A Letter To my son

 By

 Charl Chotto(budddingmind@gmail.com)

Dear son,

At the onset of this cold untimely discourse, I must tell you that this is the product of failed parentage; a thing that has driven cowardice into the core of lacking values that defines my person and thus I can’t dare speak to you face to face.

Was I ever a good father? That I can’t remotely remember .But fresh in my mind are the many times we spent watching those stupid movies the whole night while laughing and making obscene commentaries and the tired house keeper had to miss his sleep on these nights because of us. Something more that I remember too is that I was here in KU-land long before I knew you will be partaking and contributing to the making of our strong elegant culture. I have been here long enough and tradition and decency demands that to you, my only heir, I have to bequeath all that I ever had. But before that, let’s take a walk down the memory lane.

Son, did you know that some people thought that I was a looser? Well, I am proud too, you know, of the things that I have done and got away with. Do you remember the first time you came to this place? You were lost, tired and confused while pulling a very huge bag and looking at you I said, “That boy is pretty innocent but he is going to break some hearts.” You never knew where to start from and the queues were too long with bodies pressing and pressing even harder you almost passed out- my father’s genes gives strong enduring offspring not like yours but then there is your mother and it seems you have taken after her. Those good fellows seated at those many windows in the 8-4-4 block and taking tea with buns and boiled eggs were not concerned about serving you faster and I saw your face get clouded with anger and disgust and I said, “This lad has the capacity for hatred too!”

After they had officially declared you a noble citizen of KU-land it was my responsibility to orient you before The Madam and her team showed you irrelevant things that will never be much of help to you. First you had to know KM and getting there you wondered aloud why this small ka-village could be so complex than the coveted culture village. You took me by the arm and asked “Pa, is this place usually this beautiful with skirts?” Was I to be offended? No! I saw an aspect of my genes in you-you were hot blooded like your father. But we needed to focus. These skirts are too many and more pretty than the madam’s flowers if paraded for you it will take you a hundred years to make a prudent choice and most probably you’ll want to take ‘em all.

Our mission in KM-land was to introduce you to the members of the “Legion of the Drink”. We had our little sanctuary, Kwa Mbugs, where the membership was free and the sweet water flowed depending on your pocket size. Back home that priest was too mean he only allowed us a sip on those blessed Sundays. You could never take enough to feel your head light and see the world spin around.

Forget about that for a while now and let me give you some advice. While here, son, beware of that hand out called HELB.When you don’t have it days bleed blood and when you get it ,it is so bewitching it will make the ugliest of endeavours look so pretty you will hardly think straight. It is sweet you will want to spend it-we called it “reducing the load to manageable size”. But one thing you can be sure of it will make you miserable by inevitably driving you into being broke before you know it. Then you’ll resort to seeking for grants from foreign lands to help offset your budget deficits. Even then you will have to agree to implement the structural adjustment programs these donor fellows will suggest before you hope to see your phone blink with a message from Michael J’s famous MPESA.

When I was to come here they sent this hand out and off I ran to Garissa Lodge to get the best of clad to help sell my portfolio to the ladies. I also went to Phone Express shop and got a phone whose value could feed any ordinary citizen of this place for a few months before the semester wound up. I was misinformed the same way you were that this was the land of plenty. And before I could tell the difference between science zone and science complex, a good Samaritan came along and helped himself with my clads and my phone. Then I swore ever to use a kambambe not unless otherwise. I ran broke but that little book of life helped me but I had to contend with Akala the whole semester- I have left you a similar book under my name-eat but remember the eleventh commandment: thou shall not be caught and make sure they don’t ask for an ID or else they will know you are a fake and make you starve.

I remember one time I took advantage of my-all- time- tough- donor of a father and when I reported here I was loaded. On a Friday, like everybody else I went to have fun in town. Those days “bend over” had not come but we had something akin to it. My evening got pretty steamy with this hot chic making it colourful.She made me drink like fish and still she gave me a fake name. The next time I became sober it was two o’clock in the morning and I was slouching on a chair at a corner of the club with no shoes, money nor even my kabambe.She must have been in a hurry to keep my stuff away from the bad guys and forgot to take my ATM card and with it I made my second last withdrawal. There after the ATM machine resorted to cold treatment.

Your grandpa was a great guy but he never taught me the art of keeping a lady for more than two weeks nor did he tell me that they were the most complicated species. I thought this place was like the village where conquest was guaranteed: two "NOs" and the third one always a “YES”. But I realized these sisters were keen on men; were complicated; were very sophisticated; intelligent and very beautiful I realized that in the game of love I was a small time player and that they got my game under control. I barely kept these sisters for two weeks. They always pushed me to the brink of becoming a heartless player but how does it profit you to sell your heart to the devil and become an angel of destruction and pain.

