came recommended by the galleria lady. Ken had spoken to the guy and had agreed on a rate. Better still he had sent a deposit ( I know rather naïve)I was just to pick the car at gee-vanjee before Ken came up with yet another of his brilliant ideas. He had talked to this new guy (Mustafa) @ TRM and had even promised that I would be sending the full payment amount. Malema had reassured us that he knew the guy as a lady from his office had given him the contact. I obliged and sent the remaining balance and waited for the vehicle to be delivered. Minutes later the driver of the said vehicle calls, and she has allegedly been involved in some accident. To spare you the agony of hearing the lame excuse he tried to extort money from me, I will skip to the part where I hang up(Deeply satisfied I am the one hanging up). And that right there is how we did not get the car for hire. We had been swindled in the deal and trying to reach them on the phone was futile.

We met up with ken to comprehend on the events that had just taken place. It took him a bit longer to take it. It did seem like some scene from a fiction movie. We called Malema who had sent us the contact, I almost collapsed when I heard that he had gotten the number from a newspaper advert. I have not recovered from this shock, not just yet (Malema we really should skin you). We get one of our friends to call the number,  Mustafa is laughing at his achievement, and he reveals he is in kamiti maximum prison. He is a “mundu wa nyuba” and the stereotype is rubbed in.  

This is when Ken revealed he had ordered some muffins with some secret ingredient(for legality issues we cannot mention the secret ingredient). For the dramatic effects sake let’s call this secret ingredient chemical  X, you can relate if you are a child of the 90’s. I took one while Ken took two before we parted ways. We had to call our friends to inform them that the road-trip was off while trying to avoid going into details. Grown men getting hustled is nothing to be proud off.

In the mat heading home that is when the effects of the muffins kick in. Suddenly everything is funny, am laughing at literally everything. And this is how I get myself typing on the bed with all this confusion going on in my head.

I am taken on a journey through life, and I become a philosopher. It is a journey of enlightenment, self discovery and am at peace with everything. I even manage to do a respectful bow to myself with my hands together in a prayer like manner and sigh a ‘Namaste’. I have managed to use faculties of my brain I haven’t explored before, I dig deeper into my darkest being, areas I dint even know existed.

All the secrets to success lay bare before my eyes, I can feel a connection with the greatest being, the all knowing. And I get a taste a drop of this knowledge, and it is heavenly, a bit too much to take in at once. I feel like a monk on a journey to seek answers to life’s questions, its origin, its meaning.

I learn that that to be successful you must be willing to walk away from the crowd, from the people you find comfort in as they rarely challenge you. You have to interact with greater minds but not all great minds but only those that are willing and have a genuine story to share.

I learn that there cannot be creativity without exposure. Creativity is mainly if not only about copying and improving. Case in point, the person who invented aero-planes, the likes of the right brothers would not have done so if they had not seen birds fly the air. The idea of flying came from others flying beings.

I learnt that imagination and be who we are is a result of what we see and hear. Anything you imagine is what you have seen in at one point in your life. Imagination does not come out of a black hole. Anything you imagine is a modification of something you have seen and heard at point in your life. Character is also build from entirely from these and people you relate to. If you are exposed to negativity your thoughts and ideas will be in that line of thought. Your choice of movies and music has a lot to do with how you react and respond to situations more than you know it. You are a product of only what you are exposed to. We become what and who we are not by accident but by what we are exposed to since childhood.

I feel like the biblical Moses who used to pass out and have conversations with god when I come to. I am glad I came to learn so much through such unorthodox methods. I am deeply satisfied, having interacted with the divine being on such a level.

My day with an accountant

    

Today, 26 October 2015. A normal day in the office: the life of an accountant. But I refuse to be described as such. I always thought accountants were dull characters working with tight budgets and in an effort to live this life on a budget they end up not radiating any of it. Turns out I was right.

I was busy reconciling some accounts in the office when my colleagues ambushed me.

 “Hey Class get up!” Lin yelled, halfway across the office some heads popping from their cubicles to follow this new drama. I don’t know what’s with Nairobi people and drama, and especially those poor souls locked up in offices. They are in disconnect with the real world and the only interesting topic of conversation they got going is the exaggerated Maina and King’angi encounters on the morning show. So you would forgive their fat appetite for some action, something (anything) that breaks the rhythm of normal day life.

Lin stormed in followed by Bosire: this guy in client relations with a quirky laugh. One time during an AGM he made this silly laugh that was so infectious a mandatory break had to be called for people to recover from his laughter. And he laughs at the slightest provocations, one of the main reasons I was reluctant to tag along. Lin got to my desk and was now getting impatient,

”Let’s go see this ophthalmologist in town, doctor Fury (not his real name)” she continued “I told you last week”.

Truth is she had mentioned about the meeting, what she had failed to mention is that I was to go alongside her.

Doctor Fury was calm gentleman in his fifties with a simple wardrobe and bifocal glasses that did not even try to fake some sense of fashion.

