The good thing about Chiromo Campus; there’re numerous trees everywhere. Okay, enough of pretending I love trees so much. I should have said wild fruits. I don’t know the name of these yellow, date-sized fruits but I know they’re sweet. In Chiromo, you’re either crazy or genius. Most times, though, you’re both. And geniuses don’t know or believe themselves to be genius. That’s why it isn’t or wasn’t a pitiable sight to have me up there on the tree at midday right in the middle of campus seducing fruits to fall down. I’d reached the farthest, most stable branch, yet my height couldn’t allow me to reach out and pluck the edibles. So I decided to shake the tree vigorously, whilst attracting the attention of a bevy of beauties just ahead of me munching pies at the canteens.
Let me start this way: I really need to learn the difference between being hungry and being bored. Or maybe I’m addicted to wasting time. In Chiromo, you dance like there’s nobody watching. Or filming. Never mind that creepy paparazzi in the corner with the camcorder. Just keep dancing. I’m trying to explain any pictures of ‘me up a tree’ that might pop up in the blogosphere. Camera clicks had to follow me as if I was some zoological attraction. I’m pretty sure those were zoology students doing so. Any case, they’re not bad pics. I was actually smiling to show people I’m not a thug. But I admit I’m among the people who are going to be disappointed when scientists discover the centre of the universe, and discover it’s not me.
Anyway, I even don’t know how to end this story but something is a bit clear; that if my parents know half the stories my friends know, they’d probably disown me. Haha, of course they won’t. Even so, what most people call complicated, strange, weird and spooky, my parents will always call their son. While up the tree, I noticed some bird-eye-view things about Chiromites that I’d like to share:
Attractive girls are always the most insecure, while these Shrek-looking feminines walk around yapping aloud thinking they’re the big fish.
*dives as rocks come flying from all over*
I knew someone would get angry. Or emotional. Think I care? No. you’re wrong. So just sit there in your wrongness and be wrong.
Another thing; there’re no good men here. Dudes here are genius. I’m not sure if ladies are attracted to genius. Can you imagine the wise wizard winning the woman over the gallant swordsman, can you? It seems rather otherworldly in more ways than one. Of course it’s only in Upper Kabete Campus, the College of Agriculture and Veterinaries, where men swaying swords, read machetes, can be found. These are for threshing bushes and also any wild animals that might stray into the campus to prey on the cows and pigs in the agriculture’s department’s pens. These men, Chiromo ladies would prefer. I mean, why not? They have swords. Please don’t hate on me Kabetians. This’ a compliment.
It’s due to this inescapable truth that Chiromite ladies do not fix their dark circles. I could note that from right up the tree. They just let the world know they’re tired of it (with all these academic work and no good guys to provide shoulders to lean on) and ready to kill a man :D. No complaints. When life gives you lemons, squirt someone in the eye.
I also came to a weird reality. In Chiromo, a lie gets seven times round the campus’ perimeter before the truth has a chance to even get its pants on. I don’t know how you’ll picture this but five minutes after I went up the tree and into enjoying my delicacies, I receive myriads of texts from schoolmates urging me not to commit suicide (oh yeah) and encouraging me to soldier on with life. Who started the lie surely? Presumably not my class-mates, they are people within my class whom I hate; my class-hates. That just sounds awesome. There are 1013913 words in English but I could never string any of them together to explain how much I wanted to hit any one with a chair right then. I played dumb. I multi-texted back, ‘’if I die, I’m sorry for your loss’’, Anyway, I figured out the best revenge is to move on and get over it. Don’t give someone the satisfaction of watching you suffer, huh?
Lastly, I know you’re wondering; like what? Wild fruits? Yeah. The monster under the bed is sometimes real. I have to admit it. I’m foodious. Is there such a word? Don’t use greedy on me; that sounds rude and I might stab you. And I’ll make sure those wounds last forever. They tell you time heals all wounds, don’t believe them! Nevertheless it’s true. In fact when I say I feel like eating a snack, I mean a full plate with dessert fruit serving, salad and an Arabian family of six. I eat with unbridled freedom and infectious appetite. When l’m doing my hanky-panky with food, you’ll inevitably discover there’s something intimate about the relationship between a predator and prey. Yet I eat any time. That explains why I hate brushing my teeth at night; because that signifies that you can’t have any more food and l’m just never ready for that kind of commitment. Wondering why I’m ranting this? It’s because I discovered my appetite is like Ebola and spreads fast; It can make a gospel. Within minutes, a mass of humanity was at the base of the tree, cajoling me to drop some fruits for them. Now that’s Chiromo!