99 was a very good year ....

On my way to work today morning, I noticed that the lads and lasses at UoN are graduating today. That brings many happy memories, a few funny ones and uncomfortable ones.

Four years earlier when I was joining, my parents called a priest. The priest prayed, long and hard. He then lectured on for an hour about sex and drugs to a stone-faced, unblinking 0.5. Those guys do hard work.

Checked in with about 27,000 pocket money for the first semester of the first year. I had never before owned such an amount of money in my life. The joy of meeting high school mates who had enrolled in the same college or better still the same class, was great. Got thoroughly plastered the following Thursday (at Mamba) and attended my first class drunk. Bad precedent.

@Mamba. Under the influence talked to a really fly chic and had some measure of success. I mean she was smiling and patting my back. Can't remember what I was saying though. And yes, I got a number. 325 Wing A, Box. Or something like that.

Her name was either Nancy or Mercy. The brain cells that stored that information have since died. I met her exactly two days later on my way to Box, to her room. I stood infront of her and croaked a nervous, high spirited 'Hi' and extended my hand. She looked me from bottom to top, wore this look of total bewilderment and deftly sidestepped me. I stood there like an idiot. Guys passing around thought it was funny.

Went clubbing Jax (the modern day Seasons, kimathi street) on Saturday with a 3 year pal from shags who was also at my high school. He was accompanied by mature women from Med school. I must have looked like a freshly harvested cabbage, thoroughy wet behind the ears because after we all got high, they teased me as if I was a 12 year old: You said your name was? Hey, dont stand there, come sit on mama. Feel that,huh? I was an idiot! I was pulling my hand away from the warm nether regions it was being guided to and blushed till I was blue. Some chic please try that on me now.

Spirits ruled. Guiness tasted like water.

Breakfast of Champions: That was served at Rosina. It constituted a rich cup of tea, a well filled mandazi and a kebab. Split said mandazi along its longitudinal axis. Slip in the kebab. That didn't come out right. Special sandwich for only 40 bob. The breakfast was at 10:00. It was incomprehensible to eat anything before that. Seats were outside. The 17-18 year old female doctors-to-be with money and cars were just breathtaking.
0.5 would momentarily stop breathing when Object J passed by to get her breakfast (The nickname is inspired by a discipline in my profession ...and hers too!... called OOAD. Yaani, she was an instance of a perfect class.)

Sitting under the Big Tree: The 17-18 year old Meds passed outside the institute, infront of the big tree to their lecture halls. This usually took place after tea break during class time! Yet no one would budge from under the tree until the complete file of about 200 young beatiful para chics passed. And boy they took their time! Orwa (a lecturer), would get hot under the collar after passing by while heading to class. He would find one or two chaps in the class and start the lecture. 45 minutes we would stumble in, thoroughly happy, and then we would be chased out. At some point, he gave up.
Pendant? Hmmmm......She goes to the file of unfinished business for one Kamikaze. Or should I say unstarted business?

Midnight Drama: Some guys had made a sport of picking women from K-Street and bringing them to the halls of residence. Lets say there were all manner of payment disputes. This must have been the stuff the priest prayed about.

Mathematics: if you thought high school maths was hard, try undergrad maths. They said it was something to do with expanding your mind. I can assure without a shadow of doubt that your mind not only got expanded, it got bent, twisted and stretched until it broke. Then the alcohol would mend it right back again in preparation for more abuse. Otherwise we would all have been hospitalised.

Cold War on Prolog and Pithon: If Maths was hard, Prolog was impossible. There was this interesting problem about a guy who married a woman who had an adult daughter. The daughter married the guy's dad. It became so intricate that the guy became his father's father. A variation can be found hereNow, in this logic thing, you were supposed to reduce that to sound and coherent mathematical equations! Crazy. Anyway, Pithon was the teacher. He issued an impossible test on one bright morning. Well the best I could do was write my name on the paper and chill out. Flipped through the entire paper and could not write anything more. Why waste a guy's time? After trying to convince Pithon to drop the test and not succeeding, we resulted to being sullen, uncooperative and refused to talk to the guy. The whole class was depressed. It worked. He probably figured: These morons! Whats there to lose? The test was dropped from the final score.

Solid: It is actually liquid and could fuel a rocket. We drunk it with gusto. A Sh 100 helping was enough to knock flat three men. There were rooms that were established bars for Solid. The stuff was measured by a small petri-dish like container. Sh 30 per unit. It was so clear; May be its because it dissolved anything that came into contact with it. The litmus test for purity was spreading some on the back of your hand or lighting a match to it. You felt a cold sensation as it quickly evaporated. After one of these, we were ready to go rock F3.

Mamlaka Chicken: Pure delight for only 60 bob.

CCU: Chama Cha Ugali; This was the place to go when there was no sixte for Mamlaka chicken. There was a healthy dish called 'Rivaldo'. No 11. Ugali and sukuma that had been dipped in steaming water for only 3 minutes and yanked out for human consumption. I say there are more humane ways to kill people. The gourmet dish was served for 11 shillings. One would produce smile that not even the girlfriend gets in the hope that the guy serving will drop in a laddle of beef soup, or matumbo soup to at least hustle the brittle vegetables and coarse ugali down. Usually all one got was a cryptic "Sioni supu kwa hii receipt yako" and a look that could melt ice to match.

Just loved the bare backs and swimming costumes on Saturday afternoon at the swimming pool. Such stark contrast. One stone's throw away is the horrible CCU, and right next is the pool. On occasion, you would get to show a frightened girl how to float on water. Fantastic. Pure bliss. Imagine a puny 0.5 acting like Superman, holding some curvaceous woman by her back as she flaps her legs about...

It was a long four years so I will stop now.