The Xhoxxa Crowd part 1

Last Friday but two was a spectacular day. Besides it being rather too hot, dry and dusty, the day ushered in the second weekend of the first semester here in campus. The freshmen and women were just reeling from the week-long orientation program organized by the administration. Eager, enthusiastic and confused of what lay ahead of them,  in this strange place they came to pursue their academic dreams. That most of the day you find them strolling around or hurdled together at a place like grazing sheep, glued to their smartphones! Wake up this is Campus!  

As a senior, i cannot fail to notice how crowded and suffocating the library feels. Note how long the Mess queues are. Note the pavements bustling with humanity. The lecture complex fills to the brim. The Serengeti, Suswa and Tsavo...the Loita hostels... (The names of these hallowed places sound like some wildlife containment areas. Anyway, never mind. So are the tenants. Shrieks!) These kids are way too many. I mean, I can see so many intellects. The women too, a fresh lot. Not flashy. Fleshy. Too many dreams. I wish them well.

It goes without mentioning that every batch of new students here is always warned to be wary of their elder colleagues, notably the senior students. Here: the fatigued Fourthers, the tired Thirders and the unruly sophomores. Some are shrewd, drunkards, unruly and evil in other ways...whatever the admin tells these comrades about us that they dread us so much to even come near us (maybe true, there are people I too should avoid).

Feels like a heat wave *fans self*. Am not telling you that Narok gets baked in the month of September but it also gets a bit breezy and dusty like the rest of the year. The dust here is nothing but a special type of dye free for your hair, eyebrows and shoes; as my friend Yaile fondly calls it amid chuckles. Nothing is more glorifying than when you are engulfed in a whirlwind at the CBD then you step out with a set of brown teeth and dyed eyelashes, complete with a polythene bag halo on your head. I always cherish those spontaneous fifteen-seconds of brownation. Let’s leave the dust at that. It hurts even more when it gets into your eyes.

The mood on Fridays is mostly relaxing and a happy one. Where you connive with your lecturers to end classes by noon or just pray and hope that all classes bounce. So that you can have ample time to rush and connect with your gal/boyfies in other campuses, big towns and cities or visit your relatives at home. Or kill the time in the internet hotspots watching and downloading the latest music videos and exotic movies (like what yours truly does). Attend to ones hygiene, do laundry. For some still, it is the opportunity to plan for and light the academic torch and 'compare notes' (not real class notes i hear).  ;-))) *smileys*

"Hi." clearing my throat, "excuse me pretty, your..."

A lovely girly face partly hidden by long flowing hair gave me an imploring gaze and stopped me mid-sentence, words evaporated from my head. I motioned her with my eyes to a receipt that had fallen on the pavement from her hands. I hunkered down and scooped the piece of paper before it was hurtled away by the noon wind. I handed it back to her.

''Awwwh! Tis my receipt. Thank you very much dude!"

She was teary and tried to reach out to me for a hug in appreciation. I gave her that don’t-touch-me-my-lecturer-is-right-behind-us look and her hugging attempt dramatically shrunk to a mere handshake. Her palms were way too soft. Mine rough. We stepped aside to give my lecturer the right of way and to get off our backs.

"Tim."

"Scholie. As in Scholastica."

"What a nice name! Glad to meet you."

"It's a pleasure."

We exchanged pleasantries as she rummaged through her handbag after positing her receipt.

She wore a flabby and knee-short polka dot skirt which she kept pulling down from being blown by the wind, pink top and emerald chiffon. One could visibly tell out that she was a 'fresher'. Her naivety and novelty unmatched. Her clique of friends a few meters ahead of us, often cast glances at her. Probably giggled at us. I maintained my cool, in my sausage-thigh tight blue faded jean trousers, a Gothic-print white shirt and brown moccasin shoes. The high-wedged shoes she'd made her hobble walk like some newly born calf. Tis plain painful, i would try to imagine.

Scolie informed me that she was hurrying to town to pick a parcel her dad had sent her via a courier service from Nairobi. She fondly talked well of her dad. As the typical representative of the Fatigued, I lazed asking her more questions about her other family relations. She was admirably a dad's daughter. But I learnt that she had an elder brother who serves in the Army. Her only sibling. We walked down the pavement towards the gate. She did not bother catching up with her friends and laughed at my lame jokes. She had had found a perfect company in me. I considered her occasional pulling down her dress rather stressful, especially in the breeze under the acacia trees lining up the pavement to the gate. We walked past the cheeky boda boda guys who lurk at the gate ready to offer one a ride to town for Kshs. 50, only. Haggling that their bike is the best among others. Quibbling, trying to outdo each other. We had quite a stroll to town and back, ice-cream, fries for lunch at some lush garden restaurant overlooking Engare Narook...the hobbling notwithstanding. It took forever. This is a new fried-sheep. A step at a time.

Fifteen minutes past midnight and thirty seven seconds, my phone buzzes. I am a light sleeper i believe; it is a text message from an unfamiliar number. I still insist, I don't have this number in my phone book. I can hardly read the text message due the light contrast emanating from the phone's LCD. I muster up some energy and my eyes accustom themselves to the light. Then the horror that is:

"Hi xwri. Xtoriex? Ope u r ok. Btw, tex a milli 4 tekin te rexit 4 mih en te gud tyms leo. Xowwi bt Oh boi, u r xo xo xwir en cul. U luk lyk a mexx, can i fix u? Em unattaxed, wud u lyk to hia mi xing u melodiux xongx next to ua prexious hart? Cum en rock wit mi ol nit in te hall. I trexxure u ~ xmat gyal Xolie xoxoxo"

*****

Forgive me for my oversight; i forgot to tell you that on Fridays we have night bashes. Here they are called  Dundas, and Freshers debuting; Freshers' Dunda. On this particular night some turntable-wizard, i mean a disc jockey (DJ) would entertain comrades with his music for free. It happens that when we have such auspicious events on Campus, specially distilled and fermented solvents of all kinds and puffy blunts are made available to the market, on a willing-buyer-willing-seller basis. Comrades, old and new order their drinks and like pros guzzle them up. This is to some, especially to the freshers, is a very important orientation session. Some experiment with alcohol for the first time and end up so drunk, their guardians would not want them back to their families. Unfortunately, some get themselves involved into irresponsible sex and other orgies...these kids should know better.

Comrades who still have some life left in them after wallowing in some liquor wobble to the dance-hall to shake a leg or two.

*****

I never had received such a bizarre text message. I tried to decipher the message therein. It was special and well fashioned. Oh come on the Fatigued one! I failed. Shocked. My heart racing. I felt like my assassin was hot on my heels. I fumbled through the darkness of the room and switched on the lights. I sat on my bed, my roommates were M.I.A. I could not sleep any more. With a fully awake mind, i reread the text appraising its syntax and morphology (these are things my prof. says in class, i do not know what they mean either).

Took a deep breathe, exhaled and lolled! LOL! Under my breathe, I curse the composer of the text for failing their English grammar teacher by peddling violent texts. I curse the spellchecker of the gadget on which the text was operated on. Before i ran out of the F-word curses, a call comes through my phone. With trembling hands, I swap my index finger across the screen, press the loudspeaker and listens... [Continues shortly in part 2...]