WITNESSING WHITNEY

Collins Masai (Author/Journalist)

 You meet this girl on her first day in college. You don't actually meet her in person, you are watching her act hard to crack in the class Whatsapp group and laugh at how guys tucked in their tails at the cheap mess you're seeing. You decide to slide into her inbox and help her feel important, knowing that it won't take you five days to slide between her thighs. You smile.

Mark is telling me about Whitney. Mark Marcos. Mark his words.

The most beautiful thing about the second day of your meeting is that you met in person. You had actually promised in the previous night chats that you will meet your girl Whitney at the main gate and walk her to class. You didn't. You are a ninja; you come to class a step ahead of the lecturer. Before the Media Ethics lesson is introduced, you shake a few hands and hug some tiny shoulders as you scrutinize the faces around trying to match a Whitney name and a Whitney Adhiambo face. You caught a glimpse of her. She is also staring at you. "Sit down Chief." Mr Mathews has just reminded you that the lesson is on.

Journalism units are as interesting as the profession, definitely your  signature on the attendance register is worth the essence. You participate, your academic thirst and goals are your driving spirit in your college routine. You love what you do. You give all your energy into the book. There is no minute your mind will wander because you're meeting Whitney after classes. 

"Coincidentally we're both dressed in matching suits," she says shaking your hand. The game has just started.

This becomes the norm every day after classes. She will stroll over in between lessons to borrow your Media Law notes, you have a beautiful handwriting. You don't want to imagine that you blush at her soft punchlines because you never trust women. Anyway, you are a kindhearted fellow, you don't destroy your social relations but still uphold your pride.

The pride that no one can buy, no one can understand, absolutely no one. A priceless pride that will only be breached at your will. Most remarkably, the very pride that taught you a lesson a fortnight later and which in the very moment, you are telling Collins Masai that you have grown a lump of pride in your head. You are you. Only you. Yourself.

"I am looking at your head trying to imagine the size of the lump of pride."

You smile at least. A genuine smile.

You take a sip from Sandra's bottle and we are both imagining what these girls put in that water. You cannot afford another sip. Sandra is smiling, tomorrow she has the whole day to describe her bottle and the content, at least, she is the only girl you come close to trusting her. 

Whitney zeroed in on you and you are convinced she likes you. You are a man and as a man, mapema ndio best. You tell her you liked her thinking she will turn you down. You don't mind that. She decides to love you back, confessing that she already felt the same thing way before you said it.

What have you done? You sit up in bed(comrades don't usually have chairs nor tables, they eat sitting on their beds like the sick in hospitals) thinking of the mess you have jumped into headfirst. You know you are never meant for relationships, but I guess Johntez loves to see the girls in campus. They are damn beautiful. If you were Johntez, would you just sleep and watch those seductive thighs and gleaming cleavages? Johntez anaeza simama hadi toja inakuwa donti. 

You are a man; not because you put on a pair of trousers and Johntez is holding strong on your balls hanging between your legs, no. Even women do trousers. You choose to be a man because you grabbed all her bills and gave her company. You choose to be a gentleman when you passed her salt and refilled her glass of water at the dining table in the cafeteria. Apart from her bills, you decided to grab her ass as well,  three days later into the relationship. You are in your room, the stadium where you displayed your talent and performed like you always do. You are a man.

"How was the match at the stadium?" I am asking you.

A blush. Definitely you stole her desires and emotions. Congratulations. You landed on her G point. She wailed and moaned sweet melodies and hymns of compassion. Her nails stuck at your neck. The passionate bruises are healing, how you wish. She asked for more and more. Bro! You grind her clit for hours. She is running out of bed, crawling on her back like a snake. She is at the headboard of your bed. She can't go anymore. Mark stoooop!

Friday. Honor and love Friday. It became your norm for three weeks. You plough her like a bulldozer. For the three weeks you grow into intimate souls. You tell her you don't believe in love, she convinced you that you could trust her. Both of you grow into each other. She sanitizes your phone. You talk about your exes. Yes, the exes, now you remember? She was uneasy about the subject. But you never care about shit. 

In three weeks she complained about your closeness with other girls. It is your nature, but you have to help mamaa solve her insecurities. You withdraw from some intimate friend zones. You don't care if you hurt anyone. Your relationship is becoming public, Sandra will jokingly walk away when you and Whitney are around. You don't love the idea of Sandra walking away, she is humorous and a friend, the one you cannot spend a day without talking to. Woe unto you; Whitney is selfish. Whitney is jealous (of course you called it love). Whitney is a bitch. 

