Flowering our Garlands - Adam's Sunday; Medical School Christian Union

When it comes to Medical School Christian Union, memorable moments of brouhaha, as our Luo brother quite candidly put it in his famous supplication, is certainly not something you could leave without, even if you wanted to. The third day of the third month of the year saw the Adams, the young men of the union known far and beyond for their stentorian roar “Ahuu!”, put together what would be an unprecedented gesture that was, as I gather, a little unforeseeable to our precious sisters, the Garlands, as we have proudly come to call them recently. And garlands they truly are, for I am convinced that anyone who saw them today could never dispute. They all looked radiant, resplendent in dresses that dazzled in a blindening coruscation of blue, as though they had been subconsciously attuned to the

main event of the day right from their wardrobes. I hear that ladies know when it is going to be a good day, yet not quite when it will be a bad one. Isn't that pleasurable, to live through each day positive and happy, unwearied by the troubles of humanity? “Rejoice, again I say, rejoice.”

The idea of gifting the garlands with beautiful yellow roses could as well as turn out to be the most ingenious move of the season. It is one thing to show kindness and love as a community of men driven by the passion to treat every young lady in purity as a sister(1 Timothy 5:1-3), as Paul exhorts us through Timothy, but to have to stand alone before the same lady in a different setting even with the pure intentions of Scriptures is a wholly different story, for it calls forth faculties and resources that have proved to be lacking in the typical comrade today. Such chickening out, might have been the result of the embarrassing dust these comrades have gathered in their simping escapades. Had they heeded to my imploration that they read Joshua Harris’s remarkable book I Kissed Dating Goodbye, the story would be different. Wading through the murky waters of attempted love was the option they were willing to stomach.

At the first look, it seemed as if the Adams hadn’t come up with, or even figured out the strategy they would use to give their roses. Yet in a few minutes, virtually every lady had a flower they were either sniffing at contentedly, pressing closely to their bosom, or beautifully placed on their laps. Some even had two roses! How the Adams were able to enact such a feat in a matter of minutes is probably incomprehensible, but maybe they have just been underestimated all this while. Talking of underestimations, my fly-on-the-wall observation of the whole activity probably gave me the honor to take a keen look at our brother Henry Madaga. Several MSCU members chant MDG everytime they have to make a reference to him, (eh mailod) I wonder what the acronym infers. I hear he has a blog he calls Litnerd Letters, which I am definitely having a look at after my observations today.

Henry was clad in a shirt that had to be the brightest shade of blue. Yes, it's blue, even though he was innocently convinced, even a little embarrassed, that the shirt was green, when the dress code was supposed to be shades of blue. How disappointing! He held the rose and looked at it with a little more passion than his counterparts who seemed a little carried away by the idea that they were even holding roses in the first place. To him, there was something personal about that yellow rose, and the card he carried in his other hand. A pleasurable smile settled on his face after he had surveyed the congregation of graceful garlands, and then after he seemed to have settled on his target, he took off with what appeared to be calculated and sure strides, quick strides they were. My own rose dropped from my hands and as I picked it up, I ended up missing the moment I had really wanted to see for myself. We had been praying for our brother, and seeing things finally play out in his favor would be such a pleasurable thing.

He walked briskly back to his seat and settled in it with such a peaceful and serene look on his face. The calm and contented look slowly transformed itself into a dazzling smile that was unlike Henry. The peculiarity and poignance of the whole thing made me silently wish I had seen the lady Henry had ‘flowered’.  Henry could be quite discrete about such things, and I was sure no amount of persuasion  and coercion could make him reveal who it was he had gifted the rose, yet the wise man I am, I tactically explored the environment of his mission and took note of the potential recipients of his kindness, for lack of a better word. I am not sure about the state of my own affairs when it comes to romance, but world, stay alert because I am certain of one thing, Henry is cooking!

February 30th (Simps will see dust 05)

As was my habit, as soon as the microbiology practical session was done, I quickly rose to my feet and dashed for the door. Anyone keen on my movements could have quickly surmised that I was rushing somewhere else, to probably get some important business done. I certainly had a lot of work to do, loads of it, but that was never the main reason for my prompt exits after our physical classes. It had been a little embarrassing for me, when I came to the realization that my liking for group discussions in general, and conversations in specific, was hinged on the deluding idea of  self-perceived intelligence and importance. There was the insatiable need to be thought indispensable to a discussion, to be regarded as high and mighty. But who really cared about another’s importance when it was in fact the personal goal of everyone to be thought of as witty and interesting. Everyone was in some sense on that spectrum, with a few of us, at the extremes. Yet discussions become interesting when we lay our importance aside and revel in the conversation. When we enjoy each other's company rather than strive to make others enjoy ours; when we get interested in who people are instead of trying to get them interested in who we are. 

