BLOOD AND BREAD.

Earlier on in the previous week, as I was going to attend a lecture, I caught something from the corner of my eye. It was a poster from our favorite cross, the red cross Kenya. It was about a blood drive that was to happen on Friday the 13th. Great, I’m not superstitious but hey, what could possibly go wrong huh? I don’t know, like why was the poster blue and not the stereotype red? Possibly because it’s a steriotype. I mean yes, it got the job done and sensitized the masses but that is besides the point. Maybe they had budget cuts or the red ink got depleted on the last blood drive, who knows. In any case I still feel that they deprived us of the usual terrifying blood drenching, red warning but that’s just me. But I put that on the back stove for a moment since I had more pressing concerns, one of them being a literature presentation on Canterbury tales. My God, the workload this semester! It’s even worse since the friends whom I have that are higher up tell me things like “oh… Canterbury tales? You haven’t seen shit yet!” Like this isn’t enough yet. I hate to love them.

I remember the first time I ever donated blood. It was such an experience seeing that I remember everything about it. It was back at my highschool and I was in the last form. So the red cross guys came thru on a predetermined date and we were ready for them. Of course one assumption they had was that nobody among us had ever done anything to defile our blood. Wrong. A good number of us would get high on some bush weed in the holidays and a few brave ones managed to sneak some to school. I couldn’t bring myself to smoke at school. Not because it was a drug free zone or any of that bull crap. It was only that the bush weed left you smelling like you were putting out a forest fire such that anyone would recognize that smell a mile away. So It was actually a smart move on my end to sieze any drug related activities while in school to avoid unnecessary drama by the school authority. I’m so considerate. We were educated on the benefits of blood donation blah blah blah. Although one question that keeps coming up over and over again in my mind is why giving blood is free whilst being given blood on the other hand costs you a pretty dime. Anyway we were convinced that we were doing good and the promise of some incentives at the end of it all seemed to drive the boys crazy with excitement. Clearly boarding school was doing a number on us if a 500ml bottle of soda would make the boys push each other on the line. The school, in a show of good will, gave everyone who donated that day a piece of bread. Now you have to know that bread was very sacred in our school. Yes we might have been known for all the wrong reasons; being self proclaimed and socially accepted bad boys, but even if it came to torching the school because we were just felling like it, there was an unanimous consent that two things should never be touched. One was the bus which was very beloved only because it was still new and an object of jealousy in regards to the other schools. I remember every time we entered a function (funky) and especially in a girls school, we would do so with them speakers booming to the latest dancehall mix by some DJ I don’t care to remember. Shout out to all the mix masters, nobody does it how you do. Second and most importantly was the bakery. Yes we could and should loot it because why not, but not set any flames on it’s sacred walls. If it helps don’t even look at it, assume it was never there in the first place. And so my love for bread was born. I was actually a class prefect for some time and actively participated in a grabbing fest but that’s a story for another day. Back to donating. Then again, why is it that the injection bit doesn’t hurt as much but the removing of the needle makes you want to pee your pants? These questions I want answered.

So the day comes and I remember I have a girlfriend who says she had never before in her life donated blood. I get her, there are so many first timers too. Like my first time getting a lap dance. Shit I wanted to rip my clothes of like that bearded wrestler I used to watch in a black and white screen and then fornicate. But one thing about lap dances is that you can look, you can feel but you can’t touch…damn. Since I have interests to protect I have to categorically state that she is not the GIRLFRIEND, just a girlfriend, the former post is reserved for someone, I don’t know whom either. So I get her and we head out to the campus grounds. We get there just in time and are given these forms to fill in the details which is mandatory. In a moment of pure courage, honesty and honor I answer one of the questions ‘yes’ instead of an assumed ‘no’. The question was have you ever used drugs like marijuana and cocaine e.t. c. I mean I would have lied if I had said no but saying yes didn’t exactly win me honest guy of the year award. Infact it got me into trouble with the lady in charge of those forms. She gestured me closer and asked me which one I was guilty of. I told her I used to fuck around with Maryjane. It wasn’t exactly a true statement but it wasn’t a lie either. I inflicted the past participle in the verb use to indicate that I had stopped. Which was exactly her second question, she asked how long it’s been since I last used. Now this part I totally lied. I mumbled something but she didn’t quite get it so I had to repeat myself. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard then lied thru my teeth by saying it had been over two years. She looked at me with doubt written all over her face and told me it was useless if I was still using since they couldn’t exactly give someone else bad blood. ( for lack of a better term). I’m stubborn alright since I already knew all this but I still insisted on donating. Imagine the embarrassment for having to step out of it line after coming all that way. I was adamant that that was what I wanted. With her hands tied she signed my form and let me proceed.

Then I start noticing things. There was a girl who has already donated blood but looked so fragile that she couldn’t get up and go. I wanted to go to her and give her some tough love and be like, “hey princess, you might be the fairest of them all but it’s not fair that all eyes are on you for whatever reason,” but I can’t. She might have an even more fragile heart and fall in love with yours truly. So I let her be and assume my place as a mere mortal. In my head there is a debate going on. I clearly am still using Maryjane in all her ratchetness so why am I here? I know that my blood is useless, unless they have a vampire under lock and key and even that won’t take mine as the first pick. It’s not that I have extremely defiled my blood it’s just that I know it’s not the purest it could be. So why was I still there patiently waiting for my turn to get pricked by a big ass needle? Maybe it is the tragic flaw that comes with every tragic hero; that I intend to do good to others and to the world at the cost of my wellbeing or whatever it is that I sacrifice in return. I really don’t give much thought when it comes to doing good, some might even say that I’m a sweet soul, but am I? I have lots of doubt on this.

