![Friendships [Part 1] – because I can’t come up with a catchier title](https://awinogeorge.files.wordpress.com/2019/08/20150827_131658-e1565188458442.jpg?w=700&h=430&crop=1)
Also, Part 1 because I’m too lazy to complete a single project (thinking about all those github projects started but never finished).
‘Sup?
Jesus, how the hell do I even begin this. I mean how do you start writing on a platform that you haven’t been on for close to three years. The thought that I’m definitely addressing a completely different audience from the one I was is sending shrills down my spine. I cuss a lot these days; it’s supposed to make me sound cool. I’ve also been told I rarely ever do sound cool. More like a poseur. Wait, I said this was about friendship but I’ve already wasted a whole paragraph trying to get you to like me with what are supposed to be engaging quips. Instead, I’ve already convinced you that this is in fact, as strenuously advertised, a complete waste of your time. Yes, this is a guilt trip so that you stay reading.
Friends. What would we do without them, right? And what wouldn’t we do with them? I’ve come to learn that I care immensely about protecting the friendships that I’ve been able to cultivate over the years. I am not a friendly-looking individual both aesthetically or in any other way. I’m always spotting a haggard face and lately a bald head with a goatee that’s supposed to make me look 10 years older than I really am. These features cannot in any normal circumstance foster good relations. You get, therefore, why it is essential that I hold on to the friends that I’ve lucky enough to have even when at times I’m merely grasping at straws.
I make an anime reference here – please don’t go yet.
I’m here to talk about childhood friendships. I’m probably going to sound like Gon everytime he described his relationship with Killua. (Haha I know you’re proud of me, K; you took ohangla and I took anime despite knowing that all anime fans are gay. That’s a fact Jasuba and it’s futile arguing against facts.)
please, listen to Tony Ndiema, thanks.
The Trifecta – plus a pretty girl
As I was saying, I grew up with about 4 close friends who were also my classmates for about 3 years between classes 4 and 6. We were 3 boys and the prettiest girl we had both been lucky (and unlucky… read on) to know. There were a lot of things that kept our small circle tight and the envy of our classmates such as the weekends we’d spend at one of the boys’ (call him E) house playing video games; his mother would make us tea or give us snacks. Or the fruits I’d come with to school almost every day and we’d spend breaks munching. I was the only one in the group who was from the village side of the school, the rest lived in estates. My grandfather, when his mates were submitting to the white man and getting administrative positions as rewards or when they were looting the country’s resources after independence, was busing planting useless avocado, black plum (jamna for you uncultured swines), mango, loquat (blanguat omera) trees covering his vast lands. (yes ladies, I have vast lands in my inheritance, please will you now respond to my DMs. My left hand has grown weary lately). I always had one type of fruit or the other in my possession in school. Landed me in troubles with teachers and girls alike. Yes, the fruits I carried to schools was one of my main attractions to the ladies. I keep telling y’all I was pretty big deal back then. Msinione hivi hivi.
Smartest kid in the history of smartness
However, truly speaking, there were only two things that were destined to keep our friendship intact for as long as the two could last. The first was the fact that the four of us were always, for the 3 years that the friendship lasted, the best 4 students in our class. Actually, the three of them rotated between the positions 2 and 4 as I monopolized the first position for the entire duration that this friendship ran. Believe you me, it gives me no joy to relive, let alone mention, a time when I thought I was on top of the world considering how mediocre I turned out to be. At best I could be described as average. Actually, if at any point the 3 boys held the top 3 positions, we’d each hold out the number of fingers depicting our positions just so we could spite D – the lady.
A love triangle – except there’s no love
The second glue that held the group together, and in my opinion the strongest of all, was the fact that we were all in love with miss Ocharo (my language has been so corrupted that I am not comfortable saying D although I’d set out to use our initials). Actually, at our age you could say we were infatuated by her beauty. She was a Kisii, brown to the bone. Back then (who am I kidding; even today haha!), I only define beauty by the colour of your skin.
Here’s the most amazing thing, each boy was convinced that the girl liked him and not the other two imbeciles. I should explain in detail how each kid related with the girl. In E’s case, it was easy for him to assume so because they lived in the same estate and spent more time together off school (his words) with her than we did. G on the other hand, (the fourth member of the group whom I hadn’t introduced is also my namesake)had maaad storos, he was unbelievably funny and aritistically talented beyond measure. George get George’s dick off your mouth. You’re embarrassing yourself!
Smartest kid ever. I am In fact a genius if I dare say so myself. | Fruitslord | Gang Leader
And now to make case, I already told you I fed the school population. I like to imagine that that gave me a clear advantage. I also used to sell those fruits and in turn buy bhajia during breaktimes so I was a kingpin of sorts. Did I mention that I was the smartest and maths was something I passed without trying to? She wasn’t good in maths so I’ll leave it to your imagination how I was treated during exam periods. Further, and if you’re not yet convinced that I was clearly the front-runner in the race to win her affection, I was the only boy who had a lady as a deskmate. Guess who the lady was? That’s right! Miss Ocharo herself. If you were a gambler you’d be in team Awino at this point.
Let me explain how I came to be sitting with the prettiest girl in the class despite being the shabbiest nigga there. Initially, the total classroom population was an odd number and we had to sit two people per desk. I got preferential treatment because, again – and I want this burned in your memory – I was the smartest hence I was picked to sit alone. She transferred to our school at the beginning of the second term in class 4. Naturally I got a new classmate.
