My last year in high school was a flurry of activity, both academic and romantic. At home, I was making eyes at Eunice and Mercy. Eunice was in college; and being a young professional woman, she was attractive to a lot of guys. Tony and his younger brother were both jostling to ask her out. My only real chance was in the evenings when I went to pick up milk from a local farmer. If I was lucky, I’d have timed my journey at just about the same time Eunice was heading back home. She spent her days at the Nairobi Institute of Business Studies, studying Information Technology. As a kid in high school, she was a role model. And easy on the eyes.
The trick was practicing my Casanova moves on Eunice, without prematurely ending my chances with Mercy. A tough juggling act given that the two women lived on opposite sides of the same street. I was bad at this. Tony, older than me and thus with several more years of flirting experience, beat me at my own game. I didn’t know this then, and it’s not until recently that Tony confessed, but he’d managed to have his cake and eat it, too. He’d spend his afternoons making out with Mercy, only to switch allegiances in the evening – and profess his undying Love for Eunice. He kept the whole act up and running for 3 months. When Eunice came home early one afternoon, and discovered that her and Mercy had actually been sharing details about the same sweetheart, the two dupes combined forces and dumped the T-Man simultaneously.
I didn’t have much time for mourning. I was once again in love, and this time it was for real! The lady had an alluring name: Sonia. And her beauty was everything you could imagine someone with such a moniker would possess. And more. She was Indian; so she came with standard issue copper skin, and long flowing black hair. She was a little more bronze than her Indian friends, as though she was racially mixed. I desperately hoped that she was. I figured that if her dad was Kenyan, meaning black, perhaps I had more of a shot. I never found out. I preferred to dream about the subject of my crush from a distance. I did chat with her once or twice, but I was too nervous not to say the wrong thing.
I changed tactics. I decided to approach Sonia through a third party, her friend Lucille. Lucille was gorgeous in her own way, and, thinking back, very personable. She could clearly see that I was smitten, and she did not begrudge me information about my intended. Lucille gave me tips on where Sonia hang out over the weekends, Sarit Center, a new mall that had just come up in Nairobi’s wealthy Westlands. Lucille also suggested ice cream and movies as a possible first date activity. And my heart was willing, but my wallet was weak. Sarit was the kind of place you drove to. Sure, there was public transport available, but it was totally not the same totally. I let my family’s financial background limit my imagination of what I could or could not achieve, and who I could or could not be friends with. Perhaps rashly so. Sonia was a hot cake. Boys were scrambling to woo her. We joked that an angel such as herself never had bowel movements; and if she did, it was only to eject perfect baked chocolate truffles.
There wasn’t much time to mop about Sonia. Our end of year Kenya Certificate of Secondary Education exams were fast approaching. These were scheduled for mid-October through early November. By June, we’d worked our way through the entire syllabus in most of our classes: Social Ethics, English and Swahili literature, Chemistry, and Maths. We still had a chunk of work to do in Physics. Partly because we’d had to switch teachers in 10th grade. But we soldiered on. In July, we sat for a big exam that mimicked what we’d encountered in our finals. I did well. On our last day of classes, as we embarked on our August school holidays, I went home feeling accomplished. As usual, at 4pm, I went to the bus stop and waited for a number 11 matatu. These plied the Odeon-Highridge/Parklands route. I tried to not be too bothered by the fact that my peers were chauffeured home daily. I’d gotten used to their privilege. And for once, I may have been using public transport, but I was doing so with an impressive array of grades in my back pocket. Boo yeah!