Friday, April 19, 2013

How I knew I wanted to do law.

High school for me was momentous. The entire four years. I'd tell you that my up moments were more than my downs, but I'd be lying. It was pretty much evened out. I went to Thika  High School which for the not so intellectually gifted ones, is in Thika. Note: this is not to be confused with Thika High School for the blind, my poor eyesight notwithstanding.
I wasn't always destined to travel 40 kilometres away from home to get a decent high school education. I'd been called to go to Highway High School initially ('Highie' I once heard people call it) but Mama Blodwyn was having none of that. No way was her baby going to a day school in the thriving heart of Nairobi. So somehow, I ended up in Thika.
I remember on my first day, after my folks had left, I stood outside the library and looked around and whispered to myself, "Prepare for the next four years of your life in this pineapple infested place." - strange enough, never did I so much as taste a pineapple in all my four years in Thika. Shortchanged I was.
Four years cruised by very fast. What's that they say about having fun and time flying? Yeah. I met some really great people who were equally matched by assholes. Most of my experiences in school were memorable, suspensions, punishments, funkies, grinding girls asses at those funkies, letters, the works. A blended myriad of memories. But my most iconic reminiscence was in my final year.
Throughout school, I was somewhat of a victim of circumstance. All the times I was suspended (yeah they were a couple), I either didn't do what I was accused of or, was the one caught when everyone else was handed a slap on the wrist. This story is no exception.
Around the time when I was in my third year in high school, the school invested in and built a computer lab. It wasn't anything too fancy, just a room with a couple of computers, a printer and a scanner. Later on that year, strings were pulled and we managed to get an internet connection, which was a commendable feat considering that was 5 years ago. Now the comp lab was out of bounds for anyone who didn't study computers as a subject. (Yours truly studied metal work :)) High school however is like prison. If you know people, you get places. So at night, over prep time, the comp students let a few peoples into the lab. Soon the trend caught on and admin decided to let other people use the lab after class over games time in attempt to stop the delinquency. Facebook had really caught on then so admin had blocked it. Twitter? There was no Twitter. It hadn't even been laid yet.
Now at night when the obscure rendezvous to the comp lab were held, the place was a room filled with horny teenagers feasting on porn.  All the twenty something computers were logged in to several porn sites with the volume at 1%. It was so bad, I remember one time this guy had sites written on a book. Lets just say the stars in the sky don't have anything on the number of porn sites on the internet. SMH. Americans. Of course no one ever found out unless they were part of the inside scoop. But like most things, secrets can't always be kept hidden, and so at some point admin found out and assigned a teacher in the lab to 'supervise the content students were consuming' and gave a prosecutors will be shot on sight decree.
This one time, I went to the lab after class with a friend of mine -seeing that I have never been the sporty type. At the door was a T'A that was guiding some form ones on computers or something. Enter Blodwyn and friend. We went to some computer at the front of the room. It was on sleep I recall so we turned it on. Homer Simpson was involved in a 'compromising' position with Lisa Simpson. That's the photo that had been set as the desktop background. I have never forgotten that photo. Like clockwork, like he was on cue, immediately I turned on le computer, the T'A that was behind us looked up and saw what was on the screen. I was caughted.
Even before I could change the wallpaper, he came to where we were, looked at the computer in visible disgust.
'What is this you are watching?'
'Watching? I'm not watching anything. I just turned the computer on.'
'Why are you watching cartoons that are doing pornography?'
'I'm not watching cartoons doing... (what?) I'm not watching pornography. This was preset by the time I got here.'
I didn't see it wise to highlight that the cartoons doing pornography were consanguineally related. He already seemed grossed out by the idea of cartoons having sex. How did he think cartoons reproduce? Twat!
'This is unacceptable. Go to the principal's office immediately and explain yourself.'
'But sir... I haven't done anything wrong.'
His ears were practically steaming by now and I knew better than to try the patience of a mid-aged man. So I left for the principal's office to 'explain myself'... I knew for certain I was fried.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Get rich or sit on the couch waiting for your next big break.

