A hug is all it takes for my vote

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It’s always a delight when university political campaigns approach. Well, a delight in disguise because of many exasperating reasons such as the endless string of zany messages propagated on social platforms, the tension breeze blowing through campus, the glittering faces that greet you on the streets and beg you to vote for strangers, just to mention but a few.

However, the one delightful reason I long for such periods; the incentive that clouds my mind whenever I hear ‘comrades-power’ might shock you beyond words. It is so stupid.

It’s founded on the simplicity of a man’s brain which occasionally delegates its functions to excited body parts fueled by immediate short-lasting pleasure.

This motive is to get ‘dem’ hugs from lady-student politicians. Haha, there it is. I spilled the beans. I know what you’re thinking, It’s idiotic and very trivial. I like it. In fact, I love that am so simple, an adolescent at 21.

This strategy employed by lady politicians has worked a number on me. They go around gentlemen’s hostels greeting people talking about their agendas and giving heart-warming hugs for free.

On a blessed afternoon during the campaigns, I will have my lunch at the mess, rice-beans-veg (we call it thirty, ‘like serve me thirty’ or ‘am buying thirty’) When I’m done, I slowly tread towards my hall and as I walk past the Tuck (student) shops, I accidentally overhear that (let’s call her Stacy) Stacy is campaigning in Hall 6.

Immediately, I pocket my phone and hasten my pace. It’s like I’ve been activated all of a sudden. I fly up the hall stairs like a madman. You wouldn’t want to miss this opportunity, would you? All this time every pint of blood has exited the reasoning building. I rush into my room and immediately start arranging my locker.

Clothes I thought I had lost finally appear from nowhere. I spread my bed and my roommate’s ensuring not a single detail is left behind. Then I turn on my laptop, scroll through movies, pick one and start watching as I patiently wait for Stacy.

The wait is long; characterized by my occasional rise from the seat to check if Stacy’s group has reached our corridor or to correct any discernible imperfection in my room. Sometimes I spread some cologne, I guess just to confuse those with sensitive noses. I put on a red t-shirt; I read somewhere, men with bright colored clothes look more appealing.

Stacy finally reaches our corridor, and the brigade of supporters (mostly dudes) behind her is just enormous. Some of them approach some doors to spread her gospel but I don’t want them knocking on mine. I want Stacy, she gives hugs. I cross my fingers as the crowd approaches my room.

I hear a knock and when I open the door some dude with a weird grin plastered all over the face greets me as he hands over a poster for Stacy. I meanly look at him and bluntly say to his face, “Let Stacy come and convince me by by herself”. He smiles and calls me ‘fisi’ then tells me he will inform her. I close the door and wait some more.

Finally, a gentle tap on the door mesmerizes me. I’m instantly swept into a crazy world of fantasy. I think about how I meet Stacy, the first smile, the hug, dates, getting married, having babies and growing old together. Hehe, so weird, laugh your heart off but seriously these things happen.

I hear the tap once again, this time more assertive followed by a sweet voice, ‘Hello, is anybody in’. I rush and open my door gently and there stands Stacy, fabulously dressed like a leader and the smile on her face halts my heart.

I welcome her in as two other supporters cram themselves in my room. My mind is like, men, why do you want to spoil my moment, this room fits two people. Then I remember just yesterday I had 7 guys comfortably seated in the room playing FIFA 17.

I offer Stacy a place to seat but she declines, claiming she needs to visit more people. I sit on my bed and just stare at her eyes as she talks about what she can do for our institution. Her voice sounds like music in my ears and I nod at everything she says, it’s like a nodding dance.

My mind again goes into fantasy. Names for our kids; (Brianna and Roger), our mansion; built on the exotic shores of Malindi, an Instagram account with amazing family pics and millions of followers. I think am saying more than necessary.

Our kids, Roger and Brianna

Finally, Stacy asks for my support. I rise up, look into her eyes and say YES! Such a yes can only be heard from a faithful bridegroom who had been denied sex until marriage. She stretches her arms and I get in there like a kangaroo baby leaping into the pouch.

I wrap my hands around her and tighten my grip. Her warmth is health-giving and her fragrance, so sweet and pure it cleans my blood. I feel her heartbeat and realized it synchronizes with mine. The skin on her neck glitters like stars in the sky. Her firm bosom strokes my chest, damn, feels so good.

Hehe, let’s stop there for today, I’ve got to rush take supper. For those who always crave for closure, that’s how my vote goes to Stacy. Am such a simple guy, imagine? And yes, Stacy’s supporters helped me relax (unwound my grip and took Stacy to safety). After such an ordeal, I couldn’t do anything but dream more for the next 24 hours.


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