They trapped my eyes, and stole my attention – those two yellow yellow things beneath her blue miniskirt. I winked at her and she grinned. Suddenly, I felt my thing stand. My boxer could accommodate him no more. He betrayed me. My trousers bulged. I’m sure she realized that cause I remember seeing her giggle. She must have perceived me as a very weak man. The kind of man, easily aroused by a mere sight of a woman’s thighs.
I study an arts course, a degree in Disaster control and Management. Pals who joined campus earlier told me that while in university, one specializes in a single field. And only studies things that are relevant to that career. That means, those who want to be teachers enroll for education courses, those who aspire to be lawyers study law. And that is the same case in all other courses as we call them. So I opted for an arts course because sciences and mathematics hardly made sense to me back in high school. I never wanted to encounter any of them in my studies again, that was after completing high school. And I was sure I was not going to bump in any of the two again now that I chose to study an arts course. At least till I depart to be with the Lord.
Pengine there’re some mathematics, arithmetic and these physics and chemistry things there (in heaven). I don’t know. But I’ll inquire from my pastor. And I will let you know.
Nonetheless, fate brought us together again when I least expected. So this semester I was forced to register an economics unit, a unit meant for economists like our Rais Mstaafu Mwai Kibaki. I hear he was very tough in these things.
So yesterday I was compelled to wake up at 5 o’clock. Just to cram formulas and concepts in this tormenting academic unit. And the way that alarm screeched! I almost flung my phone on the floor. I had to run around a bit, and take a cold birth to get rid of sleep. I imbibed enough knowledge that my head could comprehend. And that’s what happens in Kenya. Students have to cram and force anything and everything into their skulls for fear of exams. Students just cram notes and reproduce the in exams and pass. Then the next time you are watching TV you hear government heads lamenting about the raw students manufactured in our campuses – graduates with no practical skills in their careers. By the way how are the definitions you people set in exams supposed to help us gain those practical skills? And how is studying things that are not related to our courses helpful in our professions? Anyway, time to sit that exam flew in.
I crawled into the examination room and grabbed a seat as the lecturers issued us those economics question papers – papers full of strange graphs and values. I leaned back on my chair to pray, I asked God to give me strength to remember as many concepts as I had crammed earlier in the morning.
I had hardly said “Amen” when Theo, who was seated on my left, tapped me. He probably wanted to confirm if that paper was really meant for us, and to inquire whether question 1a. was solvable. Quickly, I pulled together my mind and gripped my question paper to aid a comrade. It read:
- Koome’s firm produces miraa bags with a fixed cost of $30 (this cost is already sunk). Her variable cost function is vc=Q2 +2Q.
- Assuming the market for miraa bags is competitive, derive the supply function.
Sasa hii ni vitu gani? Surely what’s that? Kenya! How do you expect an arts course student to answer that? And how does a supply function look like? I’m just asking, how was that equation supposed to help someone derive that function? I shook my head, Theo understood what that meant. He hence continued flipping through his paper in search for simple questions to attempt. I perused the whole paper. Nothing seemed familiar in there. I went through it again. That second time made me curse the Kenyan Education System. That was academic torture.
That’s just how things fall apart. I turned to my right. I wanted to check around and see if people were writing anything. That’s when my eyes fall on Rehema. She was scarcely dressed down there. Yes. I think I saw her look at her question paper, then her laps, at least not once. And I noticed words and graphs scribbled on her mellow thighs. She probably chose that short regalia just to scare away the male lecturers who keep wandering in class during exam time. And they make you uncomfortable. All that in the name of supervising their papers.
Nonetheless, shit happened the moment she realized I was staring at her. She opened her legs broader, as if permitting me in. And for some time I thought this thing was a live ‘soccer match’.
And I ate it with my eyes.
Or was I to reject her offer? Eh? Reject? I think you are not serious. Who rejects such offers, especially when the semester is winding up and he has been swept by a serious ‘dry spell ‘ all though? Next, I saw my khakis wet. I felt some watery fluid around my groins. But that water appeared slippery and oily, and a bit thick. And the lecturer tapped my head to pick my answer sheet.