My dad says I use too much money. Pfffft!
Of course I disagree with him. He's old. He doesn't have a clue what he's talking about. I've locked horns with my old man a couple of times and he's never been shy to express his sentiments. Case in point; that time I got my third suspension in high school and he told me that I made his eyes sore. In his defence though, that was a pretty dumb suspension (then again, weren't they all). Oh sweet high school *cue nostalgia. How I miss you.
This (not the suspension) came a couple of months back when I asked for my allowance as I always do, then ensued the usual conversation;
Me: Dad, I need my allowance.
Dad: Its a month already? *sighs. How much do you need? (Like he doesn't know. Note: This is a trick question)
Me: (insert amount) kama kawaida tu.
Dad: *pauses. Mbona hiyo yote? Kwani unaeda kufungua biashara shule? Hiyo ni pesa nyingi sana.
Me: But dad, that's what you give me every month.
Dad: Is it? You're using alot of money. (Yeah. This he notices today after a whole year of a constant routine). You'll have to calculate write down your spending so that I know where this money is going to. Hata kama ni kukunywa na kupelekana date... si hivyo! Abeg! (Okay. Maybe not that last part. Haha)
Me: Haya nitaandika. Lakini ongeza ukiweza. (I always add this.)
Repeat conversation every month. I never write down that list... too much work. I dunno why I just wrote all that but this is the point.
We live in a get rich quick world. Almost weekly there's an analyst/ researcher that's saying how today's youth want to get to the top of the financial food chain as fast as is humanly possible. And I agree. We all want to be ahead in the game and the faster the better. 'Your generation is too impatient.' Some old geezer told me. (No it wasn't father) 'You have to start small and climb your way progressively to the top. You don't just shoot up. Baby steps.' He said. He gave me an example of a guy he knows, a recently graduated engineer who turned down 35k as a starting salary for a job in some corporate firm. As he was giving me this little tale, I was giving him the 'How is that surprising' look. I thought he was justified to turn down the offer but apparently my 'senior' didn't share my sentiments adding that in his day, all they got for a salary was 5000 bob a month.
I blame society for my opinion. Why do schools rush students to complete their curriculum in the shortest time possible? You're rushed to clear a 4 year program in 3 years yet its your fault that you want to get ahead in the shortest time possible? Hypocricy, the epitome of. We live in a time and age where nothing is cheap anymore, not even the most basic of necessities. Today, 5k is barely enough for monthly shopping of household goods for the middle class Kenyan *raises hand. This not including the long list of gadgets and 'stuff' we need to keep abreast with the dynamics of modern day living. A (smart)phone is probably the most important gadget you will ever purchase, and these things don't come cheap. Not forgetting the wide selection of phones that are out there and as is common knowledge, bigger is always better. Laptops in school have become more of necessities than luxuries. Plus who minds a new pair of jeans on occasion? 
Where then does the money come from to buy all this stuff? Well in my case, my folks. In Mr Reject a 'low' paying job's case, its his (hopefully) next job offer. In all honesty, you're like a parked car without money. And the more you get, the further you'll go. That's why in my case, until I graduate, I am intent on depleting my dad's finances to the best of my ability. Frankly, when you graduate from campus, you're on your own- unless of course you're daddy's little girl. No I was not trying to be gender sensitive.

This post is discombombulated. Take what you will from it and leave the rest for the next guy that trips and falls here.
Tired but Insomniac

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Its to the slammer with you!

