Telewa Job
A story by; Telewa Job
About four years ago, when our teachers urged us to join campus and focus on studying, they emphasized the importance of academics over entertainment, attractive companions, or the freedom that campus life supposedly offered. Despite my commitment to academic excellence, my true aspiration was to connect with the captivating ladies I observed in lecture halls. The teachers’ motivating stories fueled my determination to pursue this vision. However, my challenge lay in overcoming my shyness and unconventional dressing style. I was often referred to as “Kienyeji” due to my reluctance to conform to the typical campus attire of that time.
Eager to date a campus lady, I found myself under a green, flowering fig tree near the school’s library one day. There, I spotted a lady in official attire with Abuja-style braids, a brown bag on her shoulder, and a Samsung Galaxy smartphone in hand. Her suspicious movements caught my attention, and our eyes met as she approached. Seizing the opportunity, I pretended to engage in a phone call in our local dialect (Muriena). Surprisingly, she responded, understanding the Bukusu word I had spoken. This gave me the courage to initiate a conversation. We exchanged greetings in our local language, and to my surprise, she was from Kakamega county, making us hometown companions despite different counties. She graciously accepted my invitation to sit, and we introduced ourselves. Her name was Shakky.
Despite my initial shyness, we engaged in conversation, sharing jokes and getting to know each other in the refreshing breeze of that cool environment. Our connection deepened as we continued to spend time together, sharing stories, dreams, and laughter. It turned out Shakky and I had more in common than just our hometowns – our interests, values, and sense of humor aligned in unexpected ways.As the time went by, I gained confidence in our budding relationship. Shakky’s warmth and understanding helped me overcome fear.
A lady selling lollipops approached us while we were sitting. She shouted, “Buy a beautiful lollipop, leave yours.” Realizing I had something in my pocket, I quickly checked my back pockets, finding her phone digits.
She handed a big lollipop to Shakky and continued her business on campus. I tore the lollipop and gave it to Shakky to enjoy the sweetness. She raised her hand, offering me a taste. Shakky, silent with raised eyebrows, whispered, “Can I tell you something special?” I eagerly said, “Yes,” as she softly replied, “I need you.” My mind filled with questions, but I responded with a simple “Yes.”
As I checked my wristwatch, the time was precisely 1 pm, and I realized I had a lecture lined up for 2 pm. Examining myself with a tinge of pity, a specific point infiltrated my thoughts: the notion that men are not inherently born to succumb to fear. This singular slogan began to shape my perspective, inspiring me with determination on how I could successfully capture the attention and admiration of the lady I was interested in.
In a moment of admiration, I couldn’t help but express, “You are truly beautiful,” as my fingers traced a gentle path along her back. The sincerity in my words echoed my genuine feelings, and I added, “You’re the kind of lady I envision in my future,” emphasizing the depth of my admiration for her.
Her response was met with a delightful, “Woow, nice,” accompanied by a warm smile that mirrored the positive energy of the moment. The mutual appreciation between us was palpable.
Eager to extend our connection beyond the present, I swiftly reached for my phone and opened the contact list. With a subtle excitement, I conveyed my intention to exchange contact information. She graciously reciprocated, spelling out her name with precision, ensuring there would be no mistakes. In return, I shared my own digits, solidifying the potential for future conversations and the continuation of a connection that had sparked in that moment.
As the clock approached 2 pm, and with 15 minutes remaining, she swiftly gathered her belongings, holding my hand in the process. The embrace she gave me was remarkably warm, prompting an unusual reaction in my abdomen. After the hug, she assured me of a post-class phone conversation, emphasizing that I should initiate the call if feasible. We separated, each heading towards your respective destinations for the communicated venues.
I entered the class with vibrant energy, hoping to capture someone’s heart. Spotting my friend Obed immersed in his tweets to the right, I chose the empty chair next to him. A friendly greeting was met with his shocked expression, hinting at something delightful behind me – a joyous surprise for me. Despite my readiness to engage in the lecture, thoughts of a beautiful lady lingered in my mind.
As the lecturer commenced, my focus wavered, making it challenging to take notes or turn the pages. The lecture concluded at 4 pm, and we dispersed to our respective hostels. Eager to make a phone call, I received a “please call me” from Shakky. Surprisingly, my phone lacked credit but displayed a substantial balance in my M-Shwari account.
I dialed the phone;
Shakky: Hello dear, have you finished your lecture? I’m waiting for you at the black market.
Me: Yes! I’m also trying to find you down here.
Shakky: Alright, I’ve spotted you. Come to this side of the yellow flowering tree; I’m seated on a metallic bench.
Me: Ok.
I quickly went to the suggested spot and saw her sitting on a bench with one leg crossed over the other. Without delay, she asked if we could go to my home. However, a thought crossed my mind about whether I had cleaned my dishes or organized my room. Despite these concerns, I had done those chores before heading to my afternoon class. We began our usual journey, but I suggested taking a shortcut through the university’s wooded area. As we walked, we held onto each other’s shoulders, giving off the vibe of a confirmed couple.
