Have you noticed how law scholars walk into a room and suddenly it’s like everything’s about them and nothing else? How they strut the floors with one hand in their sore pockets and the other swinging freely beside them like abandoned windmills. How they keep their heads held toweringly high like ostriches got nothing on them. As if they were the most intelligent of beings this side of the equator. Like they were molded with Gold carats sticking up their ass.
Let’s call him Harry. Clad in his grey three-thousand-shilling Eastleigh suit possibly fitted to preference by some small time tailor in the heart of town, which you can clearly tell was a miserably soiled attempt at a Harvey Specter look, with just a tiny bit of finesse to make him stand out from a mediocre crowd. You’d be forgiven for thinking he has barely two pairs, those suits. His shoes look more like spears than they do footwear. They are those old school sharp shooters that would make you file for anal rape if you were kicked in the butt with them. They make Katt Williams look like a fashion icon.
Harry has a huge gadget he walks around with, in the name of a phone. It’s always in plain sight, never hidden, as if to make sure it’s seen by anyone who cares [which is basically everyone]. It will be in some flip cover that he can totally spread wide across your face, just in case you missed it the first time. He will unlock it and swipe on the screen [at nothing in particular] like he’s closing the biggest deal of his life. When it finally manages to ring, the ringtone will probably go something like Salute Me by Octopizzo or Chamillionaire’s “They see me rolling/ They hating”. These chaps don’t know the first thing about good music. They will bump to anything that glorifies themselves, and downgrades others. They live in some kind of twisted fantasy where they are gods, and everyone else is below them. Just staring up at their butt-cracks.
A normal human being should make a woman feel like the Queen on the first date. And tell her all those things Sauti Sol brainwash our ladies with. How wamekaliwa chapatti and all that other bunkum Romeo whispers to Juliet’s ear in Shakespearean productions.
But Law students will approach a lady and make it sound like she will have done herself a huge favor by falling for his banal charms. Take Harry for instance, his introduction is always in just half a dozen crisp clean words;
“Harry. Law. THE University Of Nairobi!”
After that he always expects the mami to follow him back to his crib and bang his eyes out of their sockets like they been married ten years.
Notice how he says “Law”, like it was all too obvious. Like those of us pursuing other interests are just but wasting our precious seconds and our old folks’ dough in campus. We might as well drop out now and start polishing those stupid shoes for a living.
“THE” University Of Nairobi. Like it’s the Biblical Promised Land. Soaked to the skin in bread, milk and butter for all and sundry. Like it’s a kingdom of its own down there. Made up of kings and queens, and their subjects. Son, some of us trim our hair at barbershops that charge 300 bob on the hour. And we don’t even receive HELB. Terwa uru moss!
And they always think they know everything about politics and the country at large. Any opposing argument is always met with a swift, “I’m a Lawyer kiddo. I know.”
Those arrogant ducks.
Nothing makes me sicker [besides Octo’s insistence on rapping] than being caught up in the middle of a conversation between two or more law students. The way these chaps address their colleagues; Learned friends. Shit makes one sound like the earth rotates around his nose and the sun sets on his chin. They will always find a way to infuse some law-related terms somewhere within the dialogue, even when it’s totally unnecessary. Especially when it’s totally unnecessary. Just to make you look like a complete fool. That ‘Amicus Curiae’ mumbo-jumbo. Lingua has always striked me as something that was invented by some drunk man taking a dump behind a liquor den in Bar Mathonye. Probably an Omondi. Because am an Omondi. And I could write a whole dictionary of new words when under the influence.
Look here law students, calm your tits. You are not gods. Your shit does not stink of strawberry and your walking styles are not half as smooth as Denzel Washington’s. You will never be Harvey Specter. And Vioja Mahakamani is as real as the courtroom will ever get for you. Let Hollywood not fool you. So get a hang of that cocky shmuck y’all always put on your faces and be real with yourself for just a second. You do not rule these streets.
P.S: This was nothing personal.