"Oh-ho! When you come to the city, ask around first, brother. Even if you call her baby, understand that she's no girlfriend, my guy. That one's a slipper from the lodge restroom — a short-time inn, at that! You tried to wear it like it's fancy footwear for an outing. And worse, you took it raw! Try denying it, I dare you," another one attacked him, making him fall silent and stare at the picture, still not believing what he was being told.
"Damn! Guys, I'm finished, honestly. I didn't expect to run into this kind of situation."
"Let's enlighten you early, my man—this city isn't for the fainthearted. You're a first-year, that's why you don't know yet. From students to outsiders, you just have to stay sharp or you'll go home with trouble. If you can't stay alert, just study and go back home, stick to your local life. Here, bro, everyone's a big catfish—young or old, they all have whiskers," he was told.
---
When school ended, a young man riding a red Boxer motorcycle was seen following the road used by a large group of schoolgirls. He wore a black vest, his hair done in twists, shorts on his legs, and open rubber sandals. His appearance said it all—one of those street boys raised on the corners and alleys.
He finally reached the group of girls in long skirts, half-robes on top, and hijabs. A few had the normal school uniform. The young man honked softly, making the girls quickly move aside. Then he pulled the bike near one of them and stopped beside her. The others walked away faster, clearly knowing something was up.
"Hop on, let's go, Siyawezi. I was waiting for you to get out of school. Didn't even see you this morning."
"Today I'm not going anywhere. From here, the first step I take is straight home, nowhere else."
"I've got twenty on me today, I'm telling you. Come on, make a plan so I can get a taste too. I don't want to keep hearing other people talk about you when I've got a chance myself."
(Her face changed instantly, her eyes scanning him up and down, from his head to the cheap shoes he wore.)
"Your girlfriend, the one who braids for two thousand shillings, isn't enough for you? Go take her and those friends of hers with hair dyed like salad. They even came here to cause trouble, just because you decided to show off near Zakhem. Let me spell it out for you clearly—so clearly you'd better memorize it like a topic for exams. I'm telling you in capital letters: LEAVE ME ALONE! Take your twenty and let her serve you all she wants, but not me!"
She said this with one hand on her waist, the other pointed straight at him, scolding him so fiercely that the young man froze. His motorbike even went off without him noticing.
What she'd given him—what girls would call a proper "roast"—hit him so hard he couldn't even talk back. When she finished and walked off, he just stared at her, watching the sway of her hips as she left. Though on the outside his clothes were dry, his heart was soaked through.
He already knew deep down where the problem had started, though he didn't realize the girl was acting out a long drama to convince her father not to send her back to the village until she finished school. Who would she leave the city pleasures to if that happened?
He restarted the motorbike by pressing the switch, forgetting he'd left it in gear. He was holding only the clutch and the brake. For anyone who knows engines—from bikes to cars—that's a bad idea; it'll lurch forward the moment it starts.
Because he was still lost in thought from the roasting, he forgot. The bike suddenly jerked forward when he pressed the switch, nearly slamming into a nearby tree. He quickly squeezed the clutch, steered it aside, and hit the brakes. Finally, it stopped. He exhaled heavily, leaning on the handlebars, still shocked at how close he came to wrecking the bike—just from being deep in thought.
He never really loved Siyawezi—he only wanted to please his body—but when he heard someone else had already "sweetened" her path, and others confirming it, he couldn't take it. It stung deeply; he hadn't expected it to end like that when he thought he'd already won.
He felt like a hunter whose camel had already knelt for slaughter, only for the beast to kick up dust and fling him away before he could strike. Being rejected by someone you thought would be easy to win hurts worse than losing a beauty desired by many.
---
When Siyawezi got home, she didn't step out again. After changing clothes, she fetched water and filled all the containers. Then she washed the dishes, did her laundry, and hung her school uniform to dry. Once done, she went to her room, took her notebook, and began reading—so that even if her mother entered suddenly, she'd find her studying, not idling.
By evening, her father had come home. That day she behaved perfectly, so much that her father even joked with her, clearly pleased. Since morning till then, he hadn't heard a single complaint—a rare thing. Even the gossiping neighbors brought no stories about her. The day passed smoothly, like she wasn't the same girl who usually earned daily scoldings.
She even went into the kitchen herself. Her mother sat outside chatting with her husband while the daughter prepared dinner with great diligence. When they ate together and she cleared the table, washing all the dishes, she finally went to her room, leaving her parents talking on the veranda.
"My wife, this is how a daughter should be—hardworking and making her parents proud. If she keeps this up, I won't even think of sending her to your mother's place. Otherwise, she'll go eat cassava flour every day until she dries up," the father said.
"But my husband, you've seen she's changed completely. She came home early and did everything. I got here and sat down—she'd already finished it all."
"I meant what I said. If she starts acting stubborn again, the next step is that. Her younger sibling can stay here, and she'll go to the village. There comes a time as parents we must make hard decisions to save a child. She's my own blood—I won't just give up on raising her properly."