Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been three years, four months and five days since my last confession.
It’s funny father that you call me child and I call you father, soon someone is going to be calling me father and I will be calling him/her child. So you see father, we are not all that different. Anyway, grab a cup of coffee or take five to the bathroom, I would like you to be prepared, my story is rather a long one father.
What was that father? Did I hear you roll your eyes? Is that even licit? I know you have been listening to stories all day long and you are undoubtedly bored and full of other people’s crap but I swear my story is a thrilling one.
Okay I won’t swear again father. Can I proceed with my confession father, I should first of all put it forward that I do not like your attitude and you cannot keep on interrupting me, this is not a parliament seating it’s a damn confession!
Okay, my story begins the day I left here from the last confession session I had. I was a virgin then and I say this to you because I know you can relate. Virginity was a precious flower that I longed to stumble my foot upon and get rid of. It was a yoke upon my back and I was tired of bearing it. It was as if I had a tag on my forehead and every time I engaged in a conversation with my friends I felt the desolation grip me by neck and slowly suffocate me into the ground. My friends Tim and Biro did not make it easy. Tim was naturally appealing and likable so he did not have a problem getting countless girls to his bed, what bothered me was Biro who even to me was my friend but lame. He too had managed to trick a girl to remove her clothes for him. Therefore father, your advice during my last confession about preserving oneself for the right one and all that kind of crap went down the drain, in fact it did the opposite, I was a motivated man looking for a hole to dispose my virginity, bury it deep into a place it would never be recovered. I did not want to end up like you.
You are uncomfortable father? Is there a problem with your seat father? Now a few months later I joined campus in Central Province Nyeri town. On the first day, the day all the first years reported to school, was astonishingly one of the most overwhelming day of my life. Father, there were beautiful girls everywhere, it was no longer like the usual Koelel High School where female teachers on practice had to quit moment after the other because the boys could not hold down their excitement for skirts. There was this one day we had a teacher on practice from Moi University with a big ass, to cut a long story short, that poor girl probably had to sign up for therapist sessions after the first week teaching C.R.E. in my class. I really do not understand why they have to separate girls and boys in high school, I mean, in our school, they made us feel that a girl was a god. We worshiped girls in our sleeping cubes and drew their nakedness in the toilets. Our stories were full of made-up stories about our imagined encounters with girls with pretty names like Nancy, Risper and Doris. We were so innocent we did not even recognize if we were boobs or ass people, we just knew pretty names. I digress.
Now on this first day I swore to myself that I would stay longer than a week before I had a girl in my bed. I was wrong. In Dedan Kimathi University, I had to stay in a cube with three other first year males. Getting laid in that kind of environment was close to converting water into wine the second time. My hostel was named after a county in Central Province, where surprisingly, I come from – Nyandarua. I had three roommates, Kamau, Edu and Franko. Edu had a girlfriend from Jomo Kenyatta University who visited every weekend and the three of us had to look for elsewhere to sleep when she was around. Franko got a third year girlfriend during the first week of campus and he moved in with her, we only saw him during exams. Kamau was a football fan and seemed to gather no appeal from girls at all. He spent time with his niggas playing poker and betting on sportpesa. Then there was me, with eighteen years of inexperience of handling or talking to girls leave alone getting them to date me.
It was tough father, tougher than donkey meat. The first year beautiful girls I was so excited about rapidly ran out as some got fourth year boyfriends, others got working boyfriends who came to fetch them on Fridays after Communication Skills class in big luxurious cars. In other words, I could not keep up with the demand of first year girls in Nyeri. I held on to my peace father. I tried praying, asking God to land me a cute girl but then I realised that God would be the wrong person to ask for help when it came to getting rid of my virginity. I was frustrated. It also turns out that School of Computer Science was not at all engaging at all, the classes were rather few and the hours to burn were abundant, I needed a miracle father, I needed a hand from God himself, no arbitrator.
I wrote application letters to Red Cross Nyeri. I wanted to do volunteer work in their establishments whenever I did not have anything to do. I was in a new town surrounded by people speaking Kikuyu in weird accents. I do not know if you have noticed father, that Kikuyu from Nyandarua is pretty different from the one in Nyeri. In Nyeri when they speak, it is as if they are singing, they say ‘sai’ instead of ‘shai’ when they are talking about tea. Their accent contains some kind of mislead pride perhaps because they feel that they are the most modern of Kuyus. I do not like their Kikuyu at all, I would prefer they spoke Swahili to me than Kuyu.
You are from Nyeri yourself you said? Oh, well I will create an exception for you. To be honest I actually think you are a pretty cool guy father. Perhaps when we are on that topic you could enlighten me on the validity of what they say about Nyeri, about their women, how they love bashing their male partners and cutting their little engines off. If I was from Nyeri too, I would probably be a father like you. These women of yours will show us maneno!
Yes, yes… Let me proceed. So, Red Cross did not invite me to their offices. I offered to work with no pay and even then, was still rejected. At least when our days are done and we meet our maker on judgement day, my conscious is as clear as day, I offered to help the needy but the needy did not want my help. Nyeri had rejected me as well as university girls, my life was ended, but my story was just beginning.
It was during one of those sunny Friday afternoons taking a stroll alone after class, I remember it was Friday because we had just left the Communication Skills class. It was when I saw her for the first time, she was gorgeous, her hair fell comfortably on her shoulders, her light skin reflected the afternoon sun like a silver mirror or the moon during Ramadhan, and when she walked, she made calculated strides as if she was aware of her audience, she was a model, she was beautiful and the pink in her clothes accentuated every bit of a goddess in her.
Her name was Cheryl.
Feature Image by Mukiri Gitiri