You could be whatever kind of campus student.
You could be the
anti-social silent guy in your economics class who sits at the back bench in
every lecture hall. You don’t have friends in class. You only say ‘hey’ to one
or two classmates and always try your best to mind your own P’s and Q’s. To
keep your circles small. To stick to you lanes.
You could be that
‘JAB’ student who never misses any class, does all assignments unlike the rest
who copy-paste their fellows’ work, study at the Library, eat at the mess and
reside in Hall Six of JKUAT’s bedbug infested hostels.
Perhaps, you could be
the braggadocios, cocky, unfeeling everlasting bastard studying Law, a fact you
always want to shove down people’s throats as soon as you know them even before
knowing their name.
Perhaps, you could be the miserable architecture student
who spends 23/24 hours of your day in a studio trying to make this project
‘thingy’ work albeit a million and one technical drawings you have to do before
the semester ends. You have no social life. You do not ‘turn up.’ Fridays don’t
find you Maggie’s Keg place. Heck, you don’t even have a girlfriend. (Face
palm).
You could be that pseudo-intellectual bigot of your engineering class
who will not take ‘shit’ from anyone since you are an Alliance High School
alumnus who joined campus via the Joint Admission Board (notice I wrote in full
this time), you were the top in your county, the crème de la crème of the
country, so campus ‘hippie yuppies’ can’t tell you shit. (Huezi ambiwa).
You
could also be that ‘Light skin’ chick of your Mass communication class who thinks
they will be awarded a first class honors for the mere fact that you are light.
You don’t date campus riff-raffs. You deal with working class. Your mantra, “No
romance without finance.” You only hang out with girls from your clique, your
ilk.
You could also be that pseudo- Mutahi Ngunyi of your class who thinks of
himself as the paragon of level headed and mature political criticism, always ranting
in class of how the government is stealing our money, sijui how this government
is inefficient, blah blah blah, a lot of bull that fellow classmates don’t give
a pig’s badonk about.
Perhaps, you are that ‘B.com’ student, son to some
business oligarch, you drive an expensive car than the University’s Dean and you are in campus because it’s a family ‘thingy’ to be in
campus and dad needs a learned heir for the family business. You attend a few
classes, inebriated and stone for the better part of your day. You sponsor most
‘bashes’ in campus and this has earned you the privilege of exploring the
southern hemispheres of most women in your school.
Again, you could be whatever
kind of campus student.
She is a student.
She is a girl too.
She studies BSc. Financial Engineering at the ‘reputable’
(coughs) Jomo Kenyatta University of Agriculture and …… (Let’s stop at
Agriculture because the ‘Technology” used in this school was the one discovered
with fossils of the proconsul at Olduvai Gorge), second year first semester.
She is a gorgeous woman with a terrific looking face of a dark ebony skin, the color
of a pumice stone, a rich dark tone. Her short hair shines like a million
fireflies and this mama has a blossoming derriere. A nice bum. A gluteus Maximus
that portrays the formula for a perfect ass: (Shape + circularity) x (Bounce +
Firmness).She is curvaceous and luscious. She has a smile that must have been
created with science, a perfect alignment of a white set of teeth. She speaks
in a fresh, eloquent and saucy voice, the kind of voice that would make a man
gizzle-gazzle after hearing it. This woman is pretty. Other women would ogle at
her. Actually, they do ogle at her. Truth be told, there is no right
vocabulary, the right arsenal of words to describe her physical aura. You know
when they say beautiful ones are not yet born? They lie. She is the reason why
we have a word like beautiful. To add icing on the cake, when this woman sings,
hearts stop. Her vocal range is one Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston would
reckon with.
Rhazia Fatma, the Vocal Beast.
There is something about a women who sing. Something so
surreal about a woman who is blessed with a vocal capability that will break
your heart. A profound serenity. When Rhazia Fatma sings, the heavens stand
attention to listen to her. You get lost in her voice as she sweeps you off
your feet with her amazing talent, as she takes on that Beyoncé or Tony Braxton
track. That voice will send chills from the nape of your neck all the way to
your unkulukulwane. Her neck muscles straining but her eyes never bulging. When
she sings, her loyalty is only to the music. Her zeal for music will make you
question your life. You will wonder what it is that you do with the same amount of
passion Rhazia gives to her singing. I wonder if the stars shine up for her
voice. She is gifted and she will make a room awash with happiness only with
her voice.
