“Donk, you know what?”
“I don’t know, but am really good at giving that irritating neigh while farting! Am also good at…”
“Nkt! Shut up and flap your ears to the front!”
Ever had that wing-man helping you chase that beauty? Your right hand man whom you sit with drawing on paper sheets and white boards creating irregular lines of plans and strategies? Not really business strategies, or those well defined plans of investments but of how he will help you distract Jane’s mum from her hawk-eyed watch as you as her how her English teacher is at the back?
If you existed before Motorola C118 and the ‘Najuaaa… Kama mimi ni wewe apana pita njia hiyo’ advert then you can relate. Jane was that beauty, not stuffed on figure, not compacted on her front or behinds but had a pretty face. I really wondered why we men of those days (I am not that old) were not really intrigued by physique but a pretty face, one that illuminated the heart.
Jane had a pretty face, her smile constricted the skin on her left eye probably compensating for the small opening of her tiny mouth; one that made me wonder if she ate using a tea spoon. She used to work at her mother’s shop all day from Monday to Monday. She had a 30 minute break on Wednesdays to grab groceries from the market and a 2 hour session in church where she would take exactly 17 minutes or less to walk home. She would use 6 minutes to walk by the thicket near her home and that’s where we could initiate our mute conversation which was first to create a visual presence that for 6 minutes on Sunday we pass by there.
My wing-man was this mouthy fellow who had a great impact on women in the society. All mothers loved her and considered him safe to hang around their little girls unlike we of bad blood, we who looked like reject ‘katumani’ maize cob harvest. He was considered a genius, one so brilliant with intellect never witnessed in Maasailand. Any teen who was not at terms with him would be treated as an outcast to the society and a word of abuse to him was punishable by death. I was this icon’s best friend making me second in command. I was the chief whip and I whipped away the cartels that mushroomed to challenge his presence and popularity. Let’s call this guy Shrek.
This guy was like a politician and I had to use every opportunity in his reign before another king rose from the south. My love for Jane came in an outburst in class 8. Just by the sight of her, crazy fantasies flooded in my mind like bright stars in a dark and naked sky. I would picture myself in that beautiful relationship with very beautiful kids then Mr. Laban would ask, “Mblatha, ndisclimb ngloss pollination.” My mind would go blank, not because I didn’t know the answer but because the only thing I heard was ‘ngloss’ and then I would resolve that he said, ‘Siloma, ngloss the ndoor.’ No need to explain how sticks showered my butt but then I saw Jane cry something I would use for future reference. And I would go,
“You remember the day Mr. Laban really beat me up? I was thinking about us. How you would be my wife, the good cars and the beautiful kids we would have.”
“Mmmmmh”
“I knew you really loved me then and that’s why you cried that day. Really meant a lot to me. Thank you for being strong and being there for me even though there was nothing you could do.”
“Actually… I wasn’t crying!”
Jane used to give me one word replies. I was amazed that that was the longest sentence she has ever constructed in all our conversations. The jubilation in my heart was so immense that I resolved that now she was really giving in. I was like
“No need to feel shy, it happens sometimes. I think about you sometimes and cry.”
She smiled and I knew that I had nailed it! The feeling of ‘Jesus Man!’ was overwhelming my body then she blurted.
“Actually an insect got into my eyes and that was a reason for my tears.”
My eyes were stuck to her tiny mouth, I thought of how I would be the custodian of those sweet lustrous lips and was really intrigued by how they flapped like the first flight of a butterfly that had just phoenixed from a caterpillar. All I heard was ‘reason for my tears’ and my heart went warm and cold and suddenly, wait! Did I hear the word insect and eye? And did I say I used to cry? For Her?
So in all my high school holidays Jane was the project. She was the ultimate meaning of my coming home. As phones were only meant for those who could afford ‘The Green Card’ I would rush to Shrek’s home the very second day not asking of how his school term was but to strategize on the Jane project. We would make trips around their home until Shrek became more concerned.
“Donk, haven’t we made enough trips yet? People will start suspecting us and they way you know Mama Muthoni is mouthy.”
“Relax bro, we have just made like 10 rounds clockwise, if we make another
10 anticlockwise no one will notice it’s us and maybe she will at last pop out.”
For 4 bloody years I would make rounds around Jane’s home and the closest I have ever been was a meter close to her, leaning her head on their wooden gate and me really spitting the vibe. She constantly kept telling me she had work to do. I yearned for a hug, one that could maybe make my heart stop for 1 minute or so but the closest I got was a very distant handshake.
I was in form three when I decided to tell her that I loved her. It was the biggest decision of all time and my heart would throb upon the thought. I really wondered why she wasn’t replying my long letters that vividly explained how I would die without her. Armed with my Nokia 6101i the phone with a flap and an aerial I got dressed in my best jeans and T shirt and texted Shrek. Ongea Tarrif was the swag for the common mwananchi with a whopping call rate of 8/- a minute (that was very cheap). Short forms of texts came as a result of the cost of texts that costed 5/- for 160 characters. The ‘xaxa’ and ‘xwry’ and ‘dhnx’ generation should attend workshops on behavior change to be taught how to stop abusing SMS evolution history.
Shrek and I set forth to complete the mission; a 3 year quest that made me shower with my mum’s Imperial Leather soap and splashed my body with her Blue Lady spray. It was like a ruracio only that we were not backed up by village women chanting and singing folk songs. We neared her homestead and I took the breath of hope, the long breath of relief that this has waited too long. I sighed, as if taking in the very first air of bliss and I made my last fantasy, Maseratis, Jaguars, Ferraris and a couple of Rolls Royce flocking into their compound as we gave the bride price (not negotiating). I took out my Nokia 6101i, put it in silent mode and started punching some keys when suddenly Shrek shove my side…
“Donk, tumecheswo….”
My eyelids stretched to their sides like an opening to a mystical pathway (yeah, blame the many stupid movies I watch). How I lifted my face was dramatic, like tons of visual effects in an Indian movie. How I returned my phone to my pocket was like James bond placing his .45 colt back after shooting the nuts. And then he was there, skinny, scrawny not even on our league, Puss! Then the worst thing happened, he hugged her and Jane smiled affirming to me that she can really use a tablespoon while eating. Sorrow, grief, depression, wretchedness and rage bombarded my adolescent brain. Shrek was more depressed than I was and I wondered why. We stood there confused as we watched the mole take away our harvest.
Puss was least of our worries. We never imagined that this little, swagless and outclassed creature could compromise this project. It was time that my subconscious reminded me that I should not have been wasting my Sundays chasing Jane through in the thicket but should have learnt that ‘God does not call the qualified but qualifies the called.’ My boss Shrek resolved that we should exterminate the threat. We waited expectantly that they finish their talk and their fondling so that we can hunt the rat down. It took exactly 1hr and 13 mins of horrible sightings of how such a skinny wretch would make a beauty like Jane laugh. We hid in the bush awaiting this whistling brat and as soon as he entered the thicket, Shrek grabbed him like…
What was revealed shocked me. The Puss said that Jane said that Shrek isn’t his type, that she cannot handle to men who apparently were friends. This made fill my own blanks and realize that when I was patiently waiting for my mutura to ‘brownly’ roast, Shrek was eating contents from the bottom. Instead of pitying myself over Puss for taking away my hunt I thanked God that he revealed the type of a friend Shrek was. It was this hurting…
And then I remembered Swahili’s Teacher’s proverb, “akameza mate machungu”
Watch out for ‘The Fall of Shrek!”
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