It is a warm Friday afternoon, you are chit-chatting with your cuzos and brothers and sisters in your keja. The room is so full there’s a seats deficiency. So you are lying on the bed facing the roof with your legs crossed, in your arms is your phone from which you are reading one of these famous creative writers’ blog, chatting with three girls (one is your college classmate), you are also listening to music from your left ear, and actively involved in the conversation in your room – at the same time. Dan cracks a joke about how poorly you write the posts in your blog. His jest draws all and sundry’s attention, all the fourteen eyes in the room impulsively get fixed on him, of course except his eyes and yours. “So we are seated here with a blogger?” Jenny asks, perplexed.
They censure you for not informing them and sending them the link and the URL to your blog. Deep inside you, you curse Dan for introducing this subject. You are just a WordPress user, a mediocre blogger to be concise. Not a blogger. You couldn’t have gone around yapping and calling yourself a blogger when you still use a free WordPress domain. You just couldn’t. (But kudos to the many young wordpress users out there, you are impacting and influencing so many lives).
These cuzos and brothers and sisters of yours then swiftly turn onto their phone browsers and demand that you read out your blog URL. You are reluctant to do this because that URL is so long, so you tell them you’ll send them a link to one of your latest stories. That’s when it dawns on you that you haven’t prepared today’s post. And you have no idea what to write or narrate today. And you see, writing is not like Meru girls that you just turn on any time by simply telling them “I love you”, and by just that, they get in the mood for it. No. Writing is not that way. At least not as easy as arousing girlfriends from Meru.
Instead, writing is like a Luo girl, you must serenade her properly before getting her in the mood. Like for you to turn her on, you need to take her out, order fish for her, good fish – there’s this fish they call “Rech”, order that one. And as she slowly gulps down the Rech, feed her on Tonny Nyadundo, or Osogo Owinyo’s ohangla. I mean feed her on soft music – soft to her ears. And to a Luo girl, the rech and ohangla will not be enough, she’ll still need a supplement, so you will again be needed to tenderly fondle her hair and from there, you can now express your intentions in fluent English or Dholuo, NOT in Kiswahili. Do you get me? No? Ok, what I’m saying is, writing is not something you just walk into any time, you must properly get your mind ready for it. It’s not something that you can just pick your laptop and type 1,500 words in thirty minutes.
So after realizing you’ve no post today, you swiftly go through your blog posts and comments. That’s when you stumble on Onyi Part One and below it, Andy’s comment, the one he says ‘Nice nangoja part 2….’ You breathe in relief and sigh. Onyi part one has been missing its second part for a month now. It’s not complete – it’s lonely like the way Adam was before God saw that he needed Eve, so you think of giving Onyi part one it’s Eve for it to be complete. You instantly phone up Onyango to seek his consent before proceeding with the next part of his story. He allows you. “Achoksi bwana, imalizie haraka,” he barks from the receiver. You hung up and order your lappy from Meshak.
By the way I have a number of lady friends who are born again, I’m trying to avoid calling them girlfriends because of the perception that compound noun creates in some chaps’ minds. Sometimes when I’m not preparing these very long boring posts on this blog, I go over to their rooms to bother them. I just force myself there whether with their invitations or without. And they’ve got used to that. We talk and laugh and sometimes I receive several soft belly blows and fists for my stubbornness, and on bad days they pinch me so hard, but none of us minds. They tell me how sometimes life becomes boring, like when their chats get filled with bible verses and words of encouragement from their pastors and their brothers in Christ.
See, the world perceives these ‘saved’ girls differently, like it (the world) starts judging and viewing them as profane and pretenders when it gets to know that they also have boyfriends. Come on! These girls are not nuns. And who doesn’t want to be loved? I’m asking, who?
Anyway so you embark on Onyi’s plea. You have to help him find a girlfriend, or a wife, who knows! Anita is that girlfriend or wife in this case. One morning, you commit to wake up at 5 to attend the CU morning glory. You are pretty sure that at such time, Onyi is still snoring and deeply buried under his duvet cause it’s so cold out here. But that stops you not from aiding him. After all what are friends for? You stop Anita on your way out, just a few steps from the door. You call out her name, she complies, you greet and exchange few English sentences. You then wish her a blissful day and disappear. Next, you pace to your room and jump to your bed to nap and be rid of the six o’clock cold.
The next day you don’t wake up to the morning devotion, however luck hits you on the chest in the afternoon. You run into Anita on your way to the BAKE seminar at the Conference Hall. That’s when you request to see her later in the day, in her room. She accedes to your request. Later in the evening, after you’ve had your supper, you ask Onyango to escort you to the ladies’ hostels. He does. Onyi picks up well and speaks good English that girls in Anita’s room start to like him. He later frequents that room. A week later, Onyi comes to you again and registers his affirmation that he’s now getting along with Anita. The friendship is restored and he is so elated that Anita unblocked him moments ago. They will be chatting tonight.
You see? Si I told you these CU chics are the hardest yet the cheapest to tune? Hardest because your first impression matters, if you don’t approach them well they’ll rebuke you and order the Holy Spirit to come down and consume you. Because they will see you as a devil’s workman. That Lucifer has sent you to wane their faith in God. But they will not hate you, they spread love and love alone. And these girls are the cheapest because when your first impression excites them, you will easily get closest to their heart. You will be the only one texting them love messages because of what we earlier mentioned. That is, because the rest of these CU people’s chats and calls are composed of Bible verses and words of encouragement from sijui the book of Ruth. Now tell me, what will hinder you from owning this girl’s heart and mind.
By the way I hope I’m not talking to myself here. Aah, but I’m sure Onyango is keenly following to ensure I don’t create my own things here, and I’m also certain that Elvis and Andy are in the house. Oh! And those cuzos of mine and a number of young bloggers and and one or two other readers. I think.
Anyway so before winding up the semester, you start spotting Onyi and Anita together. Anita picks him on Sundays for the Christian union service, occasionally you meet them loaded with black polythene bags on your way to Chafua. That at least proves that they’re moving on well.
You decide to call Onyi again before concluding this story so that you confirm from him how things are at the moment. By this time, your cuzos have already left so you are just alone in your room. Your room is as quiet as your grandfather’s grave. You are sitting at the edge of your bed with legs crisscrossed, your back leaning against the wall. You hastily pick your phone and call Onyi. He doesn’t pick. You call again and still there’s no response. So you just sit there holding your cheeks waiting his text or call, cause you can’t just end this story without confirming how he’s moving on. 15 minutes later, he calls. You clutch your phone the way a starving infant can grab a woman’s breast.
“Pole bana, been busy,” Onyango pleads.
“Usijali, I’ve just completed your story. How is you and Anita, you still love her?”
“Achoksi bwana you can’t ask that!”
“What do you mean?”
“You just secured me a wife bwana, Anita is a wife to me, forget about the girlfriend thing.”
Tears of joy.