The Boy, His Hips
The average Bantu male is described as average height, slightly robust build and is nearly almost flat (well aligned) in his posterior (hind)……..
Back in primary school, I enjoyed being a jolly brown kid with variegating skin tans (weather pattern indicator) and a slightly obese shell. I enjoyed the soprano notes I would hit when singing or wen mimicking the shrill cry of the eagle.
Class 7 hit real hard as a tuft of hair suddenly materialized and I was finally to outgrow my soft shell. I adored the new symbols of my masculinity, though fragile, and carried on with pride hoping to break my voice sooner. I was pretty late as since a big percentage of my peers had started hitting their prime growth and I was but soft and left behind.
The images of things seen in the dormitory day after day, especially in the showers left me feeling rather inferior and lost.( Remember we are talking about hair only!!) Charles, though older and more ‘dominant’ amongst our peers took to encouraging me to wait my time patiently. I loathed him for it! Here was the Alpha male in our class encouraging me to wait my turn while everyone else metamorphosed into startling builds.
By the time I sat for my final paper the next year, all I had was some grassland Savannah in the dry seasons and a slightly hoarse voice, effectively knocking me out of my usual singing practice…….. Then all hell broke lose!
Form one became interesting as my hormonal levels soared, altering my appearance completely. Acne settled in and has been my friend ever since! 11 years! (I should marry the damn guy Acne, that level of faithfulness is rare). My voice became deeper slowly by slowly, occasionally turning itself off and mimicking a man with advanced throat complications. But that was the tip of the iceberg.
Hips! Yes….. Hips. I developed a mini-version of a lady’s Figure 8 on my already brown body. This became the Genesis of my most embarrassing moments in life.
This lady-like appearance gave me chance to play lead characters in drama, scarcely a month into my stay at the high altitude Njiiri School. Worse still was the sudden increase in my hind mass to give rise to two rather soft and curvy balls that had the school in uproar and constant debate.
Rumours started and spread to neighbouring schools. I was victim to mandatory stripping exercises, at the command of prefects, to ascertain my gender and for the fulfillment of their vile fetishes. It soon became common practice for those whom we carried out rehearsals with to insist on me changing clothes in their presence or taking turns to sneak up me while I did so.
Soon, the official costumes to be worn in the competitions arrived and I was in for a shocker! I had a flowing dress made up of two alternating pieces, each with it’s own sleeve. The V-neck formed was quite exposing and I couldn’t have felt more feminine that then. To my horror, the dress was tailored to embrace the contours of my body and I therefore had little to hide as my whole frame stood there for all to see.
Word spread around the boys and teachers about the enhanced effect of the costume. A new habit cropped up. Boys would, in the presence of going to the washrooms or looking for a certain teacher, pass by the hall and whistle, others cheering whilst some few begged me to walk towards them and rotate, feeding their sick intentions. I knew better than to object for I was assaulted thrice and nearly raped by a group of seniors who were convinced that I was not male. (The scars are still evident on my skin)
