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Smitta Smitten: Heartbreak in high school


Twas the middle of the August holz, smack-bang on the Friday of August 14th, on a day that is now lost in the nineties. My high school crush, lez call her Kate, waz back in the neiba-rink estate, from her high school in Naivasha Gals.

These were the days b4 high school tois got together with ma-3 crews at the end of July to say ‘school bye bye,’ and ‘hallo holidays’ with a need for weed n a bit of a screw. We were da true innocents – love letters, no sexts, Kenya Cinema dates.

In fact da last tyme I had visited Kate had been that mid-term, mid-June, at her high skool somewhere near the Menegay Craters. A ma-three had dropped me, with a bouquet of flowers in my hand, chocos in my pocket n a poem I’d earlier memorized on my un-kissed (n un-Vaselined) lips.

By the tyme I’d gotten to the Naivegas Gals’ school gates, after a two hour trek in the afternoon sun, the roses had wilted. Nor did I get to see the ‘M-she’ I was smitten with. A fierce Lunje watchie chased me away with the words: ‘Kichana, kwani we ni puta wa huu tame? Hepu toka hapa kapla sicha kurarua na aka ka fim-po!’ No wunder Mumias is been sold down de river Nile to M7, pwana!

Dee-check-ted, I started the trek back to the boo-stap, reachin’ into me pockets to ‘sosi’ the choku (we’d say), only to find it had melted against the inner-lining of me shorts! Who lied dat teenage is easy??

Flash forward two months: On the fateful Friday morning of that August 14, back in the nineties, I walked to the neibaring esto to see Kate, no flowers or chokus, but dat ‘Kate’ poem still on ma lips.

Her ole lady, who considered me a serious geek, n so no threat to Kate, lemme in for lunch n as she left for work. All aftey I waited for Kate n listened to endless hip-hop zizki. Until Kate’s bro, a funky young dude we’ll call Mureiths, felt pity on me n told me Kate waz out on a date with a Strath dude called Ed.

I waz crushed!

Thaz why they call them ‘high school crushes.’

Me young buck heart feeling as crushed as a car that has just collided with Pastor Nganga’s red Range Rover ( I hear he is also being charged with ‘man-slaughtering’ the Queen’s English on TV this week), I left wakina Kate’s digs in a sunset daze; n went to our crib in Paa crescent to take solace in ‘Prince.’

I swear I listened to ‘Under the Cherry Moon.’

“I want to live life, to the ultimate high.Maybe I’ll die young, like heroes die. Maybe I’ll kiss you ‘goodbye, ‘in a wild n special way.

If nobody thrills me, or kills me soon ... I’ll die in your arms,

Under the cherry moon.”

Then promptly walked out of the house to the Nairobi west shopping centre, and managed to get me shot!

Thaz a story to be continued another day ... next Furahi-day axcually.

For now I wanna get into a small excerpt on dating back in the day from my kitabu ‘Meet the Omtitas,’ to kumbusha older Pulsers n show the young ‘uns there waz a tyme dateskis were possibo without rolls of ‘stundu’ n ‘weed,’ sexts n twerking in the mix.

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