Majid

He was like fudge – sweet to the tongue but bad for your teeth. The only reason I remember him is that he once said very bad-mannered things to me when we met during music festivals, stuff I’d not repeat here because I’m a former Presbyterian – confirmed and irrigated. I keeled over in shock, which also sent the message that I was cool but not as cool as THAT. That relationship was as strong as boiled spaghetti; we didn’t go far.

I haven’t thought about Majid in years; he’s been in the same forgotten brain compartment with Agrarian Revolution, Mole Concept, and Matrices. I remembered him on Friday.

It all started with mopping floors and my hatred for the task. I’m a working-from-home mom who hates washing dishes as much as I hate mopping floors. I prefer cooking.

After years of mopping floors, I decided, even the cow that is not mooing has to be ‘thaurirwad.’ (For more information, contact a Meru near you).

I said, “this is the 21st century; I’m buying a vacuum cleaner!”

I drove to City Mall, straight to Carrefour, and saw the one I thought looked coolest. I couldn’t make jack of what it said it did, but it was written ‘Vacuum cleaner,’ and I was getting it. It was “dry only, bag-less, cyclones, motor, megawatts, blah blah blah, suctions and lots of physics.” I took it.  

When I got home and opened the box, I momentarily thought of making an “unboxing” video for Youtube. I then remembered my phone camera is as good as the Kenyan government. I perished the thought like it was a text message from Kamiti.

I tossed the box aside, and guess what? The vacuum box had a sticker on its side, written in large letters with a blue small-point BIC pen – Majid! I chuckled to myself at the memory.

Back then, I was trying to do bad all by myself, ‘dating’ (and I use that term very loosely) a Muslim boy, yet I was the Christian Union Praise and Worship leader. Once he gave me his watch, I gave him something as well – I don’t remember what. I wore that watch until it disintegrated. I highly doubt he’d remember me.  

I don’t remember Majid and I breaking up. A few weeks after Majid and I ‘stopped talking,’ I heard he was kicked out of school. He was stealing students’ Bibles and selling them to the lowest bidder.

Anyway, I returned Majid to Carrefour on Saturday. He wasn’t what I needed; I should have concentrated in my physics class. I’m getting a new box today with suitable cyclones and megawatts. I hope it doesn’t come with a sticker that says, “Erasmus.”

I’ll never tell you that story, even if it does.

3 thoughts on “Majid

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