Anyone could tell Wessy got to university without real dating experience. He didn’t have the swagger to finesse baddies. Still, I didn’t think it was too late for him. If anything, Wessy made good company, and in the end that counted for more than swagger. His humble background had kept him a guided youth: his desires never stretched further than his pocket, so he never had the means to go chasing in the first place, and that had kept him unspoiled.
College life exposed him to totally new standards. He’d gone from good grades in high school straight into a world where the only grades that matter were grades of cannabis. Nonetheless, the child who survives the vices of his or her youth is the one likely reach tertiary education. What no one is ready to talk about is the real grit it takes to come out of those intellectual concentration camps with their sanity intact.
Wessy and I were in the same class, but we became friends at the Montrose Hostel down Fife Avenue in Greater Harare. As we got acquainted, I couldn’t help but notice his craving for a lavish lifestyle. Girls, night clubs and partying were prominent on his bingo card. You could easily tell Wessy still needed to learn that all of it was nothing but vanity, and that this city can shove a slice of humble pie down your throat any day.
College life was moving along decently, until Wessy’s aura in the lecture rooms grew so undeniable that we easily became the most popular duo on campus. That was how it stood by the end of the first semester. Still, in the back of my mind I knew that buzz was a drug that kept Wessy on the lookout for any opportunity to get hooked on the city life. Fast forward to the second semester, and we were joined by freshmen, including Kataleya, an AMA2k beauty from Mozambique, who on first impression seemed to carry all the bling a girl in the prime of teenhood exudes.
One Friday after class, as we were heading home, Kataleya came up to us at the layby. The three of us were on a group assignment together. Despite the innocence in her speech she was far from naive. ‘Hey guys’, she said, ‘can someone help me with directions to the Montrose hostel?’
Your guess is as good as mine. Wessy, who had been conveniently looking her way, grabbed the honors and offered to walk her there himself.
Halfway to the hostel it registered with me that Wessy and Kataleya had found each other in the true fashion of opposite-poles-attract. The next cue I got was when Kataleya mentioned that Wessy reminded her of Vybz Kartel. It didn’t matter that the two came from worlds that ran parallel and never met. Kataleya was attracted by Wessy as he posed as a true ghetto ambassador. Many were surprised with just the sight of seeing them together.
Later that night, as we were walking through the backyard smoking (we didn’t drink alcohol at the time), Wessy described their growing affection. Then he excused himself to take Kataleya’s call. Right then I knew he was a ‘gone boy’. The city had finally dealt my friend a grand lotto. In the interactions that followed, I often felt like a third wheel, but from that position I noticed that Kataleya was not a kid. She was going to give Wessy his first real taste of city girls.
One fateful weekend, an event billed Castle Braai Fest was set to take place at the Old Hararians with a lineup of hitmakers in the country, the likes of Winky D, Killer T and Alick Macheso. Kataleya wanted to go, and we all agreed it was time for a night’s break from the hostel corridors. The mere logistics, though, were going to be a challenge; as university students, our budgets didn’t always align with desire.
Castle Braai Fest was a beer festival, but Wessy and I didn’t drink. Arrangements were made and everyone’s contribution meant we could afford to kill the night. I knew the share would strain Wessy’s pockets, but because it was Kataleya’s call, the boy had to be a man that night. We left in a group of six with Kataleya as the only lady.
We arrived and purchased tickets and vouchers for the beer and meat. The excitement on Wessy’s face was real as he took charge and made sure he had covered the bill for his ‘partner’. We walked into the venue and the crowd was gathering. A short while in, Kataleya told Wessy she had spotted her cousin in the crowd and that she’d be back, leaving him with the cooler box of drinks and snacks meant to serve us through the night.
Wessy came over alone, asking if I’d seen her, probably fearing they’d lose each other in the crowd. We smoked one as we chatted, and I thought I could hear the discomfort in his voice when told me about the cooler box. When the show started, the idea of trying alcohol on our first night out became insatiable, and for a bit of hype, it was only right that Wessy grabbed a Castle lager too. One turned into many. Kataleya didn’t return. Her phone was no longer going through either.
The agitation on Wessy’s face, the tone in his voice, and the constant gazes in every direction all pointed to one thing. My friend was shattered. He had been warned about college girls in the city, but he hadn’t seen it coming all the way from Mozambique. Wessy started drinking like a fish and kept at it until the show ended. We left for the hostel and made sure he got to his room in one piece.
To this day, Wessy drinks like a fish. He never found closure on whether it was a genuine cousin or if Kataleya used him as a hospitality radar. She pretends it never happened.
