01/10/2022
THROW BACK THURSDAY:
The year was 1997. It was a chilly morning in the month of October, deep in the heart of Kyemundu forest, where our school was located. The hour was five o'clock.
Swathes of thick fog blanketed the vastness of the cypress trees that looked like gigantic Christmas-tree silhouettes, lazily swaying as the morning breeze attempted to wake them up to a new day.
A handful of us crammed into the door-less bathroom that overlooked the vastness of the plains, beneath the infamous Yiunjwî cliff, that stretched from Midway all the way to Sultan Hamud.
The water was cold as ice, particularly at that hour of the morning, but our lanky, adrenaline-filled and testosterone-building adolescent bodies couldn't notice it.
On a sunny day, from that vantage point, one could see the glistening waters of Muooni River, and occasional, spiraling dust storms in the dry season especially around Vulueni and Muani.
This was destined to be a big day. And indeed it was, for good reason.
A small group of students had paid up for the optional opportunity to attend the Nairobi International Show. My father is big on adventure and exposure, so he couldn't let me miss that chance.
Trust me, that was huge!
A few minutes to 6:00am, the headlights of the Nissan Urvan the school had rented shot out of the fog and into the school compound from the direction of the Kyemundu Catholic Church.
We were standing in anxiety, waiting, shivering and teeth shattering in the cold, as King'oo, our driver of the day, zoomed into the little open space between the classrooms at our school, blowing a fine dust that had the scent of petrichor our way because of the dawn dew.
"Is everybody here?" bellowed Mr. Kangangi, our deputy headteacher, who was arguably the tallest man in Africa then, and who also doubled up as our Kiswahili teacher.
"Yes Sir!" we all whimpered back alternately and incoherently, checking each other out, just to be sure we were accurate.
"Let's go!" He thundered again, and, like the obedient kids we were, filed into the van.
Without wasting a moment, the engine roared again back to life, as King'oo snaked out of the school, and down the slopes of Kyemundu.
Slowly, the tension was easing up, as the van squeaked it's way to Emali, our first stop. It was just a few minutes after sunrise, and the contrast was significant.
The town was dusty and noisy, compared to the eternal calm of Kyemundu forest.
"We have 20 minutes for breakfast!" Barked Mr. Kangangi again, as he stepped out of the van.
He stood a few yards away, pulled out his packet of ci******es, lit up one and took a long, kingly puff as he surveyed the environment with his Tamil-tiger eyes. This man could see your soul.
He was joined at the puff-fest by our driver, who seemed to have been waiting for the opportunity for years.
As they whiled away, we enjoyed our hot cup of tea and large, well-stuffed mandazis. Not the hot air type I see these days.
You see, there never was tea on our breakfast menu in high school, so any opportunity to take a long swig at a cup felt like drinking from River Jordan.
Punde si punde, we hit the road.
We were all easy now. Sharing and laughing at jokes, teasing the teachers, and vice versa. It was rare.
Oh, I forgot to mention that we were also accompanied by Mr. Nthitu, who also doubled up as the shortest man in Africa then. Such an affable soul.
Within two or so hours from Emali, we were in hustle and bustle of the city, along Ngong Road.
Then we landed at our destination. It was a busy morning, being a Friday, and after firm instructions from our teachers, we banded into small groups, and melted into the sea of humanity and activity.
We checked out anything and everything, from the farms, the dairy cattle, name it.
I had to check out the new Volvo 960 then. It was my dream car, and I was not disappointed. I had never seen so much finesse wrapped in metal!
Then, finally, the hour came. Tired and haggard, my group sauntered into DS Club International.
The sound system was enough to pump blood through the veins of a dead person. It had to be 10,000 watts. That was a lot of sound then, probably the biggest in East and Central Africa.
Of course there was a fine lass I had been eyeing at our school, and we had paired up earlier in the day as we all zig-zagged the vast grounds, being the macho guy who "knew" Nairobi. Haha!
The lines were few, but the intentions were divine.
I will never forget that moment when the sound system BOOMED "Mysterious Girl" by Peter Andre. The crooning. The mumbling of the lyrics. And the heart-race. Damn!
I can still smell the dust and the sweat to this day.
The rest is history.
God bless Mr. Njoroge, whom I met years later at his favourite spot along Koinange street, for blessing us with that experience. It was heavenly!
