Orientation Day.

Cheplaskei Boys High School is where I got my secondary school education plus a little bit of civilization. Before that, I used to be well versed with village terrain, norms and gossip. I had never seen a tarmac road before let alone seeing an urban environment. Eldoret was a few kilometres away but we could only see it on a certain hill in the morning when we were going to school. Admission to high school close to a tarmac was the biggest achievement.

I am a man who likes keeping his lanes. I never wanted to cross the paths of those people who come from urban centres or even areas surrounding a shopping centre. I avoided the paths of those people who knew much on class subjects, technology, modernity, latest TV shows, games and those who were already initiated. I was average in everything. Class and games. I had nothing special in me. I would pass Business Studies to avoid eye contact with Mrs Orina, I played in the field to avoid discussing enthalpy changes or Fleming’s Right Hand Rule. In short, I was careful in handpicking my friends so that I avoid discussing academics, football, technology, TV shows and series and talking English. English was not my thing. Women also!

During the fourth year, my colleagues realized that I had attended zero events outside the school. it was high time they expose the village boy to a few things. One of them was women. To that far, I was green when approaching a lady. You know how the village works. If you don’t have the guts you tell your friend to do the talking for you. All you need to do is wait for her in the darkness and do the act without saying a word. That was me. I was hardly lucky to interact with girls especially coming from a family of pure boys. I thought that this was going to be an opportunity to learn a few tricks of being a man. I was to soon face the knife and it would be an added advantage if I can throw a few trapping words at the direction of a woman.

Off we went to St Catherine Girls’ High School. My schoolmates told me it was their territory. Whatever that was. A few minutes to the end of the youth mass, I was told it was ripe to take the move. I threw my sight in the corners of the room and I settled on three benches in front of me I picked a pen and a paper and scripted these words. ‘’See me after this. The guy with a bag.’’ The message was delivered in the most clever way I ever saw. It went horizontally, zigzag then landed on her lap. Chesos!

Have you ever tasted Adrenaline? That Biology term we were taught I don’t remember in which class? It has a lemon-like taste. It’s sour, bitter with a faint lining of sweetness. I tasted it that day! The girl was good looking, amazing in every way. Brown, medium sized with a notch tying digital smile. I felt I had crossed my lanes when I took a keen look at her. She was obviously beyond my type and she knew it. She was a girl who confidently knew that she was cute. My type was always those who need approval because it would be easy to navigate the approaching paths. This was different. I had overstepped and from her reaction, my adrenaline was ready to be tasted.

She suddenly became restless and asked loudly, at least that is what I heard but my friends disputed the loudness, who the secret message was from. Her surrounding almost turned in to a commotion and the words of the priest were not heard anymore. If I was a Whiteman, I would have told you I turned yellow in my skin but I was black. I turned to shiny black. I could see my nose shining like a mirror, my vest was soaked by the sprinkling sweat. It was not dripping but sprinkling. My heartbeat was racing you at a speed close to Ian Duncan’s in a motor race. Adrenaline converted my saliva to a sticky substance I guess if it was taken to the lab, it would have changed blue litmus paper yellow. It rounded off the little English I had to the nearest mother tongue. It was a near death experience.
After hours, my classmates said it was a few minutes, of the commotion, she finally landed her eyes on me. She smiled and became composed. I frowned and became restless. I was not going to engage her. Not me. Never! I had calculated my moves, the flight hormone had done its job, the remaining was mine.

‘’May Almighty God bless you, in the name of the Father, the son and the holy spirit. Go in peace the mass is ended.’’ I heard that right. Blessed indeed. The distance between me and the door was approximately nine metres, I would linear move speed enough to overtake the person sitting one metre away from the door. We sat down for final announcements which were done quickly.
I could not move. Walter Adams and Chomey had riveted my belt on my chair. I tried to move but their grip was firm and the looks on their faces warned me. I was a caged bird. They were willing to sacrifice what they had purposely come to ensure I became a man. Students were moving out and the population in the hall was dropping. The girl was still seated with a friend who I later learnt that she was called Gladys.

My baptism time came. All the English resurrected. I could feel my parents and grandparents English coming to my rescue. I dashed into a conversation. Words flooded my mouth and they moved with surgical precision. I hear that alcohol activates English in your bloodstream. My English was on steroids and marijuana combined. I remember using the term ‘complexion’. Back in school, I checked the meaning of the word every day using different dictionaries for a week.

The next thing I remember was her pausing me. Shaking my hand and telling me she was called Caroline Chephirchir. I see her on Facebook these days.