It’s too late to turn back now as I’m up next. The blood flows rather quickly like it’s glad to get out of my body. Like damn, this liquid be a traitor and shit, why you gonna leave me like that? While the life is being drained out of me, I start looking for the customary bread that I’m so hooked on. I start to panic. I lean over to the guy next to me and ask him if there is any bread after this. In the spirit of good comradeship he laughs it off and asks me if I intended to sort out my breakfast via my blood. I say yes, unashamedly. He whispers and says that’s probably the highest price a breakfast can cost. I agree. But I’m broke and I have to find means to cope with my stomach asking for everything at every turn. Our conversation attracts a police officer who was single handedly manning the whole activity. Somehow my cry for bread appeals to his good side and promises me and some other few individuals a loaf each. Now I won’t even lie to y’all. When he said that I expected him to send monies, not go buy actual breads to gift us. Maybe it’s my naivety or my kikuyu blood always looking for the next cash in, yeah it’s definitely my kikuyu blood. Anyway after my turn is up, I get the usual half a litre of soda to replace the lost blood. I think they should get us milk or whatever never mind that my blood is intoxicated. Speaking of which, what do they do to bad blood? Do they burn it as some sacrifice to some diety of whatever or do they keep it that incase we have a zombie apocalypse, they’d have enough blood supply for some top secret research of patient zero? That’s it, I should be in the movie industry (ehem, any producer out there?)

While on our walk back to our various residences, I ask the girlfriend how she thought the whole experience. She’s a bubbly one that one, talks nonstop. I’m glad her blood could be of value to someone somewhere since she doesn’t partake in any drugs whatsoever. I’m happy that in my mediocrity of doing something of no value to myself and the entire human race, there was someone who filled in the gaps that I missed. Very proud of myself. She invites me over for supper (coz we have no idea what dinner is around these parts) and we have such a wholesome meal. Did I mention that I cook marvelously?

On Saturday I get a message from another girlfriend, probably the one you don’t take home to momma. And she’s like, “we need to have a session.” I Know that I shouldn’t be going anywhere with her in my bloodless state but temptation gets the better of me. Plus it’s been a minute since we last hanged out so why not. So in the afternoon we meet up and go scavenger hunting for some weed seeing that since corona came there had been a change in the dynamics of plugs around campus. She’s one of the few people I know that goes all out when it comes to partying, like don’t get in her squad if you can’t hold your own kind of girl. I love the extremes. We are almost to our destination when I notice a guy we refer to as 420. He’s not a plug but he never lacks a joint or two on him, synonymous with his name. Before I know it, we are at his place and I’m fucking him up at FIFA. Yeah I might miss a finger or two but I still give anyone a run for their money at the game. I don’t know how many blunts we partook in but it was quite a number and I was still winning. He reaches out to someplace I didn’t quite look at and fishes out a whole 750 ml chrome gin bottle, untouched. Usually I know my stuff. You wouldn’t find me mixing gas and liquor but as I said, I was laden with bad decisions. I take the damn bottle and chug down some alcohol. Worst mistake I did.

Soon enough my body starts to heat up. I lean over to the girl I came with and whisper to her that I don’t feel so good. She’s unassuming and tells me to relax. I do just that but my body has other plans of its own. You see, mixing liquor and weed is bad enough on its own, but when you do that exact same thing within 24 hours of donating blood you get something of a catastrophe. I started sweating up so bad that I was literally drenching the couch wet. I mean even when I lost my virginity I didn’t sweat that much. It was so bad that the whole gang noticed. In a moment of concern they took me outside to get some fresh air and immediately went back inside leaving me there to my own devices. So with nobody to comfort me, the reality of my actions slowly but surely built up in me together with the puke. As my head was bent over a pit latrine puking my guts out, I literally comprehended the message my body was trying to communicate to me. Then again my mistake was that I hadn’t eaten before the scavenger hunt. My body was literally rejecting all the bad shit I was giving it. Like it was trying to save me form myself. I got the message loud and clear and I found myself in a shop getting myself a packet of milk. Well in any case the damage was already done and there was little I could do to save my face, let alone my body, of the embarrassment of having chickened out at the chance of a sherehe. Let’s not even talk about how my gangster points took a nose dive.

You know that saying you should learn from the other’s mistake? You should definitely do that. Learn from my stupidity and never ending misfortunes. Never go on any kind of sherehe unless there is meru porridge involved and especially not after doing a marvelous act like that of donating blood. I’m still asking myself if red cross will hear my plea for bread because why not give in since you are getting free blood in return, literally. One last thing, if you are my future employer reading this and you ask me if I do drugs I’ll be like, “sorry I didn’t quite get that. Would you be as kind as to say that again?” I’d then take a deep breath, clear my throat and then proceded to smile while lying thru my teeth about how I’ve never been one for worldly pleasures. Why would you want me to be honest with you on day one and loose a chance of getting better shit with the salary I’ve come so far to get? Are you mad!? One more thing, (shit) I think I need Jesus in my life.