Kamaley and I: Original kings of Valentine's mistari

With Valentine’s season in full swing, young people will be all over town painting it red, thinking they invented love. But let’s cut them some slack. Every generation thinks that they invented Valentines-plus sex.

Corporates will craft syrupy messages for the day, not because they love you but because they love your wallets. Millions of memes and texts will be shared. As for me, I’m out of the business. I've been there, done that. Before memes existed, Kamaley and I were kings of romantic messages.

Back in the day, when Valentine’s season hit, Kamaley would flee village boredom and hibernate in my campus room. We’d slap a bold sign on the door: LOVE LINES FOR SALE! And just like that, the money would flow—but not without some mishaps.

Lovelorn lads would knock, desperate for words that could make girls fall for them. “We don’t sell love potions,” Kamaley would gruffly retort. The client had to tell us what kind of girl was after his heart. Was it a wild rose from Ol Jororok who floated around in frilly dresses that swept the ground below? Well, that one would make do with lines borrowed from Okot p’ Biteks poems. Which would cost the smitten Alejandro some ten bob-enough dough for two steaming plates at the student’s mess.

Another guy would say the apple of his eye was an upmarket girl from Buruburu, the type who rocked baggy jeans and spoke Eastlands Sheng. Well, Shakespeare for that one: “Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.” No Google back then, so the damsel would never know we stole it straight from Romeo and Juliet.

One time, a village lad confessed that he was madly in love with a Somali beauty from Parklands. “Bro,” I sighed, “you’re a fish, she’s a bird—where exactly do you plan to build a nest?” Kamaley added the final nail: “Kijana, this love is headed for a Titanic ending.” See? We had morals. We would rather lose cash than hype up a doomed love story.

Best-seller

Other times, love and our lines aligned perfectly, like this one: What did my fingers do before I met you, Waitherero? Of course, we’d tweak the name to match the girl in question. But our best-selling line came straight from Fidel Castro’s declassified love letters: One kiss is just like the other—but I will never tire of kissing you!

Not all our lines landed smoothly, though. Once we advised a young chap to tell a girl these eternal words: Please don’t ever go away. And if you do, then don’t forget to take me with you. The fellow got drunk and omitted the word “don’t” and the girl never saw him again. But I must add that such mishaps were rare-and didn’t originate from our end.

Anyway, time has passed, bridges have been burned, and my poetic fire has dwindled to a few dying embers. I could still pen some syrupy lines, but that would be like trying to sail on yesterday’s wind.

That said, enjoy your Valentine’s, lovebirds. And to all the young souls who will spend the day heartbroken after they got abducted by a numberless Subaru Outback—may your sacrifice bloom into a thousand flowers.

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