Anan: The last minute guy

Part Two 

 Continued from

I see girls that can rival Johnny Bravo in shape. Those that walk like a certain chic I won't mention (atacatch feelings aninyime rights).  They walk in a such way that makes it hard to notice what there mama gave them. My buddy knows how to notice them from afar.

I also spot girls with more rings than a ring worm in their bellies. Sorry they are called tyres. I read somewhere that the only thing they require is avocado and off they roll to the intended destination. I notice girls whose chests are so flat you can use an Iron box on to give your pair of trousers the cutting edge lines most old school men love.

I catch a glimpse of a certain lass. Distractingly gorgeous, the kind of looks that make your eyes pinwheel, that make you want to just address the elephant – ‘You know you’re gorgeous, right?’ She has a great smile, a cat’s smile.

She is far away. I am busy. As far as I know, this should be the most beautiful angelic girl in this crowd. More beautiful than Cleopatra and Monroe combined. She oozes class and laughs like jezebel. I bow. I will look for her if things go as planned. Meanwhile I have to attend to business. 

The weather is chilly. I should have carried my jacket. The music stops. Murmurs. This was what gave me the psyche to write. I see guys with new generation ID cards and I am holding my old school Id. I am old. But the hustle does not recognize this. I am patient.

Here there is free Wi-Fi. I try it out. It backfires. NO WAIT.......... . It works. My whatsapp is a testimony. 

More and more boys and girls arrive. They carry small envelopes. I feel embarrassed. I have with me turns of certificates. Accumulated over the years but no job yet. In fact as opposed to those who aim at getting jobs, I aimed at the knowledge bit while in school. Whether a job comes or not. Knowledge is power. It is something that never rots I console myself. If well used it helps society. R. Frost once said “Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper or your self-confidence.”

I envy those who got jobs in top four. Those who got like four offers after completing campus. They were spoilt for choice. Contritely I got regrets. Seated here in a cold field where wind blows like it is the Indian Monsoon hovering over the ocean or the West African Harmattan winds that blow in the Sahara Desert . I remember my admission to high school. Only that this time there is a small stipend and experience and getting to network and getting to meet new people and,.......... I remember one of my friends, a first class chap who also got the same regrets. He never was called for any interview. He keeps hope alive. He was among the best in both campus and in local accountancy courses. Education is a wrought ore I say. In my view, life is about experiences. You may earnestly take the route of making more but the end justifies the means.

I see a lass I met early in town in a cyber cafe. I had speculated she was going to the same place I was. She had a brown skirt, black blouse and a small fitting jacket. I know she does not remember me. Again she is seated like 500 people away.

So Nairobi entrepreneurs never sleep. It was just a few minutes past six and a cyber cafe had already been opened. Many youths were inside the cyber cafe I had gone to make photocopies of my ID card which I had. I recognized the lady since she came to the counter to make some payment.

I see many strange faces. Not a single familiar one hitherto. But on closer scrutiny I see a former comrade who I remember spending most of the time in the school swimming pool while still freshmen.

Every John and Jane goes to the walls. There, names of selected individuals are written. I don't go. I received a call and several text messages to confirm my being here. I love it when University graduates, College leavers with diploma and certificates, KCSE graduates and KCPE graduates come together for a good cause like this.

But I am forced to go check where my name is on the walls that look like a colonial relic. I see my name. I go back to the tent as Kenyans run helter skelter to go queue so as to be cleared to start training that may soon lead to a job.

The banner of this project captures my attention. It has a university graduate, probably not Kenyan, as the focal point of the image. I see the photographer of the image was good but the guy who photoshopped the banner does not know about the ‘a third rule’ in photography. I mind my business.

I swear Kabete freezes. I wonder how comrades from lower and upper Kabete survived this chilly weather. But jabers usually come in handy since there a mate told me, the stringent ten to ten rules are kind of lax.

I Google about Kabete women. The first hit I see is by Standard media. This is how it goes

“Since time immemorial, men from Central Kenya have been warned by their folks against marrying women from Kabete.” Is this true?

“Kabete, most Kenyans have been told, has the highest concentration of widows per square kilometer in Central Kenya.” A Nyanza Terrorist (wife inheritor) will be salivating on hearing this news.

It goes on further “Besides killing their hubbies, Kabete women are also considered aggressive go getters who brook no nonsense. So ingrained is this stereotype that men from Central Kenya believe marrying a Kabete woman will not get them any blessings from their folks. ” That’s chilling.

My crystal balls tell me that I am not safe either. Sorry Kabete princesses, I ain’t tying the knot with any you even if I am the most eligible bachelor in town and you are the best choice.

After the rendezvous comes to an end, I make my exit having done everything required. I take a mat to town and a lady sits next to me. I chat her up but she looks kind of coy. I decide not to bug her. She is called Bacy. I tell myself “Kwani ana jina moja kama umbwa.” But a dog also has three names, scientifically; Canis lupus familiaris .

On my way I see Caramel, I should go there one day. I also see Jaguar Land Rover situated in Delta house.  How comes I never noticed it when we used to go to Naivas for some Turkey on cash filled Fridays. PWC is a neighbor so it looks like the two are twins. A former classmate works for the Top Four. I swear, had I known I would have gone to Jaguar Land Rover and asked for a position just to quench my thirst for driving European Autos. But again if wishes were horses, beggars would ride on them. I get the drift.

I alight next to Moi Avenue Primary. I head to an eatery I used to frequent. Just when I was about to make the necessary payments, I realize that the conductor had not returned my change. I thought this was a culture famous with ‘Gethu’ conductors. How he had gone without returning my change still remains a mystery. For a hustler of my stature, Ksh. 500 is too much to let go of just like that. I call a pal that I am in a fix to bail me out. He wires me a K via MPESA in the blink of an eye. He works though. So he understands my plight. I pay the bill via MPESA like a boss. And that is a testimony of a day well spent.