Some would say I’m Kim K.But these some are built differently.I come close but I’m not that rich….yet…Nor that well enhanced genetically but having clothes in different towns is something we have in common. The levels, all I need now is fillers in my lips, DIFFERENT CLOSETS ONE COUNTRY and bosom and you get to call me Diaz K. West. Life being shorter than liquor I might as well start working on my Diaz lip kit- it will have liquid silicon, some lip liner and a business card for Blush Lounge. I’ll probably start dating a rapper too. Hey King Gold Chains (Tyga)!
Chronologically and alphabetically, Moi University is by far the worst institution I have had the privilege of attending. If natural selection was to repeat its history, trust me by the fact that our lot will be Straight Sapiens. We have lost members along the way due to exhaustion, succumbing to rearing of offspring, general disinterest, and strong affiliation to a ‘higher’ power and most and not in any way the least- transfers. Shout out to my guy friend over at Massachussets who left late last year but will soon be finishing before me and with a better resume.
Given the wicked tumultuous calendar of events we have been experiencing, adapting to the times cannot be more stressed upon. Aside from disruption in terms of education, I have had the worst time in making the shifts from Euthanasia to Gondwanaland each time lecturers decide they are not quite set to do the one job they cannot do.
I have gone through all the kinds of changes Tupac ever rapped about and I can no longer seem to work out memories of all that had been. In six years of education I have one notebook to show for it, a few real friends that I treasure and the rest is just blurry vision mixed with the corner at Salgaa. What I thought could be the greatest years of my life turned out to be a little stretched out than I expected. I usually think God just wanted us to have a little more fun before we delved into full blown adulthood. I hope I remember to thank Him for that. Delayed suffering is the best form of blessing, some of you right now would be designing wedding invitations, buying pampers, dealing with funny domestic issues like hogging the duvet and calculating how much money you have left to pay the house help. The tragedy.
My complaints regarding this fine polished place of being (realized institution is too sophisticatedof a word) fell on deaf ears, blind eyes and definitely on bald heads. The ratio of old folks to the younger is staggering, it looks more like a nursing home than a children’s home. Pardon my language I meant university, the line is somewhat blurry of recent days.
This place has single handedly rendered a fleet of students into nothing but flowers. All we do is sit and take in oxygen until we are pruned by the master (government). Our source of pain, pleasure and all manner of afflictions undeserving to such young souls. But we still hold you in high regard for delaying our adult responsibilities.
“Karimi umeona top yangu ya black?” I inquire as I rampage through my closet for the fiftieth time.
Karimi shrugs “Mi sijui , ile ya leather?”
Then I remember I have over ten black tops, yes my closet is a funeral. Be careful not to judge I might be attending yours.
Three months later……
I find the top I have been looking for prior in Eldoret in some dungeon we call Dadina. The menace I caused when I couldn’t trace it in Rongai was a paragon of pure mental dysfunction. Wearing this garment around the house will paint such a grotesque picture that I would rather give out my favorite piece of clothing. The ‘ kauka-nikuvae’ types of clothes are the worst anti-development factors in the closet. You wear them more than twice a week, they have begun to gather ‘moss’ especially if they are woolen and you can’t give them out as you will end up borrowing them again. They subject you to the kind of mental slavery whose shackles are unbreakable; they are Samason-strong and Delilah-callous. These are the garments that give you life, that you can recycle without feeling guilty and you can wear even if torn and not pressed.
This specified top in question is my favorite in all my black attires. It is made of velvet, almost looks like crushed velvet but taking a keener look, it’s actually quite smooth and endearing. It ends just right above by navel so it goes well with my high waist jeans and pencil skirts giving me that elegant finish. It does not require any ironing nor folding, I can leave it around anywhere and it won’t pick any dirt nor suppress any strand used in its manufacture. This top is my Marylin Monroe to my JFK, the Rihanna to my breezy, the Markle in My Meghan and the Beckham to the Beckham. Its cut is so precise; it allows me to have as much as I can without looking like Winnie the Pooh and very little to the imagination when it comes to my derriere. I would give all but not this one. I will salvage it from the floods and rain on it in the fire; it is the one for me. I do not lend it nor do I put it up for display.
“Hujaiona?” I ask again as if she had not heard the first query
“Mi Hapana” she responds.
It was then I knew that I do not deserve this kind of malpractice. The university has corrupted my expectation of higher learning, it has stripped me of the gross knowledge that I previously acquired, it has delayed all my future prospects and it now holds my closet among other important material things hostage. I came with everything and now I leave with nothing but 6 years added to my face and nothing close to 6 figures in my pocket to cover it up. My better half is somewhere locked up in a dungeon with a guy called Stano as the officer in charge. If you have a phone number of any night runner kindly comment below and tell them to come dressed…………
Oh hail to the reunion of all my clothes, friends, mindset, bad weather and mud once again until further notice is issued. This might just be the last semester but I don’t want my hopes as high than Wiz.
*plays return of the Mack inaudibly*