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Campus White Widow: Let’s blow the whistle on perpetual campus ‘hotties’

UREPORT
By William Dekker | January 29th 2016

The time is about quarter past 6. In a camaraderie of classmates, we leave the lecture hall engrossed in laughter and a zero productive discussion. Among our content resentments is this new Professor who has found love in extending his 4-hour lecture lesson beyond an additional one hour, his alien ideologies and care-free attitude. The happenings in his first week only prove he can easily fail the whole class even at the dislike of one man. Our hope is that next week he finds a new pair of socks. We just saw him with one pair the entire week; coupled with a three times oversize rain-coat and a non-fitting pair of trousers. After looping the belt twice on his waist he still keeps pulling it in the middle of the lesson. His bushy moustache makes him look like a disaster salvaged from a Jamaican weed plantation. Things that make dread the thought of going all the way to PhD; if this is the cortical damage it does to one.

Suddenly, I get a call from Annabel. Now Folks, Annabel is that semi-irresistible campus lady; always has a good reason as to why she has to completely get rid of her eyebrows and paint them a fresh in a way that neither Sadolin nor Crown paints can. She knows why she is better on weave from a 3rd rate Mexican horse than on natural hair. She can satisfactorily justify why she has to post selfies of her nails on Instagram after every pedicure and manicure, and monitor the page all day long till she gets 250 likes and above. She has the best philosophy explaining why your prospects of success in life are better when you are beautiful than when you are brainy. If you thought education was the key to blah…blah…blah, here is a new philosophy, “Attraction is the Key to Success”, (Reference: Annabel, Chapter 1, verse 1). At some moment, she believes she is a feminist, but when we refer to the dictionary, she is no less a “feminist-wannabe”, like most you’ve seen around. Oops! She is still calling!

So with slight delight I pick the call to her invitation for supper.

“What are you cooking for supper Annabel?”

“I’m almost done with the rice. Can you carry along some meat? Ulete na kitungu saumu na hoho ya 10bob…usisahau nyanya ya mbao na ka-dania hapo.”

Oh men! You see there is always that moment that you thought you were lucky when someone invited you over for a meal. You imagine having saved some coins since you don’t have to bear the budget. Unfortunately for me, Annabel just made it worse. Furthermore it is that time of the semester that a comrade can scarcely afford the smallest slice of beef.  But because of who she is, I have to comply, religiously!

On arrival, the rice cooked at her place is just for show. Beside the plate is a huge bowl of ugali. At some point I am intimidated by the thought that the Ugali must have been cooked to suit my level of appetite. No, she is a witty girl, there’s a bigger reason for the bigger ugali, I haven’t just found out yet.

The next morning I arrive at Annabel’s door to pick my notebook that I forgot after the meal. It is not locked from the inside. Before I can make good my knock, the door flanges open at the slightest push and I’m inside. Fellas! Hehe! Have you seen a gorgeous brownskin lady, with painted eyebrows, coloured eye shadow and red hot lipstick feasting on cold ugali like it is a race to Beijing. Well, our hottie here was devouring the mountain that was left of yester-night’s big bowl, passionately crunching the crust with a foreign appetite through the escort of a sugarless black tea.

At the moment of my unexpected entrance, her eyes almost pop out. She chokes of the series of boluses that were already in, and guess what, we had to call an ambulance after she’s vehemently refused. She cares more of her reputation than her health. How do you explain to the doctor that this socialite just got chocked with a morning cold ugali and strong tea? You can be arrested instead; even the doctor will not believe you.

Makes me pity the men generation who have been made to believe that these “glorious Miss Heavens” are way too classy to fit in the standard human comfort. The moment you see her filtered photos on Instagram you imagine her toilet paper is made of a roll of US Dollars. You see her walk in stilettos and immediately your attraction for her is crushed by the idea that you cannot afford her routine plate at Villa Rosa Kempinski, or a lucheon pizza from Gallitos, kumbe huyu ni yule wa kuteremsha turungi na ugali baridi. She cooks a sizeable one at night (like Annabel did), with the intention of cooling it overnight for the “heavy” breakfast before switching to the attractive hottie mode; a seamless campus white widow.

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