Where will we end up by Monday, court or exam room?

By Zablon Ekisa
I have probably told this story over a hundred times but not to you, dear reader, so buckle up. One Friday evening, I was seated on the terrace outside one of the hostels with four of my friends. The cold wind brushed past our heads, as if to shush our thoughts. The setting was not entirely strange – five campus fellows idly seated on the grass, having Konyagi shots and mindless conversations on a Friday night. For those familiar with campus jargon, you know what it means when I say, Friday ipewe heshima yake.

We were trying to figure out how on earth to afford a night of our lives in one of those swanky entertainment joints along Thika road, or as far as the road would lead us. But there we were, broke as church mice. We had our end of semester exams coming the following Monday so our focus was divided between going out for drinks, and kuokoa semester operations. Just as we were about to disperse after giving up on the night out, Sukari by Zuchu started playing from somewhere. It was Denzel’s phone. Who else? Denzel is the only comrade I know who exclusively plays and listens to bongo music.

The song stopped abruptly and then, “Hello kiongozi!” Denzel chimed as he answered the phone. As he listened to the caller on the other side of the line, his face became bright, so bright that it looked as if he had been using Dr Rashel’s Vitamin C serum. We immediately knew there was more to the story. Denzel’s short conversation was characterised by a series of ‘Eeeh’s’ and ‘okays’ before concluding with, ‘Sawa. Tunakuja’.

After putting his phone back in his pocket, Denzel turned to us. Apparently, a friend of ours from high school was throwing a house party to mark his born day, and there would be ‘lots of booze and campus ladies’. Now, who can ever say no to that? After food and free internet, free booze and free spirited ladies was the way to a comrade’s heart.

I was against the idea, but I couldn’t match Denzel’s persuasion tactics. I mean, the guy can sell water to a drowning man. Had he been a politician, I reckon he would have been among the Azimio team of six that is in the thick of the bi-partisan talks.

Off we left for Kahawa Wendani, where the action was to be. We arrived there in a jiffy and as the birthday boy ushered us into the house, we realised that we had been duped. We could hardly spot any girl in his house, let alone the booze. Right in front of us was a table laden with all manner of soft drinks. Soft drinks! Was this supposed to be a church-themed get together? Sensing our disappointment and developing anger, the host repeatedly assured us that alcoholic beverages were coming, and asked us to enjoy music in the meantime.

Shortly after, there was a knock on the door. Booze delivery, we presumed. Upon opening, three boots-wearing, handcuff wielding gentlemen stormed in. Kumbe a neighbour had told on us for playing loud music. The men with cuffs declared without evidence that we were drunkards and were causing disturbance to neighbours. Who were we to question the police?

Long story short, we were frog marched to the nearest police station and charged with noise pollution. As we sat on the cold, hard and smelly police cell, the same infuriating thoughts flood each of our minds. Which one will we end up in on Monday, court room or exam room?

Zablon is a student of journalism at Kenyatta University