You know that bout ofunwanted thoughts that invade you from out of the blue? That annoying urge to go far away from everything and just be alone. I have a lot of those. Especially on Monday mornings. I have nothing against Mondays. Actually, I kinda look forward to them. Mondays always breathe a new sense of being into me. Because you never know what will happen thatweek. You don’t know what weird man will honk at you as you take your routine 15 minute walk up that suburban Westlands road. You have no idea who you will bump into in the bus or on the street. Your employer may come up with a whole new way of doing things. You might even end up writing a post you had no idea you could in here. Your computer could decide this is the week it freezes a gazillion times between 9 and 5. The possibilities are limitless.
Today, I am feeling bad because I am still single. Yes. It happens. All the time. I always wonder how long this will go on. What my chances are of meeting someone while behind the keyboard for 3/4 of my days. The other 1/4 I am asleep of course. The thing about this feeling of desperation today is that it is different. It is different because I am no longer in campus. I am about a year old out here since leaving the great Moi University. That institution was quite something. If you frequent this space (or rather, the old blog) you know how I could go on and on and on about that institution.
It was the first Valentine’s Day I was spending with a person. I was relatively new in this relationship business, so the fears and jitters I had were real. I could not think of ways of coming up with a perfect surprise, at least to impress the person. The furthest I had gone in the ‘treating’ business was occasionally throwing in ‘smokie chinjaz’ when we took a stroll to the Stage to procure ka-quarter ka supper. You see, we had a lot in common. We played the same game, which gives you an idea on how we met. Unlike Tedd Mosby, I did not have a story to tell. I just saw the fundamendoz while on the pitch and fisi mode kicked in. Two days and we were locked. Again, back then, I was not like the current me. Closed.
The day is finally here with us. I graduate from the unparalleled Moi University on the 17th of December 2013. Let us all breathe a sigh of relief. My endless posts on my dissatisfaction in the institution are almost over now. It has been an interesting journey. If it was not for Moi University, I probably would not have started this blog. We owe it that, if not anything else. I travelled to Moi this Wednesday the 11th to collect my ‘academic attire’ or, in layman’s terms, graduation gown (pictures coming soon). During the journey, I jotted this down:
“School? What school?”
Okay, people. It has come to my attention that some of you think I am still in school (going by the messages I am receiving on phone and Facebook). Well, here is the news. I am no longer a student. I cleared from Moi University on Tuesday the 9th of July 2013.
Is on his last semester of his 8-4-4 and age is catching up. Either that or he has thrown caution to the wind. He has no idea what courses he’s taking. If he has, he has no knowledge of their titles, leave alone their codes. He never missed classes in earlier years but today, attending lectures is the exception, not the rule.
Will remember that registration forms are filled on the day before exams, she will then scribble on some course registration form very fast, forge the signatures then fill in an examination course form. It will then hit her that she has not paid her fee yet. She’ll rush to that tiny National Bank and stand in an endless line. Back in the day, she paid her fee a month before the opening date, a good faithful freshman.
I live in a room that offers a vantage point to Hostel K and L entrances. When I say Hostel K and L, I am referring to the ladies’ hostels, make no mistake. All the same, I will tell you about the men who frequent both hostels. That common joke about the number of men who’d emerge from either hostel in the event of a fire is very true. I will describe them to you, one by one. I will do this using Hostel L since what I see there is replicated in K. (You may think I have a lot of free time; I will let you be the judge of that.)
You are seated at home enjoying a movie or getting warm by the fireplace. Your phone rings. Almost by reflex, you pick it up and hit a button. Ah, it’s your friend from class. He’s remembered me after three months, you think to yourself, must be something important. You sit up and take in the contents of the text. “Sasa, my dear! Nimeona kwa 3rd Eye ati tunafungua next week.”
Maybe you are not reading it right. You read it again.
So you won’t marry a campus chiq, huh? But did you pause to think, even for a moment, that maybe I do not want to be married to a campus dude? You are not the only one with a choice to make, you know?
The other day there was outrage from my fellow campus ladies who could not understand why a man would not want to marry them. I have good news for you sisters; there are plenty more fish in the sea and that sea is much bigger than Moi University. No one should make you think you do not have a choice.
He sits across me in class. The other day, he told me he loved me. I don’t know why but he did. After three whole years, he has either seen me in another light or gathered enough courage to tell me so. It’s now or never.
Maybe he did it to test me, to see whether I am as hard-to-get as he had thought.
We all have bucket lists. At least I believe we all do; that list of things to do before you die. More so, we have bucket lists tailored to our attendance of an institution of higher learning. I write to the seniors especially, because you are seated there watching the months become days and still dilly-dallying on following through on a promise you made to yourself about your mission in campus. No matter how disillusioned you are about this university with a difference, leave it in style. Leave a mark.
The following are suggestions slightly skewed to introverts like myself who have probably spent their four or five years cooped up in their rooms, watching movies or studying.
If I had it my way, this blog would probably be a travelogue. I love travelling, but the only place I travel to is Eldoret. That makes it complicated because I never like coming back to it. But a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. I might as well enjoy the view on the way. At this point, I am feeling like a wannabe Rupi Mangat or John Fox of Going Places. I have always envied this two travel writers since I was a kid.
Today, I invite you to travel with me to campus and experience the scenic beauty that Kenya offers along the 311km stretch of road. I live along the Gitaru-Nairobi Highway about 20km from Nairobi. (I just tried looking for my house on Google Maps right now but somehow I can’t spot it around this point. Oh well…)
Finally, I began my fourth year of study last Thursday. While that is just theoretical in many ways at the moment, I have the key to my room, a mattress the size of a blanket and a positive attitude to match. The timetable may very well take a week to materialize and classes another week to take off.