Putting on trendy clads was an indication of ability and they told me that ladies preferred guys who were loaded. What fun would, after all,one get from a broke fellow who’s shopping contained more toilet paper rather than juice and other things the ladies preferred. A lady rejected a friend of mine because he was always carrying sukuma from Nyayo Market and she thought dating him meant becoming a rabbit of some kind. A few years later, I realized these ladies preferred our smartly dressed brothers who dressed official as if on job hunting spree. I got tired of pleasing them and I thought of shifting to the Eastern village to enjoy my last days in peace and manage with my pitiable pension settlement.

Son, at this juncture I would strongly wish to tell not to feign love. How I wish that I could in the same way tell you to fear falling in love. But never mind. Just make sure that you have your eyes open to see the faces this love is always making at your ignorance. When sure enough that you have fallen in love, tread carefully and give your heart to somebody who will keep it safe for you till you come for it one day. As much as I would like to think of this place as a man-eat-man society there are plenty of good people around and be careful not to be indebted to them. You might not be able to pay back well enough.

On days when I wasn’t breaking CASB rules by “dangerously tapping electricity” to soften the stones in the name of beans I got cheaply from Githurai, I was in KM taking my point five. Then I thought point five was for guys and ladies went to Mugumo or Culture Village. But there I met another lady, a point fiver like me and we connected pap! Later I realized that she was a gentle soul and better than me so I feared taking her debt and I ran away before telling her my fake name.

My son, if you can afford it, love and cherish good roomies who are memory makers. They will always be bent to make your stay here a memorable thing by offering you lasting experiences even when they have not asked if you really needed such memories. My roomy was the exile master and many a times I found myself sleep walking between Nyayo campus and Eastern village -sometimes very late in the night. I was, against my wish, forced to spend the night with a gentle friend who at night would snore like a thousand engines of KQs airbuses. And then he would say a lot of nonsense while sleeping; things he would never say while awake. Since then I swore never to be awake while others slept or listen to what others said while asleep on days when even sleep demanded a bribe I could not afford. One day I learnt of a trick for repossessing the room from my good friend. He never liked Omena so I took it upon myself to make his stay in the room a good experience. I fried the things and he kept out of the room but at one time I feared I might suffer from malnutrition. It meant that I had to make the delicious meal every day, and I can advice you not to go down that line too.

I have remembered something too. When I first came here there was this thing called matriculation. We were offered free sodas and I took two instead of three. Am pretty sure some unlucky fellow missed this lavish treatment. We were then told to not keep our eyes off first class honours. I swallowed the good words and soon found myself in the Africana section in the Moi library. The position I took became mine and soon I realized I could score babes coming in and going out without any hindrance. I got destructed and on waking up the semester was gone and people were fighting for chairs every where in the lib and reading area. It seemed like wild ghosts had suddenly taken possession of the rooms and the proud owners had to run for safety in the library or the reading area.Nakumatt was deserted and thieves thanked the heavens for such a rare chance. I read hard and next time I went for my result slip I had few As and Cs and Ds. I thought Second Class Upper was more appealing and I quit the library all together.

Let's put side the stories. My will.Eheh!I am leaving you my sharp knife for chopping “sakuma wiki” all semester long and I hope it lasts you long enough before you sharpen it again.Then you'll have saved that "mbao" you would have given the grinder-man or saved you the energy wasted on sharpening it on the wall.Have the salt and sugar tins. I always went out to hunt for these essential commodities every semester end and make sure you keep the tradition going. But a word of caution: don’t hunt for salt and sugar from that lady you are fancying nor tell her how broke you are. If she asks for bus fare to take her home-even if she won’t take note of you the following semester-find it even it means you taking route eleven home. If you don’t, whatever happens will be your own fault. Pay my debt with mama sukuma in KM and please don’t go to the Nyayo 1 common room with those expensive shoes you have. They might use them to clear my debts at the pool table even before you have time to floss around in them.

Otherwise, I wish that you have enough troubles to let you denounce your comfort zone and learn to hustle liken other men who ever think of having children and taking other peoples’ daughters to sing them lullabies before they go to bed. During our time we had the pleasure of staggering from Mbugs in KM at noon but now beware of that man called Mututho.He has made us an endangered species. If it is a must that you must cool your nerves become nocturnal but till midnight.

Son, during boring lectures sleep and let others do the group assignments for you. After all, this is KU and we know better than any body what impunity means. How you make your As matters not but if you don’t know how to make use of MP3s don’t ever think of them not unless you have practiced your marathon skills well enough to enable you take off from the vicious invigilators or otherwise you’ll go to Hague like Taylor. My handwriting was large I never managed to make compressed folders. But lots of notes I photocopied from friends-though I was in KU most of the time- and then exams we did the HARAMBEE way.

Soon they will be giving me all the power to tarmac and before that I wish to get myself some few coins. This is Nai-robbery, you know. So, see you son.

From

Loving-Sleep-Walking-Buddy

Good-Daddy-For-Life

Charl Chotto

©Charles oketch