Class of 2015

They called it Elder’s Night.

The emcees, Alex Musyoki and Mercy Katunge, invited me to give a talk. As I picked my feet towards the dais, Valerie Akinyi and Carol Kinyua were already smiling. They knew I was going to say something funny. Curtains were drawn. Doors were closed. No word was to escape the ear of the audience.

“To our class rep, Mr. Davidson Makau, his deputy, Ms Esther Chege, all protocols observed, allow me to first introduce myself to the new faces in the building. I have two special names. Odhiambo, my surname, is special because it starts and ends with the same letter, just like Uhuru, the name of our president. James, my English name, is special because like Jesus, it also starts with letter J and ends with letter S.

Ladies and gentlemen, the four years are finally over. For some, it was a smooth sailing, for others, it was rough and tormenting. The University of Nairobi, School of Law has been a great friend, a loving sister, a comforting mother and a strict father. We thank God for the season.

Comrades, since we dispersed to different worlds, I have been living a boring life. No jokes. No politics. No gossip. I had to make new friends, most of whom are not as humorous and creative as you guys. I missed the whole class but, for security reasons, I will only mention a few.

I missed Oliver Mark Ngaruiya because of two reasons. One, he was my first roommate in Campus. When we met for the first time in Lower Kabete, Mark and I tried to do those silly first impression analyses. I did not like the firmness with which he shook my hand. He did not like the way I stared at him straight in the eye. But we would be good friends. He later introduced me to Robert Mboya, the best friend I had in the institution.

The second reason I missed Mark is his unlimited sense of humour. While some of you tried to harden my life, Mark made it spongy. He made me laugh every time we met. His head is a round balloon inflated with words of wisdom. He often joked: when a coward identifies a man he can beat, he gets hungry for a fight; those who do not understand the music of the frog call it croaking; the fellow who misused the toilet forgot about it, but the man who stepped in the mess has never forgotten. That was Mark. I loved his company. Sometimes I behave like a woman. I only hang around those who make me laugh.

I missed Miriam Tatu and her quietness. Innocent. Peaceful. Cool. She had no enemy. She had no friend. Everybody was a human being in front of her. I have no idea she gossiped. I do not know she slapped mosquitoes. She was warm – awesomely friendly and generously forgiving. You will know you are in heaven when you see her consulting Miriam Maina on when Sunday worship should commence. This is not to say you should change your name to Miriam.

I missed Professor. He came to read. What else were books written for? On Thursdays, while Benna and Chonga added muscles to their biceps, Prof lifted words from books to his brain. On Fridays, while Frank and Obech would choose to unwind with a bottle of Bluemoon, Prof opened pages, one by one. On Saturdays, while Kilili would camp at the TV room waiting for Arsenal’s game, and of course, consulting Owaka on which bet to place, Prof was opening pdf files, four tabs for the day. On Sundays, Alvin Kosgei was chasing demons out of Parklands Campus, but Prof. Peter Mbogo was at the car park checking if the departing demons blocked the librarian’s way.

Talking about professors, let me congratulate Joseph MacDonald (MacD) and Sheila Imbwaga for getting first class honours. These two scholars have demonstrated that reading, like Jesus, can save man from sins (like resits and carrying affidavits to exam room). Sheila and MacD deserve the honour. They know when ellipsis is missing in a sentence. They know all the three names of parties to a case. They know which shelf houses which books. …and Winny Waruguru still wants us to believe that God will burn sinners yet the Class of 2015 has produced two smart lawyers who will stand against abuse of human rights.

