Of bad decisions...

 

"One, two. three, take a deep breathe and hold it kidogo, now breathe out." 

Growing up, the circles you hang out with determine the life skills you will acquire, also factors like parenting style, geographical location etc. hone you with certain skills to survive but also to have fun.

On this day, I knew I was an armature swimmer - up to that point in my life I had only swam about ten times, half of that being learning and the rest practising in the shallow end - but what is life without risks? Adrenal glands were overworking and I was feeling pumped, I could hear my heartbeat and although it was cold my palms were sweaty. 

"On your marks" 

The acting referee commenced announcing my impending drown. Time froze and I could notice subtle things around me; like the way, across the pool six ladies basking awaited to see the victor but acted like they didn't care. 

"Get set"

Atop the swimming blocks, I was trembling rethinking my daring attempt. One last call to go to make a joke of myself or emerge triumphant. Flashing before my eyes were positive thoughts reminding me of times I had little faith in myself but grasped success. Negative thoughts always come last like ketchup or kachumbari. 

I relax the nerves once more before we dive in. 

"Wait, I don't have kids yet" Last thought checks in before I hear a loud clap! 

 "One, two. three, take a deep breathe and hold it kidogo, now breathe out."

I am on a hospital bed. The diagnosis enteric fever, my body guilty of Typhoid. How did I get here? I chose to self-medicate and bought malaria tablets, a misdiagnosis it turned out. 

Every morning I crossed my fingers wishing down my body temperature, before the nurse came around. "It's still too high, you can't be discharged." uurgh she sounded like a broken record. 

I hate it here, I can't eat, my sweat smells like medicine and there's no network inside the thick walled prison dubbed men's ward.

The ambiance was sombre. The man on my right was immobilized by menengitis, he could only move his eyes. On my left, a skinny man lay. I will never forget the screems he let out when the doc had to push meds up his rectum so that he could poop; I felt that was a violation, he needed more privacy. The curtains separating beds were evidently not soundproof.

"Acha kelele banaa" an annoyed patient trying to get some sleep shouted.

It took seven days for the nurse to change tune and utter the magic words that got me discharged. 

 "One, two. three, take a deep breathe and hold it kidogo, now breathe out." 

Guess who had to walk back home at midnight after a mission (involving a girl) failed? 

She used to sing at campus events and on this particular one she had asked me to attend. Like a man enchanted by her beautiful voice I oblidged, forgetting to factor in an exit strategy.

I sat at the back, passively watched the other performances, awaiting my 'Beyonce'. Peeping to check the front row, she sat, bubbly as ever and with other men. Something bitter formed in my throat that I found hard to swallow. 

She didn't perform and didn't respond to my texts asking why. It was midnight when the show ended, and I had to cross a forest, walk two kilometers to get home. 

"If I die, I die" that's self motivation before embarking on this dangerous journey. 

About 500m away from my house I see three men ahead my path. They turn and point a blinding torch at my face for a few seconds before switching it off. I am mesmerized and rooted to the ground. 

"I am not dying today" self motivation thrown out the window, I ran back to school to see if I could sleep over at my friend's. He wasn't around. My phone was almost off. I divert to find a second friend and he too was missing. 

Now frustrated, I walk among stray cats in the deserted campus market, with my phone about to die. I hear congregants singing praise in a nearby church, in what I later find out to be a kesha. I consider joining them, pretend to sing for a while then sleep on the chairs. The idea doesn't sit well with me. 

Friend one finally returns my call, tells me he's on his way back from a club. 

"One, two. three, take a deep breathe and hold it kidogo, now breathe out."

It's clobbering time! I am about to get into my first fight. The opponent used to be my deskmate; he sometimes asked me to sit at a good angle during exam time so that he could borrow some ideas and in exchange he bought mandazis for me at break time. That was good business while it lasted.

Trained to fight by action films, I put my feet apart and raised my arms like a professional boxer. I was ready. 

I was a fat kid, he was lean and tough andcfrom the village - that made me nervous.

Strike first was my strategy, it would give me the option to carefully select where to hit, he wouldn't see me coming.

"Marvin, you want to fight me?" - his question was dumb. 

"Enough talking banaa, let's goo!" I said as I released a left hook which nicely married his lower lip.

He must have been an avid fan of Kung Fu for the kick I received sent me flying like I was feather-weight. I felt a breeze before landing with a thud.

You know how we joke with "Somebody hold me back before I kill someone" I really did want someone to hold me, but for purposes of saving myself.

I stood up for round two. He wasn't a bright student in class, but today he was ready to teach me a lesson. I made a tough face and stepped forward. A crowd had now begun to gather. His lip was bloody, the work of my hands. 

This time I wasn't in a haste to throw the first jab. I wanted him to do so, then I would dodge before sending mine. 

Suddenly, Ngrrrrrrrrr... 

I was saved by the bell, breaktime was over and so was our fight.