Let’s not shit ourselves, being in a relationship in campus means “something”. Don’t believe me? Do this: walk around school on your own. Now, walk around again, this time with a Minaj by your side. Notice the difference? Good. Read More
Recently, I wrote that the Daystar sun is unforgiving. I even went a step further and accused it of being the biggest impediment in a comrade’s life. Today, I would politely like to take back my words, the Daystar cold is indeed the granddaddy of torture. The sun laid on us a heavy yoke but the cold has made it even heavier. Read More
You don’t choose the trap life, the trap life chooses you. – Anonymous.
Shout out to all my niggaz living in the trap. Salute.
To refer to the rooms that campus students live in as a house is a great insult to real estate. These places of inhabitation resemble cells that the high and mighty are put away in.
During my maiden semester I, like many other freshmen, resided inside the school’s hostel. I had three roommates who made my time there a priceless experience. Towards the end of that semester, I was in search of a house off campus.
Truth be told, the idea of moving off campus was first suggested to me by a special lady. I was comfortable at the school’s hostel and hadn’t really given the idea of moving out too much thought.
My Jerrika, on the other hand, was adamant I should move to off. Maybe it was because she felt we were headed “somewhere”. On her part, she had already made a down payment for a room off campus.
I tried to convince her to let us shack up at her place but she would have none of it. There was no way she would date a man and house him at the same damn time.
Bae’s expectation wasn’t the main reason I moved. It couldn’t be (brushes shoulder off).
Ufisi was the genesis of my exodus.
See, continuing students used to come over to our rooms and regale us with tales of the wild wild off. The way these guys talked, you’d think they were bagging ladies like pennies.
It wasn’t hard to believe them because the ladies acted the part. They (ladies) would make us feel inadequate for living inside school by firing subliminal shots at us. Anytime you asked them where they’re headed, they’d say off with a certain accent. You know, the same accent they refer to Java with.
These two groups of students colluded to ensure I was brainwashed to the extent of believing that I’d have seventy two virgins waiting for me at my doorstep if I moved out. This motivated me to convince my ever shrewd parents to let me move to “Eritrea”.
I doubt I can ever forget how I felt the first time the caretaker showed me the room I would be living in. Finally, a room my mother won’t nag me to clean.
The room was small but it felt like a mansion. Actually, it took me close to three years to realize that I’m living in a bedsitter. Sorry, studio apartment.
The trap is quite simple. Bed, table, closet, drawers & shelves and a lavatory. Guests will be welcomed to have a seat on a bed which is never made. But first, they have to navigate their way past empty bottles, plastic cups, dirty clothes and shoes that are lying on the floor.
A quick whiff of the air in the atmosphere will let you know that a different kind of Air Wick is being used. Al- Faker, Mastermind or broccoli are the preferred aerosols here.
Looking around, the walls are decorated with celebrity posters and graffiti. Bottles are the other form of décor in these rooms. Expensive liquor bottles, most preferably green and black bottles, are strategically placed somewhere in the glaring open for all and sundry to see; proof that the tenants are indeed about that life.
The bathroom is a crime scene; only to be used when necessity dictates, while the bed, on the other hand, is where all the magic happens. It is here that Team Mafisi, more often than not, get their hands on another man’s future wife. Who knows? Maybe even their own.
I didn’t have a lot the day I moved in. In fact, I lacked bare necessities but I couldn’t notice my deprived status. Just having “my” own digs was more than enough.
Moving in is slightly hectic. Your boys are always surprisingly MIA but it’s better that way. If they were around, you would get nothing done.
Ladies have their girlfriends who are more than ready to help them in converting their traps into homes. Even if her friends aren’t around, there’ll never lack thirsty neighbors who’ll be quite chivalrous.
Once I had settled in, I went around informing any girl who cared to listen of my new social status. Home owner. I expected the annunciation to be followed with commotion at my door. It didn’t. My seventy two virgins didn’t show up. They never have (balancing tears).
Having a trap was significant but it wasn’t enough.
For those planning to move off, don’t be discouraged. Provided you’ve got serious game, then girls will inevitably come over but (unfortunately) not in the astronomical numbers you expect. It is also important to note that just because a girl is willing to come over doesn’t mean that things have to happen.
Eventually, in a cruel twist of irony, ladies will become the least of your worries. Within a few months of moving into the Sawi village (Peace Child, anyone?) you will be possessed with the teen spirit. When this happens, expect to put alcohol above everything and survive on one meal a day. The pangs of hunger will then gladly grip you by the throat leaving you emaciated like never before.
Of course, you’ll vow to be a better manager of your finances but it won’t happen. Not with the teen spirit in control.
Starvation, though the most prevalent, isn’t the only trial and tribulation ravaging off campus students. Power outages, water shortage and theft and are other demerits of living in the bando.
But, regardless, God blessing all the trap niggaz (dab).