I also missed a queer character whose name, for the purpose of this talk, shall be Ian. Ian wanted everybody to live his life. He had not grown to realize that people are different but one. He did not know, for example, that while Jasper is an atheist, Harriet is wholly submerged in the holy waters of Jerusalem, and that we have to love and respect both of them. Ian had not keenly observed the lives of Matundura and Nabenyo otherwise he would have realized that while the former’s nose loved the smell of Westy, especially on a weekend, the latter’s loathed it, and we had to, as human beings, treat both of them with equal respect. Dakky answers everything with a smile. Euphemia’s answers come out in loud laughter that shatters the window panes. As peace-loving members of the human race, we cannot interfere with what they do with their mouths. But Ian knows nothing about this. He wants everybody to speak his language – dance to his songs, watch his movies, wear his shoes, shop at his preferred mall and go to his church. How boring would that world be? One day, he asked me to listen to his hip-hop and not my Rhumba. When we played his songs, the very many f*** words that formed the lyrics polluted my ears. I told him, ‘Is this what you consider romantic? I’ll be comfortable with my UB 40 and Judy Boucher.’ He hated me.

I missed Len (I think this is how my grandmother would have pronounced her name). She is that beautiful girl you meet in your illusions. You’ve also met her in the billboards where they advertise lotions and on the front page of Evegirl Magazine. Nearly all guys present in this hall have admired her body topography, at least through the windows. But Len had a ring in her finger. She still has it. I want to believe it is not a photocopy of the original.

Because I was smitten, I enquired from her close friend if she had a man already. We men do this research to avoid getting a ‘hurting No’. Len’s friend did not help. Instead, she asked me to go find out from her. ‘C’mon, Jim. You never know…plus, you have words which so many men are looking for,’ Ann Oloo said. I did not like it. She was allowing me to go fight a losing battle. Imagine this: a friend of yours knows Man U was beaten but still asks you to go find out from the 9 o’clock news.

I met Len at the school gate one Sunday evening. I was to see her in her room the following day. I set an alarm. Responsible men arrive on time. Len cleared her bed to create space for my small buttocks. She sat next to me and said, ‘Here I am. Tell me now.’ My confidence was put on trial. After the talk had advanced to a conducive stage, I mentioned my case. She showed me the ring in her finger. Just another piece of jewelry, I thought. ‘I am ready to take you away from any man except Jesus,’ I said to her. She burst into laughter, not loud enough for a yes though. I walked out in defeat knowing I fought a good fight. If anything, I was not the first loser. Millions of men have experienced this. My father went through the same before he met my mom. Kanye West went through the same before he met Kim Kardashian. Even my friend, Ogutu Lawi, was also subjected to the same suffering before he met Josephine. I was later to meet Jennifer from the School of Economics. She economized my heart.

I can see Mr. Yohana is smiling. Well, two things about him. I am told he is a man of integrity (remember we are yet to come up with an integrometer but preliminary findings show integrity is determined by studying three things about a man: the size of glasses he wears, his woman’s wardrobe and the number of politicians who hate him). I think Yohana managed his libido quite well, like a strong adult. He kept his calm even in the face of insults from politicians who wanted to access power through backdoor. He remained steadfast in speaking the truth. He preached before the Gentiles, Pharisees and Sadducees. I must say there is something quite Gaddafi about him.

I served under Gaddafi in two separate ‘bodies’. He was the head of team Kiti during the 2014 SONU campaigns. Also, he chairmaned me at the Parklands Catholic Community. I will examine his life in the latter case. As the head of Catholic Community, Gaddafi’s leadership did not score 100%. Neither did it come close to 80%. Why? He introduced rules which were to govern both inner and outer selves of officials. There were regulations on behaviour and penalties for absenteeism. This was a good idea but its implementation lacked certain basic rules of governance. I don’t want to go into the nitty-gritties of what led to some resignations but going forward, let me give Gaddafi some useful advice (I think he has something to offer this nation). One, let people own the idea. That way, they will not have an opportunity to rebel. Two, is law number 45 from Robert Greene’s bestseller book, 48 Laws of Power, which is: preach the need for change, BUT never reform too much at once.

