Kenyan Madness Abroad

Will this turn out to be the elusive outlet for me to unleash my creative genius on an unsuspecting world? Or is it destined to be nothing more than a hi-tech pen and pad chronicling the ramblings of a delusional mind? You be the judge ... Just so ya know there's a disclaimer: This blog contains strong language and some adult situations. Viewer discretion is advised.

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Cultural, expressive, thoughtful dude. It's not all good though coz I am also an internet addict, and a sometime stalker too. But I am happy to say I am in therapy for the internet thing :)

Friday, February 9

The school bully

Ok I have to discuss a trend that occurs in high schools across Kenya. Regardless of whether it is a private, provincial, or national school there are some students that look at the incoming class of rabbles as their personal servants, messengers, and shopkeepers. Nah, make that stockkeepers coz in most cases money isnt involved in the exchange of goods or services.

This trend is far worse in shaggs as I unfortunately came to learn. I was dropped off by my folks at a certain chuo that will remain unnamed for now. I had heard tales of horror from past students of this school that were scarred and had never recovered. This one chap was forced to smoke a joint on his first day and he was never quite the same after that.

My sisters had gone to schools where a certain head of state (rhymes with noi) had been karangaring the headmistresses and as a result, they were fed the most delectable of dishes; chicken, chapoz, sausages, tea with both milk and sugar, and murram bila weevils! At the helm of this school was Mr. Nyadude. His shirt was perpetually unbuttoned almost to the navel (come rain or shine) revealing a chest dotted with tu-hairs that were as sparse as acacia trees in the Kalahari. His generous midriff hinted at where the building fund was being redirected. The nails on his little fingers were long and uncut and he used these for removing the wax out of his ears. He wore football socks that were the only hint of color on his pallete; yellow with blue stripes, red with white stripes, green with ... you get the bright picture. Suffice it to say, there was never any Kenchic delivered here. Say what you will about the head-of-state-whose-name-rhymes-with-noi, frolicking with middle-aged headmasters with haggard appearances and questionable attire was never one of his vices.

My budda started to drive off and I ran after the car and desperately clung onto the exhaust pipe of his Ford Cortina crying "Don't leave me here! Take me to Highway School! Take me to Haii' like my best friend Omondi!". I hung on as long as I could until the fumes were too smothering and I was forced to let go. As they waved bye and hit the corner and disappeared, I got up and dusted myself off with tears in my eyes.

"FORM ONE!" a commanding voice shouted from behind me, bringing to an abrubt halt my passionate and demonstrative expressions of grief. I turned around and Holy smokes! This big, dry-looking jamaa was walking towards me in long strides. My heart skipped one or two beats. As he approached I could see he had this dudu hair that coils into tight little balls as soon as it emerges from his scalp and hits sunlight. His shirt was untucked and his shorts revealed long, skinny legs that had not seen much if any lubricant since he and the placenta went their separate ways. His shoes appeared to be laughing with each step as the front part of the soles were detached from the upper leather. Sijui also why they looked oblong shaped. He must have walked in them from Ndumberi to the school and back over many opening and closing days.

My quick assessment of him was summarized in a hurry when he grabbed me in a headlock and gave me two ngotos. "Herro my fried, werrocom, did you bring some food for your brather?" Now at this moment I was forcibly made to become acquaintances with his underarms. The odor was indescribable but I will try. It had the same effect as inhaling smelling salts combined with Eno with a drop of sulphuric acid for good measure. All shaken up and stirred in a teargas canister. To say it smelled like a corpse would be giving a bad name to corpses. It instantly made my eyes water and my throat clamp up. With my head firmly under one arm, with his other free hand he hauled my suitcase and led me to the dorm.

"Put your theengs there thats your bed with the torn godoro". That "godoro" wasnt even a mattress; it was more like a big sponge that had been peed and nibbled on by goodness knows whom (or what)? "What's your name? Ati ki? Braknut?"As soon as my suitcase was down he called his pals over. Infront of them he made me pick up his shoe, and use it to dial "my wife" and have a normal conversation with her in my mother tongue inquiring how the kids were, if the nyanyas had ripened in the garden, and how many matumbi the hens had laid that morning. Now if I thought his armpit was bad, this was Hiroshima in comparison. These shoes were probably the reason there were no roaches crawling around the dorm. His buddies all had a hearty laugh at my expense and after I hung up the "phone", they dispersed leaving me with this goon who I came to find out was called Muchai.

Over the next months, I washed, ironed, and folded Muchai's shirts, shorts and socks. In all respect to good, decent socks worldwide, I shouldnt call what he wore socks. They were more like grey leg warmers that could be worn from either end. I am guessing the foot part had been eaten away by the acid in his shoes. Did I say his shoes? Me and this nigga were almost the same shoe size so he had assumed ownership of my new shoes and I was walking around in his saucers. I needed to tie a bladder around them to prevent them from coming off as I ran to class and back.

Muchai's bullying antics did not stop there. As if that was not enough, he ransacked my box and quickly ran through my Milo, sugar, biscuits, t.p., and juice. To his credit, he did tutor me in impossible mathematics. You see, after all my supplies were over, he made me go to the nearby kiosk (at the risk of being caught by the school watchmen) with 2 shillings and I had to somehow figure out how to buy milk, bread, blueband, soda and Patco and return with 10 bob change.

Now this was getting to be too much. Everyone has their limit and I had clearly reached mine. I may have been younger and smaller than he was but I was smarter and I decided enough was enough! I was going to exact my revenge on him. Over the next few days I began to hatch my plan ...

My case is still in the legal system so I cannot go into too much detail. And if I am asked I will deny everything. I will say this much though ... it involved laxatives to make sure he needed to use the pit latrine, a rope to tie the door, and bees from the school hive. When I was done the bully that had tortured me for so long had this picture taken at the local police station as evidence ...






7 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oh gosh! This is the funniest thing I've ever read!! I'm still wiping the tears off my cheeks and my tummy hurts from laughing so hard. Keep it up brother...

1:46 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

by far this has to be the funniest bold i have ever come across LMAO!!!!!! ur giving everyone else a run for their money....

6:18 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Woiyee, please say some of the bullying stories are not true? I am in DISTRESS!!! Laughing though.........but in distress all the same

4:02 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

how can you think this is funny well i suppose i haven't actually read it but..... all the same!

1:49 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dude this is so funny!!!!
Am still in stitches

4:50 AM  
Blogger savvy said...

Did he really look like that? And the cops got involved?

I went to a school that is more like the one that rhymes with noi...there was no buyllying and food was in plenty, and nice food at that.

7:45 AM  
Anonymous Iggy said...

hahahhaa oh nooooo, oh wait, can't be him this one has good hair hahahaha wheeeew too much.

2:40 PM  

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