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Diagnosed with the cliche college fever
By Maureen Mochama | Updated Jun 19, 2017 at 14:02 EAT
diagnosed-with-the-cliche-college-fever
A campus couple

The day sucked. Go through this with me, you are a complete different person, or at least you think you are, reason being you have waited a life time to get to where you are, University.

You had a handful of expectations, planned out the whole of your life in university, and here was your bucket list: move out of your very-nosy-mothers house, change your wardrobe, have a lot of money (no idea where it would come from), be a Kardashian, have the cutest saved-by-colour boyfriend with the blue shimmering eyes and the Alejandro hairstyle.

Oh well, good dreams we all birds had. Now you are seated at a kibanda ten times broke than you were yesterday. Across the table, is your annoying `best friend' Ciru, who stubs your back every time and stupid enough to think it never comes around.

She cannot keep her mouth shut for a second. You even got lost in the many words she used to insult her boyfriend for cheating. Get over your creepy self, everyone gets cheated on, even Christians cheat on Jesus, you thought.

You haven't moved out, your wallet has been at negative for the past week because your African mother yaps about being broke yet she buys herself a pair of Victoria Beckham like its normal. Remember you got no right to complain because it isn’t your money.

Salute to our African mothers. Anyway, back to my story, you are still a black African girl with the dreams of Khloe Kardashian; your example of a boyfriend is this skinny tall guy with a bush on top of his head and thinks it's classy not to comb it.

You are at the end of your tunnel and you don't even know how you got there. And that is your current predicament. Now tell me if this does not deserve alcohol or some illicit brew.

You have a mission to intoxicate your liver. You stand from the table with your very uncomfortable dress. You are not even sure if it's supposed to be a t-shirt or a dress. It's too long to be a t-shirt and too short to be a dress. You look around trying to see if anyone saw you force the poor innocent dress/shirt beyond its limits.

A luta continua. Stubbornly, Ciru gets up and you are surprised that she is still talking about her boyfriend.

And you pity her because you did not hear a word she said for the past hour. It's the third week of the semester and you look like its week 14; tired as hell. You lazily walk with Ciru to the new joint, Bottoms Up. Guys, it’s actually called Bottoms Up Yolo, no kidding. Sounds like a strip club right?

We always have money for the brew, as in who doesn't? You have a double shot of cheap vodka on the bar in front of you. You smile at it and there is some relief in knowing that there is no way life can be as bitter and cheap as this alcohol you are about to abuse.

At least that’s one thing you are sure of. Ciru is seated on the seat next to you with this poor church-mouse look.

She was clearly going to hog your drink. You decide to spare your dinner to get her a glass of water. And she better be thankful because you spent 60 shillings on that paramount drink. You think. 

Your skinny boyfriend with the bush walks in, and you sigh with relief your `Jesus' just walked in to pay the bill. Ciru is even more excited to see him than you are but you run towards him so fast that it doesn't get romantic anymore, because you bolt like Usain, honey. You love-birds hold each other and he tells an inside joke and you smile with all your teeth out with the undying breath of cheap liquor.

Branding of alcohol has a way of relating people to their inner self. And you think you are a legend. Very cheap legend!

 

You two look inseparable. The way he looks at you when you’re not seeing (trust me we always see) drives you crazy. The little whispers, the way he rubs your back for no reason and kisses your shoulder, completely takes you away; Cloud nine. He says your cheeks turn pink when you want to tell him you love him and you feel like he knows you so well and now you become ``ride-or-die's''.

 

He watches you as he ducks his head and, oh, the anticipation, the exquisite torture, of wanting this and not wanting to want this.

 

He calls you pumpkin, you call him pie. You hate pumpkin because they are too orange and pies? Being broke doesn't give you the liberty to even think of buying a pie. Ciru gets bored and decides to head home. You want to head out with Ciru but bae starts to complain that you never spend quality time with him and he uses that line that they all use, `you said you will do anything for me'. You are sure as hell you did not say that, but it still compels you to stay. Ciru leaves anyway, and you make yourself comfortable negotiating with your African bottoms to please fit on the tiny, high bar seat or at least take turns to occupy the limited volume provided. You hung out for a while and leave for his hostel about 300 meters from bottoms up.

 

You get there and have a little `` chilling-session" and when you are done with your hullabaloos, he kisses your neck goodbye and due to the chilly weather you get goose bumps but Mr. Cupid who tells you that, that is a sign of stupid in love. This becomes a routine.

 

Eighth week of the semester, the drama unravels. Rumors creep into the relationship. He is never around anymore. Being a naive freshman you willingly ignore the little lies. It's finally almost the end of the semester and you now despise him with the same intensity you loved him. You haven't talked in over two weeks. And no more bottoms up for you. Poor bird. Neither of you knows what went wrong and no idea of how you got to where you are. Probably life got in the way or it got boring, or prettier birds just fell from the sky or he had amnesia and forgot all about you...mhhh who knows.

 

Okay people; let's now prescribe some medication to this diagnosis. It all goes down to first impressions. They all look so pretty. The long blond weave, the devilish smile and the body...killer curves...damn! What's there not to love, lads. The innocence becomes appealing. Everything about her suddenly is interesting. The way she walks with those flawless long legs and slightly leans to her left when she stands still. You pay attention to the little details and that's about all of it. You conclude that she is the one (Laughing out Loud). You get to know her and she is the complete opposite of everything you believed in.

 

He, on the other end, he is just a boy and does what all boys do, look, admire and appreciate beautiful ladies. We don't blame them, they are biologically programmed to do so.

 

Dr. Cupid walks into the waiting room with a broken love shaped shield and no more love arrows to throw around and save the day. He has a sad face on and calls it in, ``Time of death, unknown. We tried all we could." Case dismissed.

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