It was a little unnerving to be around some of my classmates, especially those I wanted to impress. It was much easier to talk to them online than in person. This kind of edginess was the result of an incessant striving to be thought as perfect by my colleagues. But did anyone really care if I was impeccable? Flawless? I was suffering because of my pride, always beleaguered by the thought that my foibles were glaringly apparent to those around me. It was probably a characteristic of us humans, to assume that other people were thinking of us as much as we were thinking about ourselves. It would have been liberating to realize that everyone else was also thinking about themselves. That’s how broken we all were. And because of trying to be keen about the words I would speak in such settings, they came out awkwardly and in a way that was clearly artificial and inauthentic. And why all this? Because I was afraid of being found out. Afraid that they would soon realize I wasn’t as brilliant as they thought me to be. I guess I enlisted among those who appeared bright until they spoke, then it slowly dawned on everyone that appearances could really be deceiving.

“Henry, where are you running to?” I stopped and looked over my shoulder.

“Uhm…” I grunted the usual stammer that always came before my answers.

“Have you gone through the slides?” She cut in with a question before I could explain that I was heading home to get done on an article, and text those people I couldn’t talk to in person. Only that I would definitely not say that last part.  Looking into her face, it was easy to notice that wholesome and hypnotizing serenity that found its way into her words. Ashley always seemed sprightly and exuberant, no matter the circumstances, but the kind that was beautifully and gracefully restrained by modesty. Her occasional laughter in between conversations made it really calming to engage her.

“Kelsi will send the pictures, won’t she?”

“You would rather look at pictures than practically observe the specimen?” A demure smile meant to make me feel guilty spread across her face. “Come.” she said as she turned back towards the laboratory. The word come was uttered with all the kindness in the world but with such a peremptoriness that revealed how convinced she was that obeying her would be my only option.

The other students were still walking around, looking into a microscope and the next, with several of them still clamoring for the signing sheet that was meant to be a record of our attendance. I walked behind Ashley silently and obediently like a duckling following her mother. When she finally spoke, coolly and without turning her head, it was as if she meant to confirm that she knew I was behind her.

“I guess you have been to the museum?” 

From the time I had known her while we were in High School, our conversations mostly involved her talking while I groaned my ahas and laughed for most of the time, the kind of laughter that was meant to calm my nerves that always felt frayed and rankled anytime I stood before beauty. The Brenda-kind of beauty. Ashley had a kind of view about life that added verve and delightful animation to all her talks. She was bright, and it was no wonder to find ourselves in Medical School.

“Henry?” she turned back to look at me and then I realized that I had not answered her question.

“Yes, I have been,” I said with a grin. I had not been keen to notice that we were already standing by the side benches, where the crabs, one of the intermediate hosts for Paragonimus westermani, were on display. It therefore came as a shock that made me all edgy and uneasy when, with a kind of teasing nonchalance, Ashley said, “Brenda, what’s usually up with your friend Henry.”“Hmm,” Brenda carefully placed the bottle with the crab on the bench and looked up into my face. She wasn’t smiling, but it was that kind of a look that was meant to tell me in advance that what she was about to say was supposed to be a joke. Yet it was the most beautiful and incapacitating look, and I was certain that no smile in the world could beat it. Just to regard the grace, the light, and the peace that exuded from her calm countenance was torture for any man who was apt enough to notice beauty, real beauty. “Well, he’s been avoiding me. And it seems you are much better company for him.” Ashley immediately laughed heartily at the claim.

“Nooo!” I snapped but immediately cooled down, embarrassed at how forceful the interjection had been. “I had not seen you, you know I always say hi, don’t I?” I defended myself, in a little more composed tone.

“Yes you do,” she said jestingly turning to Ashley, “That kind of hi that always kills anyone’s vibe. Wait, you had left already?” she asked, suddenly turning back to me. “What were you rushing to do today?” 

“To write something, probably.” Ashley said and then silently waited for me to deny the statement. When I did nothing else but smile, a little sheepishly I think, at the accusation, perhaps as a confession that I was guilty as charged, she went on, “we love it when we read something you have written, but does it have to always rid everyone of your presence?”

Immediately I joined campus, I realized that I had a problem interacting with new people. It felt uncomfortable and I avoided conversations with people who I had not properly known before. The new friendships I had had taken days to build, and that was because the other party had endured my usually indifferent and pensive air around new acquaintances. Many people therefore, probably, thought me disinterested in society. But the problem was that I did not know how to think as everybody else thought. I longed for deep conversations that weren’t meant to end when our practical sessions ended. I wanted someone who I could talk to about all the books I had begun to read but never finished. I needed someone to share with about my ambitions and about the books I wanted to write but never knew how to begin. I hoped to find someone who I would confess my fears to, I hoped Brenda would be that person, but I never knew how to direct the conversation or she didn’t look interested in those kinds of stories. If Brenda didn’t care, it meant little if someone else did.

“Henry!” Brenda called. “Have you listened to anything I said?”

“Of course,” I said in a start recovering from my reverie, and tried to force a smile. “Well…”

“Well, what?”

“Would you want to go out with me for coffee, sometime?” I asked with bated breath and then patiently waited for the reply that would either ruin me or … ruin me. It was as if I had set a bomb, and I was counting the seconds to its explosion. Yet what followed made me wish that a bomb would actually explode.