You would think that between competing for the top positions (well except #1) and trying to win over a girl there would be a great deal of hostility between, at least, the 3 of us. Actually, I can’t for the life of me remember a point in time when were hostile to each other. At the very least I know I wasn’t. Of course kids play and fight but there was never any incident that was permanent. This, ladies and gentlemen who have been unfortunate enough to be bored by my tirade thus far, is the basis of my blog post today. Friendship that transcends differences and which fosters healthy competition. These were my best mates, man. And it kills me today to know that I haven’t heard from one of them in more than 10 years and was never there for either of the two boys (that’s really the friendship I’m talking about) when they lost people close to them.
Tony Ndiema makes sad music which is why I listen to him a lot – this line is in fact, as you had guessed, a cry for help
A letter – with far-reaching consequences than than the de Lome letter
Before I talk about how we broke up (lmao son, you gay gay) I should mention the one time we really fucked up.
This love story may not have a satisfactory end given that none of us ends with the girl (oops, spoiler) but it sure has a bitter moment – as do most love stories. In class 5, overridden with hormones and what was described to us at the time as adolescence, we got more bold with our intentions for the girl who kept us awake at nights. I can’t remember what my mates did exactly but I can remember that I decided to get my shit together. I suddenly cared about how I looked and whether niliparara. Thus also began the relationship between my skin and mafuta ya kupika. I actually made an effort not to smell like a male goat, or nyuok as my people say. I wrote her a letter (anonymously and with skewed hadnwritings in a bid to hide my identity – Mossad blood has always flown through me) this one time and that’s how everything went bonkers. I left this letter on our seat because I used to leave the classroom last (okay fine, I had to work for that #1 spot) and as luck would have it, she was usually the first in class. I swear this is not a fact I’ve made up for the story to flow, or to mask how stupid I was to leave that letter there. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the first one to class the next morning. Our friendship, as I insinuated, inspired way more envy than we were prepared to handle from both boys and girls alike. Boys because well, we were not the only ones smitten beyond measure by miss Ocharo. Girls because how dare she command such affection and drooling from every boy in class.
We introduce Mercy – my perfect match. Thanos and the Night King both have nothing on her even on their best days.
On this fateful day, Mercy (yes that’s her real name and I hope you people shame her for what she did) got to class first. She had a constantly running nose and in terms of tidiness was my perfect match because she rarely ever was. However unlike me, she had no fruits to mask her terrible shortcoomings and neither did she have a limitless brain. While trying not to sound excessively douchey (I’m comfortable with moderate tending on extreme but not too much) I can categorically state that Mercy’s name was always at the bottom of our report forms. As I began the list, she closed. My exact perfect match. That I never paid the least bit attention to. I have provided all this information about this story’s villain, at the risk of ending up as a villain in some of you’s books myself and being lynched, so that you can try to imagine for yourself the magnitude of vengeance that was headed my way. As they say, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. mercy had been disrespected and scorned beyond measure and here in her hands were tools enough to bring down everything that we had worked so hard for. Everything that I treasured. My reputation with the teachers. The high regard (as I liked to think) that my classmates, and everyone in the entire school, held me in. All of this would be obliterated by one spiteful lady.
5 shillings
In the letter, that mercy now had in her possession, I had taken my time to cry out my heart to the future mother of my kids – I haven’t seen her since 2008. Further, and this is not a joke I swear, I promised to bring her loquats every morning and to give her all the 20 shillings I earned from selling my fruits. Here I was barely 11, already promising a woman (?) everything I had. I should say this, i used to get to class late so I got there when the class was already full but with about 10 minutes before classes began. The moment I stepped in class, all the ladies started giggling while looking at me and eventually burst up laughing. Mercy was there. As was Ocharo. She didn’t join in in the laughter. The letter was no where to be seen. Turns out that Mercy shared the contents of the letter with the other girls except my object of fascination and all the boys. Immediately I sat down, she got in front of the class and started reading my words back to the entire class. Her murdering the queen’s language did not help deliver my emotions as I had hoped miss Ocharo would have perceived them. It sounded more like a poorly comical attempt at scripting a soap opera. She was even more embarrassed than I was and knowing that I was the cause of her discomfort made me the more embarrassed.
My Reward – finally!
As if being embarrassed in front of my classmates was not enough, the noise that the class was making made two teachers to come to our class. I am not comfortable explaining the next events here. Let’s just say the class prefect and monitor (yours truly and miss Ocharo – I am not making this shit up I promise) had to explain. We couldn’t so Mercy gleefully offered to. And boy didn’t she have a field day describing in detail everything and eventually presented the key piece of evidence, exhibit A – a love letter. The two teachers (male and female) were besides themselves with laughter and the whole class joined again.
The teachers find it funny. As bad as this may be, it’s better than my buttocks feeling the brunt of it all. I thought. I thought wrong
I was asked to detail everything. As a true comrade, I decided to shield E & G. Pointless. Mercy offered every detail. I received 70 strokes that day. Mate you should have seen me slobberring on the floor. G was absent that day and when he heard that there were 30 strokes in store for him, he decided to postpone his studies by two weeks. Si ati ni lazima, imagine. E received 30 too. They, at least didn’t write letters. I should state that the girl was not punished because she had no control over our emotions or actions but mostly because she was the darling of all the teachers. There was always such a student in each class.
[Part 2 – Disintegration and Tragedy]
