Ramo was ecstatic when he heard in his high school year that he would sit next to Chipo, his teenage crush, in class.
Every boy at Biriiri High School wanted to date Chipo because she was considered the prettiest in the cohort. Boys would swarm her, wanting to chat her up, but Chipo was classy, dismissive of suitors, and deeply committed to her schoolwork. But boys never stopped trying. She simply disappointed so many smitten teenage boys.
“You’re such a lucky boy,” Masango told Ramo upon hearing he had been chosen to sit next to Chipo for the whole year.
“Just sitting next to her is a mini victory for you, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, yeah, Masango,” Ramo replied weakly, knowing full well that despite sitting close to Chipo, he did not have the guts to ask her out. Unlike him, Masango had the guts to pursue Chipo.
He made sure to approach Chipo’s desk, sing love songs, boast about his prowess in math and physics, and undermine Ramo’s short body frame—all in an effort to impress Chipo. He wanted to be the first guy at Biriiri to win her heart over. This was such a contrast with Ramo, who, so shy, would secretly lust to be with Chipo. He would end up doing her classroom errands in the vain hope that someday she would see him as the “good man” who must not come last.
“I appreciate all you do, Ramo,” Chipo said, gawking at him, measuring the corners of her art book before the art teacher’s time came to an end. “But we are friends, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, Chipo,” Ramo said, knowing full well that he didn’t even mean a tenth of what his mouth was saying.
Every day before Ramo would slot himself into his seat next to Chipo’s, a bevy of boys led by Mudzimwa would pass by, stop, and try their luck. In one humiliating encounter, Mudzimwa tapped Ramo on the shoulder.
“Young man, shift over your seat there for two minutes; I want to talk to lovely Chipo,” said Mudzimwa.
“But this is my assigned seating area,” Ramo said.
“You’re sitting next to the queen of the class; you don’t have the guts to date her. Move, boy,” the daring Mudzimwa, who some speculated was dabbling in marijuana in the student’s dormitory, told Ramo forcefully.
Ramo understood the instruction quickly and dragged his chair two meters away, leaving Mudzimwa crowding around Chipo. From a distance, he could see Mudzimwa kneel around Chipo, tap her desk, and impress her with a rendition of the latest Paramount Sky film he had watched during the previous school holiday. Chipo laughed half-interestedly and gently nudged Mudzimwa and his gang away. No boy, however wild or pious at Biriiri, would win Chipo’s heart. Her pride was in firmly rejecting 90% of suitors.
“Who would win Chipo and become the ‘boy of the year’?” was the chorus every night in the boys’ dormitory. Each time the discussion got loud, it would end in humiliation for Ramo, who was seen as a fool for being seated next to Chipo daily in the classroom yet being too shy to court Chipo. She was literally next to him eight hours daily.
“I will do it!” Ramo finally promised himself one night, knowing that he couldn’t handle two pressing things: his secret, burning love for Chipo and the humiliation from the boys’ gang.
They berated him for sitting next to the prettiest woman at Biriiri and doing barely anything except picking up the pencil each time the wind blew over the top of Chipo’s desk. On a Tuesday morning before the last classes of June began, Ramo finally had the guts. He wore his most expensive lotion, double-ironed his shirt, and polished his shoes before confidently sitting down next to Chipo.
“I love you, Chipo; I said it!” blurted Ramo, unable to control the steps of his planned proposal.
“Wow, such big words,” Chipo said, touching her cheeks.
Ramo was ecstatic; he had caught Chipo off guard—and finally showed guts.
“But you’re my friend… I see you as a friend… oh wait, brother,” Chipo said as the whole classroom gawked at the two.
Led by Masango and Mudzimwa, the entire classroom exploded into laughter when Chipo abruptly stood from her desk and walked out to replenish her water bottle at the emergency assembly point.
“Friendzone ho ho, ho ho friend-zoned,” the boys sang and clapped loudly as Ramo collapsed into his chair, glancing sideways like a deer caught in headlights.
His attempt to finally woo Chipo had gone down embarrassingly. Those were the darkest days in high school. That was until Linda, who was Chipo’s best friend, passed by and whispered: “Consider yourself lucky, Ramo; you’re a boy who grew up herding cattle in the village—at least Chipo sees you as a friend. Me, I don’t date rural boys like you; I am a city girl. Chipo is lenient to even friend-zone you.”
A glimmer of hope crossed Ramo’s broken heart. “Maybe one day, just one day.” The consolation words escaped his mouth.
