Every boarding school outside the city had that clique, the Nairobi boys. They arrived like urban diplomats, walking with the confidence of Lil Wayne’s cousins and talking in an accent so thick that anyone from Lumakanda or Kamukuywa needed subtitles to keep up. They had their own world, their own rules, and somehow, their own air of superiority.
Whenever interschool events like drama festivals, games, or symposiums rolled in, the Nairobi boys activated full city mode. They’d adjust their snapbacks, drop a “yo” or two, and suddenly, every fine girl from Archbishop Njenga Girls or St. Cecilia was speaking English with a shaky twang. The rest of us were left negotiating love letters with girls from Mapera Secondary and Shiandiche Mixed School, who already saw through our fake accents and cracked Vaseline lips.
When it came to entertainment, Nairobi boys were mini dictators. The entertainment prefects had no real power; these city boys decided what the whole school would watch or listen to. If you dared to request Short N Sweet by Sauti Sol, they’d roll their eyes and play Lollipop by Lil Wayne or In Da Club by 50 Cent.
Saturday evenings were theirs; they’d invade the hall early, doing breakdance routines, spinning on their dusty shoes, and attempting Michael Jackson’s moonwalk on a cracked cement floor.
Being on the same duty roster for sweeping class with these fellows was also suicidal; they had all manner of allergies. Suddenly, dust caused asthma, cobwebs triggered sinuses, and sweeping was “against their skincare routine.”
Food time was like a joke to them. Meals like “Kokoto”(Githeri) was not one of their favorites.
During openings, they would come with The Nairobian and Insyder Magazine. You needed to make an application and wait for 14 working days only to be told, “Bro, si kesho.”
Let me finish with a Luhya phrase, Kwanyakhana (We’ve been through a lot)
By Yockshard Enyendi