NAFULA’S DIARY:WHO PARTIES ON SUNDAY (NOSTALGIA)

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6Nafula’s Diary…

8.40a.m.: Woke up to the realization that I was hugging something tight; something that was definitely not a teddy bear. My head weighed a tonne and with much effort I squinted an eye to behold what my hands clasped. A book? I noted Rachael’s already made bed. Seeing I was up, my ever kind roommate came up to me and offered me a glass of water. I asked about the journal and she laughed that I couldn’t remember it. She had found a box outside our door with my name on it. Last night I had walked straight to the gift box and unwrapped it to reveal the diary and a bottle of eau de toilette. I had said I knew exactly who had sent the box then collapsed on my bed still holding the journal.

“Strange. I don’t remember any of it Rachael, but I bet I’ll find a note in the box. Anyway, why are you all dressed up?”

“It’s Monday. We’ve got Constitutional Law”

“Crap.”

11.30a.m.: I must have zonked out immediately Rachael left the room. I had one of those life defining dreams that you can’t remember but leave you with a strong urge to go in search of your purpose in this world. Well, either that or the musing state I woke up in was just determination to find out who’d dropped off the diary and perfume. There was no note in the box.

1.00p.m.: Lunch at Angela’s room;

-half a loaf of white bread

-smokies

-boiled eggs

-ice cold Fanta

3.00p.m.:Back in my room for movie streaming and girl chatter with Angela.

“Last night was awesome, Nafula! Happy birthday by the way”

“You said that enough times already at the club, ha-ha.”

“Yeah, well. I’m sorry I didn’t get you a gift though.”

The mention of a gift, and I figured right away that my best friend was the one who’d got me the diary.

“It’s beautiful! Who got you that?” Nope, Angela hadn’t got me the diary.

6.00p.m.: After two mugs of coffee I was sufficiently alert to make the call home. See how end month/ the beginning of the month is a jolly time for everyone on a pay roll? It’s quite the opposite for me. I dread having to call home for my allowance.

“Hello mum. Yaani you guys forgot my birthday.”

“Hapana! I asked you to come home for the weekend but you said you have group work,”

“Yeah, true. Kazi ni mob shule”

“Law school is quite something, huh? Don’t give up. Anyway, I’ll remind your father.”

Music to my ears. I hate how she always knows when I’m calling for money but then again it’s a good thing; I’m spared having to actually ask for it.

9.00p.m.: Since that MPESA message came in the evening I’ve been pondering on the life I’m living; raving on a Sunday(in my defense it was my birthday), lying about being burdened with school work yet I’m missing classes. The person who got me this diary’s probably seen this and wants me to have such kind of reflection and hopefully do something about it. Writing in this journal reminds me of Primary School when I converted my English Composition book into a diary. I’d make entries every night after homework. Nostalgia. Strange thing is, the eau de toilette that came with this journal is called ‘Nosetalgi’. I’m no linguist but that’s definitely French for nostalgia.

Whoever got me this diary knows me.

Esther K