If you’re reading this, then it’s not 2016.
Last week on Thursday, in typical end of the year fashion, I started psyching myself for the New Year. You know, ‘New Year, New Me’. 2016 was practice, 2017 is game time. That kind of thing.
In between double tapping and screenshotting motivational quotes on Instagram which made me feel like I’m on the verge of greatness, I took a moment to contemplate when my kick off would be. Turned out, I was only three days away from 2017. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t think 2017 would come so soon. I felt like I still needed more time to waste before cleaning up my act.
I ended up giving up most of my resolutions because, who was I kidding? I’ll still be the same person I was the previous year. If 2017 was going to be a different year then I’d have to build on who I was already in 2016.
When you’re young, you dream a lot. A consequence of too much TV maybe; too many cartoons and even more film. The garbage on the idiot box has us believing that TV is an accurate representation of real life. That, real life mimics TV and not the other way round.
So we grow up waiting and dreaming of that moment when life takes a 360 turn. When you wake up in the morning and you don’t feel like you’re picking up from where you left yesterday. When everyday feels like a movie. A brand new movie.
But things don’t happen that way. With time you realize that life is more of a series. Sure, there’ll be movie moments but most of the time you’re seeing and talking to the same people (not necessarily the same faces). Hanging in the same places (not necessarily the same location), doing the same thing. Again and again. And again.
For me, my life is a comedy drama that’s mainly shot at 2 locations. Home and school. And to some extent, I hate it (the predictability that is). But, weirdly enough, I still love it. Because of my phlegmatic personality.
I don’t like meeting new people. It’s not that I don’t like people because I do. I love people. Meeting new people is an interesting and refreshing experience. But, here’s the thing, I don’t trust people. People are evil. No, I’m not generalizing. We’re all born inherently evil. And, in some people, the evil outweighs the good.
So yes, I don’t like being around people.
Unfortunately, you can’t go through this life without meeting people. Whether intentionally or unintentionally, paths must cross. Sometimes the people we cross paths with stick around. Other times they leave. And that’s the part I hate, when people leave. And by people leaving, I’m not talking about anyone and everyone. Here, I’m only referring to the beautiful souls. The one’s that brighten your day and rekindle your faith in humanity.
Last semester was one of the hardest for me. Shit got real. I couldn’t believe that I wasn’t going to see a number of people again. Ever since I got here, campus, I thought this was forever. I thought I had finally made it to Neverland. I thought I was Peter Pan.
Thinking that time had stood still, I embarked on writing my name in the history books of party rocking. And partying I did. If only I had a dollar for every night I spent in the campus local grinding myself on women’s gyrating behinds then… never mind.
Unfortunately, the sun hadn’t stood still all this time. In fact, it never does. If it did, weddings and funerals would last forever.
By the time I came to this realization three years were gone. Gone with the wind. And so, I hurriedly picked up the pieces left after all the atrocities I had committed. Problem is, I felt like I was running out of time. The day of reckoning was too close for me to make an overhaul change and I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe life was about happen and there was nothing I could do about it.
Not knowing how the hell I could stop the inevitable, I went berserk. I over did things. The wrong things.
My tantrum wasn’t enough to compel the sun to have mercy on me. It still rose. And set. Unapologetically.
And, yet again, another semester came to an end.
It was my ninth semester; last semester. I still have more to go. Like this whole year long. But for most of the people I enrolled with, it was their last. Some of these people were my friends. Good friends. We used to hang out a lot. We experienced seasons together. I never thought a day would come when I won’t see them. In this show, which is my life, they were regulars. But life, the director, decided to boot them out. Most of them.
Because I’ve been in this position, many times before, in five different high schools. I didn’t promise anyone that I’d keep in touch. I’d be lying. We’re all swallowed by the world and our own worlds eventually.
I know that from here on out we’ll be reduced to seeing each other on social media. Where, if they’re active users, they’ll offer me a chance of watching their lives unfold. And even in a world full of Wi-Fi and Unliminet, some will fall off the grid. We’ll never see or hear from each other again.
But, I’m also sure, I’ll meet some of them. Days, weeks, months, years from now, our paths will cross again. And when we meet, for a split second, it will feel like old times.
But it won’t be the same. Time won’t allow it. I’ll be different. They’ll be different. Everything will be different. And that’s not the worst part.
The worst is that they’ll come back to my life not as regulars but as special guests. For one episode only.
And I will be perfectly ok with it.
Today, I’m in my school’s Computer lab. I came here to complete assignments but as fate would have it, I am now listening to music from YouTube and blogging. Looking around, I see people busy staring at their screens. Everyone seems too preoccupied to notice what the other is doing. I know some people in this lab while others are familiar strangers. Read More
How are you? I hope this finds you well. It’s been a while since we last talked. What’s new? I heard that you added new books to your shelves and brought in new pieces of furniture. Read More