Sunday, May 31, 2009

The Rude Awakening

It looked an evening of great promise. As a fresher, I had always craved for the first time when I would “hang out” with one of our own—the much craved for university girls, whose reputation I had met months before I went to the Ivory Tower.
Having sat for my A-level in a typical village school deep in Bugisu, my impressions about university girls had largely been formed by stories that the few boys from Namabasa, who had been to Makerere, narrated whenever they came back for holidays. One boy in particular, Wandwasi, told us of girls whose skimpy attire had caught the eye of the “big people” in the city that the wealthiest of men came to set camp at the campus just to have a look at these marvels of creation.
“These girls, who usually go by the names of Conny, Vicky or Valeria,” Wandwasi would tell us, “Speak through the teeth and roll words so easily that you lousy folk of Namabasa would have to strain your ears just to get a word.”
So, when I emerged one of the best in my district and made it to campus, as was the common reference, I couldn’t wait to have my own Vicky. The feeling I had when I first set foot in the famed Mitchell Hall was akin to that of Armstrong when he landed on the moon. I knew one of my immediate accomplishments would be to acquire a Vicky and begin compiling tales for my hungry folk back in the village.
Then came Nabbosa; like the first rain after a hot season. Relieving, soothing, refreshing. The first weeks had been tough for me. It looked like all my attempts at winning attention of the girls were hitting a dead end. All the girls would offer was a “hi”, uttered so fast that it seemed like a burden talking to me. But Nabbosa was different. I met her on the last day of the Mitchell Bazaar, a market display that would in the night turn into an alcohol drinking binge event.
She was courteous and never lost interest even when I told her I had just set foot in Kampala. She was studying the revered Law and took no offence at interacting with me; an Arts student. I had heard of the “attitude” Law students carried and never thought I would get too close to one like I did on this evening.
A few days later, Nabbosa and I were a hot item. My feelings saturated by her, I decided it was time to hit the fun trail. Being ignorant of the city, it was her task to name the place. TLC, she said, was the in-thing for campusers. A health club during the day, university students would descend on it in the evening, converting it into a semi-brothel.
We stormed the club, her in a black, tight-fitting dress that exposed her delicate curves and me in my jeans, that although had seen the better of days, remained my favourite. The T-shirt, with a big Makerere logo and “We Build for the Future” slogan, completed the picture for me. Around us was a sea of humanity. We had to rub and shove before “capturing” some space in a corner.
Nabbosa left to pick our drinks as I sent my eyes on a journey of optical nutrition. They darted from here to there and the skimpy dresses, shapely legs, curvaceous bums ensured I was not starved, though a little scandalised. How would people bare flesh so easily and still look angelic? I wondered.
Suddenly, I was jolted from my dreamy world with a thump on my right cheek. Landing heavily, like a crashing helicopter, the stranger’s hand rested on my cheek, immediately implanting a mark. Half-dazed, I looked up, only to meet another thump, this time accompanied with a rude, “Do you know the girl you are playing with?”
Before I could finish my, “Which girl are you…” question, I found myself held by the belt as I was shoved out of the club, half-walking, half-flying. The so-called bouncers declared me persona-non grata and bellowed that I leave the premises faster than I came.
A week later, I found a note at my B11 doorstep. “Don, I am sorry. I didn’t know how to explain it. The guy who accosted you is Solomon; he pays my fees. I never expected to meet him there; he had told me he was upcountry. Truth is, he is my fiancé and hope is that after school, I will be his wife. You are a nice guy, I hope you find a girl to treasure you. Nabbosa.”

1 comment:

Sleek said...

Damn!!!! (sniggering a bit...supressing some laughs)..damn!!!
sorry man