I missed Saddam. Not because of ‘the most controversial’ award he won, but because of the enmity that brewed between him and Sinino. Saddam would carry a nyaunyo to the field. He dared Sinino. War broke out one evening. I am told the game was a thriller. Mutemi Mutemi and Mwange will give us the match report.

Saddam and Becky were good presenters. They knew how to act. While Saddam’s niche was voice variation, Becky specialized in jumping, just to drive concepts home. Surely, teachers deserve salary increment.

I missed Lynnet Achieng’ and her complaints. Lynnet would not fill her mind with disturbing issues. She emptied her thoughts for debate. She asked questions. She sought explanations. She cried for justice for women. She asked both ‘why’ and ‘why not’. Some of you thought she was bothersome while others made her out as a bold lady, blessed with a rotating brain and an inquisitive mind. I have no idea which side I fell, but one thing struck me about her. Her second name, Acheing’, is a name given to a Luo girl born at noon, when the sun is peeling make ups off your faces. I suspect it’s the reason she was hot on issues.

I missed Mike Muigwa. Not because of his perceived activism or his thirst for knowledge despite his physical challenges, but because of the Murang’a stories we shared between ourselves. He warned me against ‘protesting’ during dowry negotiations otherwise I will be slapped with a fine. That I am only to accept the outcome however harsh they may be. That is when I realized that the load to Mulang’a is very (w)rong.

It will be an injustice to this farewell party if I don’t touch on Campus politics. There was Kiti and Hillary (Hillary Clinton was very close to clinching the Democrats’ ticket in 2008). Hillary announced his candidature on day one of the election’s semester. Kiti had no plans for the race. He feared losing both his image and money.

Hillary invited me for a secret talk. He wanted my support. We briefly conversed over his prospects. He was confident. I fell for his enthusiasm and mojo, but not before he addressed one of my concerns. I informed him of the difficulty I would face with his men. Most of his supporters were not prepared to see Robert Mboya win the Secretary Legal Affairs seat. I asked him to explain to them that we would only be united by the Campus Rep post and nothing else. He was to make it clear to them that Mboya and I were inseparable. ‘That should not worry you, Jim,’ Hillary said to me, ‘I am looking for someone achukue hiyo kiti ya Legal Affairs.’ Hillary sealed his fate − instead of Raila concentrating on the presidency, he also meddles in the politics of who becomes the governor of Migori County or who wins Muhoroni’s parliamentary seat.

Later, Jim Akach saw team-Hillary unfeather hens and hire lorries. They were going to burry my dream of becoming a writer. They arrived at the gravesite when the sun was hiding behind the classes. The casket was violently thrown into the squared hole and men of energy covered it with feathers. But when they woke up the following day, wind had blown the grave open.

Ladies and gentlemen, I also greatly missed our lecturers. Prof. Eshewani’s witty jokes, Prof. Yash’s Friday morning pronunciations, Mr. Muthomi’s pithy remarks, Prof. Sihanya’s poems and Dr. Asiema’s excuses. But it is the Dean who we shall all live not to forget. The first leader we knew. The second mother we hoped on. The third eye whose vision we trusted. The fourth official who oversees a game. The fifth wheel that cures puncture. Smith told me that on the sixth day, God created Patricia Kameri Mbote.”

I lifted my eyes to have a view of the rear of the audience. I realized Allan was present. I had not mentioned the funny stories we shared. Cosmas and Simiyu were urging me to continue with the speech. Ruth Njeri was adjusting her glasses. Remy wanted to ask his annoying last minute questions. Dan was teasing Purity. He was stroking her eyelashes because there was no hair on her head. Stellar was whispering something to Cullen. Sanchez was giving a closing smile, “SONU has said your time is up.”

“I want to thank everyone who turned up for this event. It’s always a pleasure meeting you. God bless you all.”

“PR,” Ciku Lilian and Akinyi Muga said in unison as I squeezed way to my seat.

“Omuga,” JB called me.

JIM ASUDI

            Making good use of the alphabet  

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