“What?” Ashley asked. It was then that I realized I had just asked the wrong lady out, if I had even asked anyone out. I wasn’t sure anymore.“Are you done, guys?” Kelsi asked as she excused herself to take pictures of the specimen on the bench. “Hello Brenda?” She greeted Brenda, noticing Brenda had been part of the trio. 

“Hi Kelsi.”

I looked into Brenda’s eyes. Did she know it was her I meant to ask out? Was it right to correct the mistake and let Ashley know that the question was meant for Brenda?

Simps will see dust 04_Valentine Special

Had I been keen, I might have seen how her eyes lighted up anytime she looked at me, which was many times. Instead, having resigned myself to the silent moans of desperation of a heart sick with love, I had been wallowing in the thoughts of my incapacity and unworthiness as to be able to win the heart of a lady I adored so much, with a kind of fervency that seemed to border on the extremes of insanity. Phrases I had rehearsed over and over in my room, the exact words that I intended would direct my discourse if fortune honored me with her presence, became nothing but incoherent and embarrassing grunts that left me bashful and discomfited. For several times, my obviously irritating buffoonery had proved me to be an intolerable nincompoop. That consciousness of my inferiority, in contrast to Brenda’s apparent impeccability, found its way into everyone of my conversations for which she was a part of. I would be gnawed within by a kind of strange and inexplicable wretchedness that made me miserable and uneasy in her presence.

While her beauty was endless, with everything about her being large and intense in that manner that it was impossible to disregard or overlook, it was in fact her irresistible stately mien and statuesque deportment that made everything about her both appealing and maddening. Even the mischievous boys of Mavine’s ilk who seemed to be always caught up in some vain expostulation and unnecessary altercation regarding which lady happened to be the prettiest in the whole of med school, were clearly awed by the thought of Brenda’s graciousness. She seemed to transcend every requisite of comparison that my male counterparts occasionally instituted to guide their judgments when it came to beauty. Simply put, she snapped the scales. The mere mention of her name caused a distinct hush among them, reminding them of their impertinence and galvanizing them back to reason. 

For almost a year, I had trained myself to be harsh and to loath her with such intense vehemence that went against everything I preached and believed in when it came to love. To me, it was so demeaning to have someone so good as a table mate. How was I to stand out when she was stealing all my light with her unmatchably sharp wit and incomparably lofty brains. There was always something about how she thought and reasoned that asserted her intelligence and declared her insanely robust abilities. As I walked outside the examination hall that afternoon, with Brenda beside me, I rued those days when I had chosen to be rude to a lady who never had any intentions to shame or paint me in a lesser light. The thought that I had been insensitive enough to deliberately come to the decision of being discourteous to such an angel of a person made my intestine fill with cold broth. I wanted to turn back the hands of time, and grow myself emotionally as to not feel insecure and threatened by someone else’s greatness. 

Rather unfortunately, what I was oblivious of was that even in my current remorse, I was still holding on to the same delusion that had dictated my immature and shameful behaviour in the earlier days of our acquaintance. Until then, I had been unable to see my impassionate loathing for what it really was, a coping mechanism for a crush I was battling with every ounce of energy in me. Beneath the veneer of my belligerence was the silent and helpless wail of a battle I was losing. The battle of love. I hadn’t been wise enough to understand that it wasn’t with indifference nor impoliteness that love was repressed, in fact, if anything, I was activating a domino effect that would only leave me miserable in the years to come when I would be properly and thoroughly enamored by my infatuation. What was so heartbreaking was the idea that Brenda would never love me as I loved her. Yet this was only but a theory I had crafted for myself, and lacking the cojones to face my fears and confess my love, I had strove to convince myself that my love was the most ridiculous and irrational thing.

 As I was busy whining over the pains of unrequited love, I forgot to see the passion that burned in Brenda’s eyes with such intense coruscation every time her gaze settled on me; I didn’t hear the implicit excitement that was in her voice anytime she addressed me; I quickly dispensed with her piquant and dazzling smile that had always been meant for no one else but me. I even forgot that she probably had a hundred better people to walk besides, but to her, I was a better than all those hundreds or else she would be somewhere else. Had I been keen enough, I would have realized that she had waited to see me finish my paper, so that she would steal a minute of my company as I was wont to avoid her, which was largely because of the pain I attributed to my unfortunate love.

The prospect of the following day being 14th of February, Valentine’s day, was one that excited many of the students who were gladly and briskly walking out of the examination hall. Tomorrow they would have opportunity to rid themselves of all the anxiety and trepidation that the Pathology paper had instilled in them, except if they were unfortunate when it came to love as I was. And because I was unable to lift myself from my prostration, to master the necessary machismo and speak out my love; I would never know the desperation with which Brenda expected my proposal; how she waited patiently for me to ask her out; the longing desire she had for me to take her hands in mine. I would only get to know of that after my intern posting, four years later, when it was too late and we now had to part ways. She had been posted in Mombasa, I in Kisumu. May be I had been wrong to regard Jitu’s quote as some dumb philosophical cant when he said, “a man who stays silent around a beautiful lady ends up fetching water on her wedding day.”