As we approached my residence, there stood a quaint kiosk where I usually purchased a variety of items. Shakky halted by the roadside, allowing me to procure some bread and other ingredients, a customary gesture in our culture to welcome visitors with a special meal.
Upon our arrival, we entered the room hand in hand, her head resting on my shoulder. Without delay, she reclined on the bed while I ignited the gas to prepare our shared meal. As the room filled with the aroma of the cooking, we exchanged amusing stories, laughing heartily while awaiting the brewing of our tea.
In no time, the tea was ready, and I took it upon myself to serve her, presenting a pristine white Soviet for her bread and tea. We relished our meal, infused with laughter and enjoyment. Her gaze was sharp and unwavering, and with the rain pouring outside, it was precisely 7:30 pm when I posed the question, “Will we spend the night here?” Her hesitant yet affirmative response lingered in the air.
Spending a night with a lady wasn’t a commonplace occurrence for me, but that day was an exception as it had been prearranged. Despite my usual reservations, I couldn’t help but wonder if she found satisfaction in the meal, a customary inquiry rooted in our Bukusu culture.
The ambiance was rich with the warmth of our connection, and every detail of the room seemed to play a part in this unfolding story. The laughter, the shared glances, and the culinary preparations intertwined to create a tapestry of intimacy and companionship.
She requested that we sleep at the exact time she’s accustomed to, aligning with her early morning class schedule. Following her request, I switched off the lights. Covering both of us with a single blanket proved challenging, a departure loopfrom my accustomed sleeping habits.
I carefully loosened the red rectangular Maasai sheet, which served as the bed entrance barrier. Slowly, I joined her on the bed, noting that she was sleeping against the wall, perhaps influenced by African cultural norms. Despite the silence enveloping our home, her gaze remained fixed on me.
As our deep breaths filled the room, she gently raised her hands, tenderly exploring my stomach and caressing my neck. The subtle touches stirred unfamiliar sensations, leaving my usual self in a state of confusion. The smoothness of her hands conveyed a depth of emotion, transforming each point of contact into an intimate experience. Eventually, she turned me around, and we faced each other, deepening the connection.
I pondered the morning’s arrival, contemplating the extended nights of the summer season. With a serene mind, I boldly traced the contours of her smooth hips, unaware of the emotions I stirred within her. A soft “wee acha” escaped her lips, and we continued our intimate connection.
As time ticked away, the initial motivation surfaced. Amidst the birds’ harmonious tunes, we reluctantly rose to commence our daily routine. Her raised eyebrows betrayed concern, questioning the time. Alas, it was 7:30 am, a painful realization as she had a morning class. Hastily donning her clothes, she implored me to accompany her, a request I obliged.
As we departed, I securely locked the door, pondering if she would return. Despite my reassurance that I hadn’t harmed her, lingering questions lingered. She used to stay at Jersey Hostel, a massive accommodation for two thousand students near the university’s main gate.
Approaching Nelson Mandela, a neighboring hostel, her phone abruptly rang. Curiosity led me to eavesdrop on a conversation with a commanding voice interrogating her about her night’s whereabouts. Sensing potential danger, I inched closer to grasp the unfolding situation.
The call ended, leaving the lady visibly shaken. Despite my inquiries, she remained tight-lipped. An unsettling feeling compelled me to escort her back to her residence. Near the hostel’s end, a robust figure on the balcony of Cypy Hostel observed our movements, instilling a deep sense of unease. As the boy vanished, an unsettling fear lingered within me.
In less than two minutes, the boy arrived, brandishing a stick. What astonished me was the girl’s courageous smile, which fueled my determination as I thought, “I can run.” The energetic boy swiftly captured the girl’s movements, embracing her tightly and sharing an intimate moment. His gaze on me resembled that of a smoked monster.
As they turned, suspicion lingered in their eyes. I overheard the boy whispering a threat to kill me, causing beads of sweat to form on my knees and chin. Swiftly, I removed my shoes, taking advantage of their distraction with the tender kisses they exchanged.
Beyond them, a dense bush surrounded Peter’s hostel, serving as my escape route. Within moments, I sprinted away; the boy’s size hindered him from navigating the bush. Following the path by the Blue Barrel hotel, I aimed to conceal my route and evade any pursuit.
I found a sunny spot on some big stones and took a break before heading home. I couldn’t shake off the worry about how Shakky would handle the injuries caused by the boy – especially since I played a part in bringing someone’s lover to my hostel. I hoped I’d get through it with a bit of luck and God’s help.
Despite the uncertainties, I thought it might not be the right time to get romantically involved with Shakky. Looking back at the past four years, the initial hope had faded away, and it seemed best to let go and move on.
Similar Posts by The Mt Kenya Times:
- KEBS strengthens Africa’s quality infrastructure under Ngari’s leadership
- The betrayal of the badge: How a captured police force breeds anarchy in Kenya
- Tourism or politics? The storm over Gachagua’s remarks and the high stakes for Kenya’s image
- Beyond the pulpit: Why Mudavadi wants the clergy to help heal the nation
- Mt Kenya Times ePAPER July 21, 2026
About the Author
