When the sem kicks off, most of us guys are loaded. And if you are not, there are friends, sufficiently philanthropic to ‘cater’ that bill for you. I was blissfully on the other side: characteristically called the ‘receiving end‘.

Now, last week found some roads ending up in places like JKUAT. And there, the host never let our heels cool off.  It was only the first day there in a long time but i was already familiar with all good and bad watering holes, peddlers and the juicier side of town. Never mind i quit quitting taking the beloved bottle, for shaking sake, but bwoy…how  we ended up at the guys’ ( a  shaggy haired jam with a don’t care swagger/stagger, called E…a friend of a friend) hostel gates at 3. a.m. in the morning is a hangover story.

See, there we were, selfishly caressing takeaway bottles, in the cold…waiting for E to jump over the hostel gate and katia the watchie to let us in. Apparently, there was a curfew from 11pm, and here we strode in at a Satanly hour, very disorderly. The case escalated after we heard harsh words exchanged and somebody rolling down the stairs of the decent hostel. Thinking our pal was in trouble,  Dere (my companion) and i jumped over the blue gate (or was it green?) not exactly landing on our feet..to find the petite Kisii watchie pleading for his life and E shouting the words over again, charging like a bull.

“nitakumada, unaskia?”

(In  a meek defeated voice, hands raised in despair) “ Ku mada ndio nini?

The noise attracted the  hostel’s proprietors who happened to live in the upper floor -  A plump woman with stockings and tens of lessos around her, the Huzzy, in a white stained vest flabs of flesh on his sides…and their son striding down the stairs…asking for calm while shouting us down.

… A belligerent E was calling upon the head of the house who was holding on to some railings…

“Si ushuke hizo stairs ndio tuelewane vizuri?”

He didn’t.

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