“…One thing I learnt from my bum was that it listened to stories too. It got entertained and the more interesting a story was, the more comfortable it was and less nagging. But the moment stories died down and there was nothing to talk about, I could feel the hard gravel pushing onto my soft skin down there...”
I wouldn’t understand why they called him Mang’oi for a very long time. I mean why would anyone be called donkeys? I later came to learn that this was the name he used to recruits… It wasn’t him but us 😭 Why would I be called a donkey though… But he was funny. Rather, he sounded funny… He had this voice that I cannot really describe… Just know it was funny and very loud. Hmmm… Loud… Like… On a clear night, he could shout “Halt!” at say KCA for instance and that traffic police officer who hustles Matatu drivers at GSU – Ruaraka would hear that command and run in the opposite direction. This is the man who would run the show of over 3000 + soldiers with his voice… ONE VOICE my friend! What other power would you want to have in this world eh 🤷🏽♂️! Which one🤷🏽♂️!
Back to bums with ears. Yeah… I cannot ignore this. Especially after the leg workout yesterday I am feeling that bum pain that comes with over pushing lunges. That bittersweet discomfort you get reminded of when walking, crouching, standing… Eish… The issue back in Eldoret was of a different kind though. Tarmac. Prickly discomfort. It reached a point that the stories around me were getting boring and boring by the minute. Remember, my bum had ears too and they were very keen on these stories. Suddenly the stories stopped. And then the silence got louder. Mummering came from everywhere else but within a meter radius of my sitting area. So I started observing people.
Ofcourse I started by checking out the ladies around me. Checking out…😂 Which ladies 😂😂They were very few. The correct word to use is searching. There were a few ones here and there… I saw that Somali girl from yesterday whose hair touched her bum. Okay… Enough of the word Bum. In Bums Meet Tarmac I prepared you to anticipate the use of the word rear or rear rank to mean buttocks or bums. Let’s use rear from here now… Its better sounding. Even stories have to be tactical you know… ☺️So courtesy of my suffering rear ranks, I get carried away by this beautiful looking Somali girl (beauty at training camp was relative, I’ll explain why) whose hair was where? All the way down in a pony tail touching her rear ranks. So I really got lost in thought checking her out. She was in a black Bui Bui by the way. At this time I was still a virgin. Ahem… And I didn’t know anything else besides just talking to a girl and owning her for just the sakes of feeling like a landlord… Eh. (In this season of life, I wasnt born again) Then another friend of hers came and they both pointed at a line at the far end of the field and moved towards there. They both sat down and I was disappointed. Sorry. We were disappointed. My rear and me.
I still had that High school confidence surging through me and I was confident that no girl would escape my sweet tongue… I would talk to her later no hurry. A year in this camp 24 hours every day would be a looong time… Before my disappointment could subside, I spotted another guy. Slim looking, very tall, very dark, like very black with milk white eyes. The eyes just called you to look at this face. He was weird. Oh yes he was… I hadn’t even talked to him, but there is a feeling in my spirit that tells me that this person will be in my life for a season. Did that make sense? Let me try to put this as my head processes it. “This is a person who I will get to know, who will be friends with me somehow, there is something about them that is aligning to something about me… I just need to be friends with them. He looks like the kind to be my friend (This also happened later in life in my love story).
But this guy was all over the place. With her similarly colored bag, dark small briefcase, he moved around the grounds darting from one corner to another. I don’t know what he was looking for. Touching his nose in a manner likely to suggest that’s where his brain was. He was weird, really weird.. And to a point that confusion started being funny. So I was highly ammused and my rear and I resumed our entertainment. From that point this guy was always in my sights. He was a real clown I must admit. We didn’t talk and it started feeling like I knew him already.
Military “Suffering” is part of life and a big part of the military. Those of you who run from it or try and avoid suffering will not be able to face what is ahead. But those of you who persevere and welcome the pain will be refined by it. You will become stronger and be able to pass the tests that are ahead.
Every passing day that week, he would always be in my sights. It got weird when divisions were being allocated. We landed in each other’s division, each other’s company and each other’s platoon 🤔… I cannot remember the first conversation we had… And it wasn’t the first day after selection, neither do I remember who approached the other first. But my journey with Liam is one worth documenting. He actually features in a separate drama series on this blog. The things he used to do, if exposed… My commanders would have transferred him to the special forces earlier than they did. Liam was a genius in his own rights. This is the same Liam in Pregnant and No Longer in Love, and more is coming.
We’re still nobodies at this point of enlistment. Not civilians and not recruits… We were just there hanging… Tense though… Because we were not recruits yet. I mean we were not part of the Kenya Defence Forces yet. Our fingers were crossed the entire time. Well… I didn’t have a bigwig to cover me so mine were crossed. Maybe others weren’t. What would you tell people surely if you were to be eliminated at this point… 🤷🏽♂️Ati why is your national ID notched and stapled like this? 🤦🏽♂️ I… I… I… was
To be continued…