The bitches in my class will object strongly to being called bitches.
Primarily, they will object because they are each nursing fanciful notions that they are ‘ladies’, to use the term loosely. But the basis of their objections, as well as the filthy looks they will be throwing me until the end of time, will be the simple fact that they believe the term bitch to be derogatory. A sizeable portion of the bitches in my class will have to look up the word derogatory. On their smartphones, of course.
But object they will. They will pout and exchange disbelieving looks. They will be up in arms because that quiet guy from the back of the class used a bad word to refer to them. How do they know it is bad? It does not sound anything like ‘diva’. Tragically, though, that quiet guy, who is in fact not quiet at all, has already accepted that he is going to be stepping on some manicured toes. So he will proceed anyway.
So, about the aforementioned bitches.
Like classifying the distinct members of Kingdom Animalia, any grouping of the bitches in my class I attempt to make will be varied and so incredibly detailed as to confuse the simple mind. Not only do they display a baffling range of characteristics, all of them rigidly rehearsed and fake; they also refuse to stick to any one category. If, for example, I decided to list them as either drinkers or non-drinkers, I would have to contend with the fact that the non-drinker category would have only two people in it. I would also be forced to consider such grey areas as ‘social drinkers’, ‘just broke up with the senior student I was fleecing drinkers’, ‘it only happened that one time drinkers’, and the more common ‘dance on tables, make out with strangers and then go sleep in a puddle of urine drinkers’.
No one has that kind of time.
I will, however, concede that the bitches in my class are ceaselessly fascinating. They provide a very unique source of entertainment when they are at their best, and a welcome distraction when they are not. Perhaps I shall begin with:
The diva, for obvious reasons, is the most noticeable bitch in class. This is largely due to the fact that she has the entire Marc Jacobs fall line in her closet, and she knows the complete chemical compounds in the dress Mrs. West wore to her wedding. She has an assortment of heels, ‘peeps’ and wedges in the entire range of rainbow colours. It is with these that she interrupts lectures and draws attention as she sashays into class fifteen minutes late. She speaks in a high, drawn out nasal slur that is meant to showcase her superior intellect but ends up making her sound retarded, daft or both. Her English is impeccable, except when she is caught off guard, and then she might be heard saying ‘aki woiye’. Her speech idiolects (LIN 210, people. Halla), are infused with references from Basketball Wives, Real Housewives of virtually all American counties and Mistresses.
Make no mistake, she is stunning. Her beauty, too rich for use, for earth too dear in the words of the Bard, has never been in doubt. And yet she flaunts it, she flatters it, she coddles it, she wields it like a weapon. She floats on a cloud of entitlement. She eats out. Way out. She goes into town to party and is brought back in a cab. She does not ‘do’ reggae music or God forbid, riddims. She does not even know the difference. She has three exes, who she discarded because they didn’t ‘get’ her.
The entire male population in class lusts after her. They throw her longing looks whenever she passes, and they dash to her side whenever she throws up her Galaxy Note to take a selfie, which will cause mayhem on Instagram. They shake their heads sadly when she wears that black dress that ends just below her buttock, and they close their notebooks because they know they won’t hear another word the lecturer says.
The Diva’s Friends:
The diva has a dedicated fan following. Of course, when she is asked, she will refer to them as her bestest bitches in the whole entire world, or her gurlfriends!! Really, though, they are the slightly less endowed people she surrounds herself with. Methinks the diva has deep-seated esteem issues.
The Diva’s friends are a dedicated lot. They go out of their way to keep up, but they are careful not to overshadow. They have just as many wedges and heels, but they also have sandals and ‘rubbers za matope’. Her make-up is ever so slightly off. Her lipstick is the teensiest bit smeared. Or chewed off. Unlike her BFFFF, she does not have the same control over her language. She tries, dammit, but despite her best efforts, she cannot pronounce ‘parallelogram’ without spraying her spectators with mint flavoured spittle.
She is also not as choosy. She knows what ugali sosa means. On a good day, when the light is just right and the stars perfectly aligned, you may see her purchasing roasted maize, to nibble on as she skips to her room.
The Virgin The Good Girl:
This is the rarest species of all. There are two of them in class, one permanently committed to the cause of winning more souls on behalf of the Good Lord, the other simply determined to remain moral. She does not partake of the spirits. She arrives in class ten minutes early to secure a seat that promises maximum concentration. She does not ‘do’ dating. She surrendered her virtue to that sweet talking handout salesman in her first year, instantly regretted it and had since been sworn off men.
She has the most depressing dresses, which she covers up with the most chaste coats. She has all the notes, knows all the names of the lecturers and knows where the Literature section of the library is. She is fast friends with The Nerd, who could sadly not be featured in this article but has been promised a starring role in the next one.
Occasionally, though, she is the unbelievably nice. It has been agreed by all the males in class that she is made out of that wife material everyone seems to be looking for.
The Invisible Ones:
The Serial Hugger:
This category was renamed on the advice of our legal counsel. Hint hint.
She does not shake hands, she hugs. She does not high-five, she hugs. She has such advanced social skills that she is on nickname basis with all the guys in class. She has an unusually high-pitched voice, which she uses to yell across the distance of the room. She dresses skimpily, naturally. Kizuri chajiuza and whatnot. Somehow, everyone knows her room number. Her preferred position is sandwiched between two guys, listening with rapt attention as they discuss football tactics. Her other favourite position is apparently 6.30, if you follow my meaning, or 6.45 if she is feeling tired.
There are several war stories about her in class, majority of which end the exact same way. It is rumoured her room has been nicknamed ‘the kill zone’, ‘kichinjio’ and has unfettered access to the condom dispenser. (I swear, I was told this by a friend). She lives by the philosophy that ‘just because Mount Everest has been climbed before doesn’t mean the journey will be any less thrilling for the next person’.
The Non Conformer:
Simply put, she couldn’t care less. She has had the same dreadlocks since her first year. The one time she changed them, she got complimented on how lovely her hair was, and this unnerved her just enough to send her back to her dreadlocks. She dresses in unruly clothes that sag in places. She makes no effort to appear marriageable.
She is a huge Chelsea fan. She wears the goalkeeper’s away jersey to most classes. Her twitter name is mouforpresident213, and her WhatsApp status says ‘Marry me Costa’. It has been confirmed that she is often more accurate than Goal.com.
She is sarcastic without trying to be. She is the first to protest when a class goes beyond regulation time. She knows the proper response to “Form ni gani, buda?!” If she could have a ten shilling coin for every time she says ‘shit’, she would be ‘rich as shit’.
And then out of the blue, she will wear fitting clothes. She will do just enough to assure people that she is in fact female. She has a ridiculous ass that no one noticed till just then. She will smile, and use her lower register. But then she will punch you in the throat when you stare at her cleavage, and the world will continue spinning.
The Married Woman:
She was saying her vows while the rest of the class was registering courses. She has acquired a scathing nickname because she is always in the male halls of residence. She is always in the company of her better half, who drops her just outside class and walks her to the loo to pee. She is well versed in household chores; she can balance them very well with completing household duties and other wifely responsibilities. You can tell from the way she balances books in hands that she has carried a few plates to and from the kitchen.
When she gives examples in class, she drops several references to the married situation. And we all shake our heads in mock terror.
I concede that I cannot name them all, and that i may not even know them all. I am also somewhat concerned for my life. But in the interest of free journalistic pursuit, let she without a category cast the first stone.
P.S: To the bitches in my class, I hope this won’t affect our relationship; you know, the one where we ignore each other completely every chance we get.