SIDEBAR: Kenyan men, this is why you shouldn't get intimate like rabbits

To us, it’s like farting or yawning and has become an impulse action to be actively acted upon.

And unless you are a heifer or a cow whose parents took to university for the sole purpose of being inseminated, girl, you have no reason to spread those knees and do bad manners in your hostel room when your roommates are asleep or present.

A year ago, before moving out of the campus student residence, I shared a room with four jamaas. one we named ‘The Butcher’ because he ‘ate’ his ‘meat’ raw. And like a butcher, our room was his personal butchery, where he’d slice, hack and cut different types of meat daily. We’d leave him in the room at around 10pm to fetch food and on our way back we’d receive texts informing us that an exile (serious bedroom business) was underway telling us to, ‘tulia kiasi nikule hii kitu’.

He’d do that on and on to an extent of importing a bird from a Mombasa University to the diaspora Republic of Rongai which my campus neighbours and proceed to tap the young thing on the lower decker as I struggled not to hear those weird sounds, tossing and turning on the decker above his.

Morning inevitably arrived, and the bird that was eaten, sorry, ‘butchered’ leaped out of bed in dark tights and an oversized t-shirt before quipping, ‘you said your name is Osanya?’ I nodded. ‘Oh!’ She paused. ‘Like Obama, Odinga?’ I smiled and walked out.

Unlike KU and Moi University which are cosmopolitan (wanafunzi ni wengi sana) centres of learning, my campus is a village where everybody knows about almost everybody. And when the butcher and his like strike Bermuda triangles of campus ladies left, right and centre, the public knows.

So within no time, you’ll find that four guys in a room, whom by good or bad chance are all friends, have butchered the same chick. Or four chicks have toyed with one rod.

Let’s not be bulls and heifers that go about their business without care. A little privacy on the act won’t hurt.