Green Lights

                                         Written by Annette Achieng and Marvin Lukulu

Red lights, green lights, blue lights. . all of the lights, loud music, we danced in the dark and cold. Barely sober we formed circles on the dance floor and only the brave made their way to the center to burst a move we would all emulate. Every opening semester bash, this was the routine. Party hard, crack jokes, laughs our hearts out. Retire.

Perhaps the most memorable would be the first (it’s always the first). I’ll spare you the details.

Making genuine friends in campus is tough, leave alone finding a partner. What we had as group was something tragic in a special way? When you are in a 10 person relationship, anything can be expected. Bonds were made, bonds were broken. Sides were chosen and not before long opponents swapped like it was a political row. Later on hands were shaken, all we know is we complimented all our choices and right now the when we look back those choices makes us smile. Beautiful memories to best celebrate our friendship.

What started as just a minor campus vibe amongst strangers became a promise of hearts amongst friends. One of the best moment of a united front we ever presented was “Shukisha! Shukishaa!” on a day a tan boy wanted increased the bus fare by a slight margin of Shs. 10. and yes he did drop us.

Our first ever adventure was when we decided to explore the Dunga beaches of Lake Victoria and have our taste buds blown by the famous fresh "rech" from the lake along side a plate of ugali and suga that which was spoken of like we'd never tasted before. How we got lost tracking Dunga Beach till date remains Tunda’s fault. How we walked miles despite great dehydration and foot sores, well that’s on our foolish selves.

True friendship was born on this day. We took it back to the varsity with us, put it in a nursery to let it blossom for it was still young. Every one of us had their chance to water the garden and

when some twigs grew bigger they were chopped off to leave a smaller clique.

We’d always get time after class to visit Jones (a tall, quiet and calm lad), who stayed in Mabungo, quite a distant away from school but worth it. He used to make a mountain of Ugali

that we would camp around and take turns pinching chunks, moulding them into a ball, dip it in kales, omena and our all-time favorite avocado, before consumption. (This memory makes my

mouth water)

As I write this I sit next to a lady beating her maize with an uteo, I watch as they are thrown into the air together, one by one chuff is blown away. Now I reflect, we so many but what are we now. Well eventually everyone grows and we all leave to live our own lives.

During times of war we’d always manage to laugh it off and eat, food always brought us together. Especially rice and double beans at the mess, we’d order then talk of how we could have saved so much if we’d discovered the meals that had us spending kshs. 25 at most. Then we’d continue with what others thought was a war, but to us, was a healthy group discussion.

Everything held as together and everything tore us apart, time after time the routine went on, at times we’d dine together but all we felt was anger either for each other or a little dispute we’d had earlier. We could quit talking even avoid each other for days. But I applaud the wise man who said “time heals” because it did.

Projects glued us together in the fourth year. We were old and weary, the systems was now showing us the tough life. At one time we blocked roads and ran around the varsity chanting, “No Results, No Exams!” We succeeded. Exams were pushed two weeks ahead to use that time to feed our student portals with exam results we had been claiming since our second year of

study.

Finally came the black hats, we were leaving (tears), graduating each to make their own path. What’d be goodbye to four years without food and laughter, we met in Migosi at Eve’s where we

laughed all night and thought of how this will never be again.

It’s sad to keep going. I leave it there for now. Maybe one day when things make sense I’ll have the strength to vividly tell another story, or write for the ear, as lecturer Steve used to put it.

Just before I go let me leave you with something to drain our brain;

A man pushes his car to a hotel and tells the owner he’s bankrupt. Why?