Wednesday siesta, is a open column which is free to discuss campus life mainly men based. The good and their bad side. It however don’t limit itself to men ladies also beware. It however open for any opinions or comment.
Today on Wednesday siesta we talk about my fake Wi-Fi relationship. Wi-Fi is the acronym for the word Wireless Fidelity, a system installed in computers and smart phones to wirelessly internet connect in a particular area.
Today am sad, sad not because you wrote a broke up letter, not because you abused me, but sad because you have been silent, silent for the last two weeks, something which am not used to. Something which you never allowed me get used to. It seems you’ve forgotten hence let me circumnavigate you through our love story once more.
Onyango, the name I gave you that day I entered in the library, in my unique walking style, shoulder high as usual. With my six inched heel no one would have failed to notice me as I cat-walked past the library shelves, drawing peoples attention,, to the further end of the library at least to secure a conducive environ to study genetics ( a unit under bachelor of science in medicine). There was an empty sit near a guy who seemed to be dark and tall (what most girls would go for) am a lady myself hence the darkness wasn’t to my concern. I went and sat close to the guy with my gigabytes mind ready to study genetics.
Within five minutes you passed a paper to me, as I fearlessly opened the paper hoping it not to be a calculus equation, as I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself, the paper clearly read. ” Aje supuu, si unisaindie na phone number yako”. I looked at you and yes, phenotypically you were not so ‘bad’. So I gave you my number.
By the end of the day you had whatsapped me, friend requested me on Facebook, followed me on Twitter, double-tapped on my Instagram photos and you were finally chatting me. Through you status, “Cousin to Obama”, and your profile picture being a Lamborghini I didn’t have to be told you are an “Omera” that you come from diaspora and hence as I couldn’t whistle to you in the library and ask the name, I gave you Onyango. And yes, you became my Onyango.
You never gave much although you claimed to come from a filthy rich family, but I appreciated how you did whatssup me every morning, update me everything going on across the social media, informed me of various interesting blog posts and also Googled my assignment since you claimed never to lack bundles. Your contact was the one to start as well as end the day in my phone.
But since you went home to that big city near the lake I have not heard from you. Am here at “Mukurweini” in Murang’a trying to figure out what the problem maybe. Are you sick? Did you change the line or blacklist me?
But finally I have gotten the answers I seek. Come to think of it, your hostel number, number 9, was the only hostel fully installed with Wi-Fi. Kumbe all through you have been making use of school Wi-Fi, browsing and making chiqs fall for you with anonymous updates from Google. Since you are there, aren’t there shops in diaspora? Have you forgotten all about me. Onyango if you happen to come across this just know silence kills relationship hence am again single and not searching.
Onyangos when will you stop pretending and let us ladies love you for who you are? Men you really have to change. Onyango might be coming over the weekend, join me next week as i tell you Onyango’s say.