When you bump into your ‘cool’ lecturer at the club

Let’s say you’re with your classmates at the resident local one night. And there are five of you; three chaps and two dark ‘mamis’ with nails longer than the Sahara, voices chirpier than Mexican parrots, and the attitudes of a thousand mermaids.

You’re all on your second or third bottles. The drink is just about starting to kick in, and one of your boys has already started talking about his ex, how great she was and how he misses her.

Your bladder fills up and you get up and head for the gents. Midway, you – accidentally – knock some lady’s arm and her drink spills all over her adorable pink crop top.

You take out your pocket tissue in a bid to wipe the mess off her top - all the while saying, “My bad. I’m so sorry, Ma’am.” And she just smiles and coos, “It’s okay. Crap happens. All good. See? Not a spot.”

And then, almost immediately, this jamaa about the size of a rock – and with the beard of thirty Anyang Nyong’os - comes up to where you guys are and says to her: “Babe, what’s the problem?” and she says, “Nothing, babe. Just a little mistake, nothing big.”

And the hulk turns to look at you and it hits you, right there and then, that no matter what the lady says, you just threw stones at a beehive and are about to get stung. He taps you on the shoulder and says: “It’s cool, mate.” And, as you walk away, you say to yourself: “So there are still nice chaps left amongst us, aye? I’m going to buy that guy a beer.”

As you’re doing your business in the gents, you notice this guy at the other end staring at you longer than is allowed among men.

So you face him and just as you’re about to give him a piece of your mind, you notice his ridiculously large forehead and immediately recognize him; your Calculus lecturer. “Ah, Mr. Ombidho,” you say. “Tom,” he responds, “I knew it was you.” You two share a man-hug and head back towards your table.

He buys the whole crew another round. He sits beside you and you two talk like boys; about Matiang’i’s new education policies; current political tension in the country, women, sports and all. At some point, he looks at his watch, mumbling: “It’s about my time for bed now.

I’ll let you young men tread the night some more. Just don’t miss my 7 a.m. class.” And you both laugh at that last statement because even the heavens know you won’t show up.

He orders the crew two more rounds and as he steps out into the fickle night, two things hit your mind; What a sport. It hits you that lecturers are actually misunderstood chaps. This happened to me a while back. Comrades, forget the stuck up characters you see in class, some lecturers are pretty cool chaps.