I had a not so pleasing encounter with this particular doctor after my predictions, like those of the El-Niño had failed to come to pass (oops it just started). To put it in black and white, I had lied to him on a payment date. In my defence however, accountants do that all the time (It is really how they survive). In fact if you encounter a very honest accountant, there is cause to worry.

Lies are a necessary vice, lies are in fact healthy, by telling people exactly what they want to hear, the heart rate slows and this increases the lifespan of individuals. Of course this has not yet been proven but it is a topic in which I Invite future research and the spot Pesa people to come and help make money out of it. So after the date I had promised to pay doctor Fury had passed, He had stormed into our office demanding to see “these stupid accountants” as he had referred to us (me and my fellow accountants). He was so agitated when I entered the boardroom to meet him. I felt it wise to keep my distance, his eyes and muscles were twitching, like he was preparing to land some blows. Again he demanded for a date when this payment would be made, he left me no choice but to do what accountants do best, to lie. I excused myself seek some clarification on the issue but only went up to narrate that ordeal to an eager audience at my desk. I then walked with a fabrication that seemed to cool him down. With all the assurance given he had walked out the same way he had come in.  A gray cloud hanging over him and you could tell he was in fury.

I sat there staring at lin blubber about how I am not serious with my work. I tried to come up with a lame excuse not go before it hit me, this was actually a good opportunity to escape the office environment. After all doctor Fury’s’ account was a complete mess and I felt sorting him out would restore my wounded reputation.

At exactly 10:30 we were in the doctors premises.
Immediately you walked in, you noticed a change in environment. From the fast and hectic city life in the heart of Nairobi where his office is located to a slow and dull surrounding. There were dull green seats fading out to some grey patches that surrounded a wooden reception that rose from the concrete floor.

It felt like we had walked right back into the eighties, the only thing missing were the afros as the monitor on the reception desk had taken care of the black and white great wall television of the era. I was actually surprised not to find a type-writer in the office. The furniture was old if not dilapidated and you hardly noticed any paint on the wall as any remaining trace was evanished. This office felt safe and warm, the result of refusing to conform to modern trends in both furniture and technology. I think this is why he had such a large clientele, he was easy to trust and his look portrayed wisdom.

The receptionist had a knee length floral skirt that matched the mixture of roses and lilies on the reception desk (no doubt from some suitor). The skirt and the flowers were the only colourful things in that office, and they looked out of place. I feared I would leave that office depressed or having contracted some mental disorder.

We were ushered into what looked like an examination room behind the reception. There was a desk with a computer on the extreme end and a pile of papers scattered on every available space of the desk. There were dusty plastic chairs arranged in a circle at the centre of the room. It was a scene out of the movies, a counselling meeting for people with addiction problems. Right next to the door was a curtained space and it did not take much effort to notice the stuffed papers behind. The receptionist, a lady called Lucy hurried to carefully conceal these mess by drawing the curtains.

As we sat there the accountant was summoned and he apologised for the doctors’ absence as he was attending to clients. I sighed in relief, I did not have to face him today. You did not have to wait for the introductions to know he was an accountant, his looks gave him away. He was the picture that comes to mind when you imagine a typical accountant. He was slender guy with long arms and a pale dark skin.

 What really gave him away was his wardrobe, if you were not particularly keen you would pass him for a part of the office furniture. He wore Grey pants a dull green sweater that matched the seats at the reception. He wore black leather shoes and rimless glasses with lens so thick it magnified his sunken eyeballs. His head had started balding from years of pressure and being buried in paper work. But when he spoke even the heavens stopped to listen. I was marvelled at his eloquence and his diplomatic logic. I found myself smiling at this, I knew most of what he said was a lie but I admired his creativity. We had gone there with the intention of terminating services but in his deep Swahili accent he had us all singing to his tune. He spoke in English at times switching to Swahili to drive the point home. And he worked magic, managing to buy himself more time to sort the issue and switching the blame back to us without us even knowing.

Walking out of the office I found myself contemplating more on the issue. It was a story of almost every college kid. You go to a recognised institution, get good grades and graduate with honours. In the minds of these naive minds is the idea that they will get good jobs with a pay rewarding enough to make you blush from the sight of the pay slip. After all they did go to recognised institutions, it’s all deserved. That is until reality dawns, securing an internship is a hustle. Your guardians have to call in favours. And those firms willing to give a chance are not willing to part with dime for your service. With a bachelor’s degree in procurement, fresh out of campus you find yourself working in the accounts office,@ Njoro hang in there bro, and a pay cheque that drives tears down your face. And while you are there, they work your ass off. When you finally get employed, the work is so hectic that time flies by, before you know it you have over ten years of experience. You have gained the expertise in the field and when a managerial position opens, you apply and you are lucky to get it. You enjoy the position for a few years before you have to retire and when you look back you are not sure to what you did with your life. The firm sucked the life out of you, made you wear dull outfits as they kept you on a pay steady enough to keep you coming back. You are now in that rat race, waiting eagerly for that end month pay. If only someone had emphasised it enough, do what you love, whatever motivates you to get out of bed in the morning. In the words of Charles Bukowski My dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.

When came to from that deep thought, I realized how that encounter had inspired the writing of this blog.