3 seconds. That's the amount of time it takes the average internet user to read the content of a page and flip to the next. No. I'm not talking about pages of real books because heaven knows that noone here reads any more, unless of course it is themed around escapist content. 50 shades of grey comes to mind. Yeah. I see you looking at me Alma, sit down.
3 seconds is such a short time to make an impression on someone let alone impress them. (Yeah. That seems about right) It sets minimum threshold of interestingness pretty high plus it doesn't help that people are hopelessly incapable of prepossessing. But hey, a Guy has got to try.
I have learnt through personal experience that misery does indeed love company and that people love to see other people unhappy. So this is my story of wretchedness that I hope will fuel all your little malevolent hearts into a darker place than you already are. (I'm going through a phase)
So back in freshman year when I was young and virgin to the ways of varsity, I cheated on an exam. All you self righteous oafs can put your hands down. Thing with campus is, its all fun and games up until the last 3 weeks of the semester -which are really the ones that matter- the exam week. At my school for example, this is the only time when photocopiers go on overhaul almost every single day because of the bulk of the work. The woman that works the photocopier at school even knows the handwriting to the sharpest girl in my class. Car Parks are full, stationary stock is depleted and don't even get me started on the queues in the cafeteria, unending. Picture election day, at a polling station, in Kibera. Bingo. School becomes, well, school.
Its actually alot of pressure to pass exams. Especially in law school. Not that many people make the cut eventually. I remember my class had an admission of well over 200 students back in freshman. Now, we're less than 50. Yeah. Its okay. I get scared too; and to think we still have a whole year of studying to do. Gives me the hibby gibbies.
Law of contract II. This is me, a stunningly gorgeous freshman bloke, about to sit this paper amid all this pressure. The lecturer was (is) a piece of work. In his first class, he chases two people from class for whispering senseless whatnots to each other. Nothing says don't fuck with me clearer than that.
He still does chase people away from his class. But this is Campus you say, where is the freedom? Where is the humanity? Well in Bosire's class all of you are a bunch of natives who have been funded by your villages to come to campus to study and stand as the (only) tangible achievement of your homesteads. (sic) But he is a good chap he is. His overbearing ego grows on you.
I had read for that exam. I swear on Zeus' beard I had studied. But when in that moment of doubt, you look around the whole class and (almost) everyone has a small piece of paper tucked in in (almost) all their orifices, you question your preparedness. So that second of doubt leads me to my bag where I had my study notes writen out on a long ass paper. See I can't study without writing (visual learning my sister calls it) so I grab my written notes from yesternight and hide them in my coat. This would otherwise have been a very normal story if I wasn't caught. Like a deer in the headlights. It happened oh so quickly. How I even finished that paper only heaven knows.
The months succeeding that event were probably the longest and most uncertain I have gone through in all my existence. I mean how do you tell your folks? I know people have been through worse experiences but its that moment, that precise moment when you break it to them that never leaves your mind. My dad once called me an eye sore. Lol. You just wait. I'll show him some day. (By the way, he has never known, good old mum)
Disciplinary panels are worse than court rooms. First, because you have to argue out your case on your own. No advocate shall be provided for you by the court. No sir...its just you, your borrowed tie and your new haircut in a room filled with old people staring down at you with their contemptuous spectacle aided eyes with faces void of expression. *cue shivers. Secondly, more often than not, judgement on you has already been passed. All you go there to do is bargain your sentence.
Long story short, I'm still in school with a year left to go. I still have nightmares about that day though. Gets me all fidgety when I think about it. I was supposed to go for counseling from the Dean of students as part of my sentence, since I claimed temporary insanity as part of my defense. Guess I won my first case :)
But look at me, do I look like I need counseling?

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

I have no title for this post

I'm thinking of a good metaphor to equate this feeling to but none presently comes to mind. Phoenix rising from the ashes comes close but doesn't quite nail it on the head.
I am a negligent blogger a repetitive confession I must add. Last blog I posted was a little under 2 months ago; but in my defense, I haven't had a platform to write and post on.
I 'borrowed' mummy's modem (and had her believing that her workmates are little theifing ferrets) which I guess a neighbour of mine later stole as well. Karma. Such a lady. My little old phone was stolen from me in the most stupid of ways -a story that would make for good humour this, but I still feel stupid about it. So for the last 2 months I have had my thoughts bundled up in my tiny little head with no escape. Though I think they deserve credit for this goatee it has grown out really fast. But females dig men with goatees right?! *strokes goatee
I have been going over some other blogs though. I doubt you understand how an internet connection makes for good entertainment on what would otherwise have been a boring day in the office. That, solitare, spider solitare, sudoku and the daily crossword. Yes. I am resourceful.
My twitter timeline has lately been awash with countless links of shared blogs from all over. Whereas there are some really bad blogs out there yes even worse than this one. With people who say 'pals' *shivers There are some good ones. REALLY GOOD. One particular blog by Biko Zulu comes to mind. I have a little confession. The first time I read one of his posts, I had a dictionary at hand. Not that I don't know my grammar or vocabulary, but just to confirm if his words were correctly used and in context. Spot on everytime. You'd actually replace the word with its defination from the dictionary and it would make perfect sense. Easily my most favourite blog... ever. He's the baba yao of bloggers in my book. His posts tell a story even when they don't. And there is no denying that he takes his work VERY seriously. Writer by profession. He writes for the love of writing and you can see it in how he lets us in to his life and most private and emotional moments of his life like here. I find myself pointing up to that pseudonym and whispering... I want to be like that guy. I am in love with that blog. He calls it high school. I want high school's number.
Based on this... I've thought of a rebirth of sorts. I had a classmate back in high school. Heathen. Dines with Lucifer himself and lays in his chambers with his wife. Okay. Maybe not so bad but he wasn't so good either. I can't remember why I held such resentment towards the little fellow -this old age- but the point of the story is that every Sunday when there was an alter call he'd be first in line to get saved, then Monday he would be back to his evil ways. Sometimes it would take 2 weeks for recidivism to kick in but it always did. So we wondered... how many times really could one get born-again again? Similar script different setting; I've come back to this blog oh so many times in answer to my own alter call. Fresh and bursting with energy hoping to write some kick ass posts but hardly do I ever deliver (I feel like a politician!). But hey. I'm here now. And I shall make the best of it. Don't compare my work to Biko's though. It would be unfair. I'm always rusty after a little time off. Plus he's older.

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