Oh. She talked about both of you having a kid at your final year in college. The other day she introduced the subject of contraceptives and mentioned if you mind her having a family planning injection when school closes so that both of you enjoy without risking pregnancy. Of course you don't mind. You don't like condoms yourself. Of late, you have fed her with Post Pills as if they were groundnuts. You learn that she is very good at using them, like taking the second pill after few hours. A red flag. You ignored. 

One Friday night you didn't talk much. At dawn a new number on Whatsapp is texting you. You don't open the message, may be it was just another online entrepreneur asking you if you did not mind making thirty thousand in two minutes. 

Later on it was a Saturday and you are seated with Sandra at school. She calls you. Whitney. She is sobbing. She insisted that both of you really needed to meet in person. That morning you were vexed with the idea of being in a relationship, the mess you had initiated. You only could not find a way of running away.   God fulfills the healthy desires of your heart. Ni God madzee. Listen

She texted you inquiring if you had received any message. She knows the number overhead. The phoney entrepreneur in your WhatsApp chats. Let us rush there.

I know you're sleeping with Whitney and you took her to your room and had sex. 

Bro you cannot destroy what I have build for years. Kindly stop that. I'm a harmless person. Just don't try that again. 

Then Whitney's guy proceed to send the photos they took with his girl, your girl. In one of the photos he captioned their fourth anniversary. You saw the ring on her left hand. The one she will always say it was from her ex. Wanders shall never cease. 

"What was your response?"

Collins Masai is a gentleman like yourself, you say, adding that you read my stories and draw your opinions. 

So the gentleman you are, you apologize for what has just been happening between you and Whitney. You wish you knew about Whitney's relationship, claiming that she did not mention being in any relationship. Whitney's guy, Kevin Otieno, is a gentleman. You both find yourselves talking about the issue in a very mature way. Kevin is a good man. Whitney does not deserve him. He is understanding. He is a gentleman.

He tells you his side of the story with Whitney. He was a secondary school literature teacher, before quitting his teaching profession in Kisumu just to move in with Whitney when she joined college in Mombasa. He is currently looking for a job at Mombasa. What a sacrifice! 

Men do crazy things for love. Kevin Otieno has funded Whitney's studies. You hold your breath when he confessed this. You sit beside Sandra shaking with anger. Whitney is wailing from the other side in your chats asking you not to say anything to her husband, or whatever, but you decide it is a man talk, she can go f*ck herself. 

"Kevin Otieno surprised me with his relaxed nature, even in the demeaning situation Whitney had plastered him into. I turned out to be his strongest support in taming Whitney. I promised myself that our story with Whitney shall never be told." 

"You did that?" I asked feeling my glass of water.

"Monday." 

"I am listening."

Whitney's friend called you after classes and asked if you would talk out things with Whitney. You tell him to bring on important subjects and forget about that. 

You are happy at your room that same afternoon. You have finally ran away. You only have Kevin Otieno to thank, but of course you will not tell him. 

A knock on the door. Whitney. Of course she would come. She requested to come in. You are a gentleman. You let her in. She stares at you. You stare back. Three minutes. Four minutes. Five...No.

"So what do you have to say?" You ask her.

She just wanted you two to talk. There was nothing to talk about. Instead, you shoot her with advice and corrections on relationship matters. You told her that Kevin was way better than you. You touch her. She is sobbing. Her sobs grow into little wails. She is crying uncontrollably. 

You instantly know that this was going to be your last moment together, you hug her and shook your head when she begged you for another chance, claiming that it was you she loved most. 

An ungrateful woman in the face of Whitney. You feel like pulling out your belt and whipping her, telling her never to sway her ass into your room. You don't. You remember you are still a gentleman. 

You held her hand, kissed her as you simultaneously opened the door and passionately pushed her out. This time you were not pushing her to the bed. You are pushing her to the abyss of buried memories. Go well Whitney.

"How do you fee about the whole situation right now?" I am almost emptying my glass.

"I sat back in bed and stared at the bulb. I realized how love is fragile, it looses its light and purpose at the slightest prick. I was seeing a Whitney that had tasted Mark and Kevin, giving her feelings to the former and forgetting the latter's sacrifice for love. Women. Women." You have emptied Sandra's bottle.

"Witnessing Whitney," I swallowed the last drop in my glass.