Folks, when you get a woman who can sing, a woman with an
angelic voice like Rhazia’s, marry her, fast. You can come to worry about her
weaknesses later. Imagine coming home to a songbird. As you pack your car in
the compound, you are welcomed by the smell of well marinated fish and steaming
ugali accompanied a honeyed voice of a woman singing something like ‘’you
better eat that booty like groceries,’’ as if to imply that you will be having
having fish and ugali for dinner and booty will be served as dessert. Your walk
from the car to the door will be a ‘hard’ one, trust me. (See what I did there).Haha. Or when you have
to wake up every morning to the smell of fresh prepared lemon pancakes and the
voice of an angel, singing some Tracy Chapman old classic song from the kitchen.
You will lose your shit. Shriek. Perhaps do a jig thanking her ansestors for
bestowing you with her for a wife. Morning wood would never be the same again.
Such would be life. Goals, right?
So, on a normal Friday afternoon, I will host Fatma at my
place, because apart from her vocal prowess, she also has a personality that
says more than her voice and it is good to surround yourself with such people.
We have a hubbub of conversation, talk about life, people and other drugs. I
ask her what inspires her singing, why she sings as if life depended on it,
what motivates her. Instead of answering me, she sings. That’s the way she
knows best to communicate, to people and to the universe. She can vent her pain
via her voice. You can feel her zeal for life and her will to be somebody great ooze
from her mouth through her melodic voice. That voice which is like a hidden
door, leading to her heart. Through it, you can run though her veins,
uncovering childhood dreams and shining light on her present ambitions. So
emotional, so seductive. There is a bizarre, completely, disproportionately
sized euphoria in that moment. She says singing is ‘therapeutical’. She is one
happy soul. At some point, I start thinking of her in a mushy way. Not the way
you think of Huddah’s ass, nay, the way you think of Whitney Houston or Atemi
or Achieng’ Abura.
Rhazia is a real celebrity, because real celebrities are not
actually celebrated. In Kenya, the real celebrities don’t have a million
followers on instagram. They are not hosted on the Trend by Larry. The ‘Blue
Subaru’ blogger does not even write about them. Neither are they the socialites
who orchestrate trending hashtags on twitter nor the activists who cause a buzz
on facebook. The real celebrities in Kenya are even not played on radio like the annoying 'Professor Bamba.' The Real
celebrities are in campus, kicking ass in photography. (Hey Alex). They are
young ladies and gentlemen doing exemplary articles and rocking the
blogosphere. (Gichia, Amen!) They are the residents of Ruai who tener such
great voices, the paragons of music. The Rhazias of today, the future Atemis
and sauti sols.
I am of the thought that when God created Rhazia, He looked
at her and He loved it. I think He was mersmerized too. He told Jesus to ‘gotea
hiyo story, wekelea uzito’. That day, I think He ordered Jesus to turn water into whiskey,
because wine is not good enough to celebrate a creation like Rhazia. The voice
that had been given to this lady made the singing angels in heaven to catch
feelings, aisee!
Her voice aside, Rhazia has a heart you will want to kiss.
She is a friend who will applaud your flattering qualities, and not relent from
shining light to your less flattering qualities. She will be there for her
friends come hell or high water. She will even be there for some of her
enemies. That’s just who she is. The kind of woman who will remind you how you
are strong and that the best of you is yet to be found. She is as smart as a
whip, couple that with a refreshing candor and your interest in her is piqued.
She is indeed ‘every woman’ even though she is not Whitney Houston. You will
love her, not because of what she feels about you, no, but because of how she
makes you feel about yourself.
Rhazia Fatma, sweetheart, it's been an honor.
Photo By: The amazing, super talented, kiss-ass photograpger, Viquesvisuals
