I was a small boy deep in the trenches of high school life at Koelel High School. Located in the heart of Gilgil, Kenya, Koelel wasn’t your typical school—it was a strict military boarding school, known for its rigid discipline and demanding routines. The school was perched high on a cliff, surrounded by barbed wire, making it feel more like a military camp than a place for students. Everything about it felt tough—just like the army barracks next door.
Life at Koelel was unforgiving. Our day started with a trumpet blaring at the crack of dawn, and from that moment, every second of our lives was scheduled. Morning drills, classes, meals, evening prep, and lights out. There wasn’t much room for fun, for freedom, or for any kind of personal life. But the harshest rule of all? No phones allowed. The school administration had made it clear: if you were caught with a phone, you could expect severe punishment. Beatings, suspension, or even expulsion. It was no joke.
And yet, despite all of that, I had brought mine. I had to. It wasn’t just because I wanted to keep up with the latest gossip or watch YouTube videos like most of my friends. No, my reason was different—it was a girl. And her name was Nadia.
It had all started during the holidays. Facebook was becoming a thing, and I, like every other teenager, was trying to build my online presence. I remember the day clearly, the day her friend request popped up on my phone. I didn’t know her, but her profile picture caught my attention immediately. She was beautiful—long dark hair, soft, mesmerizing eyes, and a smile that made me forget everything else. She looked like someone who belonged in a movie, not on my Facebook. All this was evident from her profile photo now known as DP ( I know many of you just use the word DP but actually don’t know what it stands for – It’s Display Picture. 10 years ago we used to call it PP, Profile Picture).
I hesitated for a moment, but curiosity won. I accepted the request.
“Hey,” she messaged almost instantly.
I stared at my phone for a second, my heart racing for reasons I didn’t understand. I mean, this was just a random girl. But something about her made me excited.
“Hey,” I replied, trying to sound casual.
“What are you up to?” she typed back.
“Not much, just chilling. You?”
The conversation flowed easily, much more smoothly than I had expected. We talked about everything—school, music, what we did for fun. Nadia was funny, smart, and seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. She asked me questions, complimented me, and before I knew it, I was hooked. Her texts were the highlight of my day.
The days of the holiday flew by with late-night chats and endless banter. And the more I talked to her, the more I felt something—something I had never felt before. I had never even met her, but it felt like I knew her. She had this way of making me feel important, like I was the only person that mattered.
As the school term approached, I started to panic. Three months of no phones, no Facebook, no Nadia. The thought was unbearable.
I remember the exact moment I decided to take the risk. It was the night before school reopened. I stared at my phone, debating whether I should leave it behind. Logic said I should, but my heart said otherwise.
“Will you miss me?” Nadia had messaged earlier that night.
“Of course,” I typed back, my fingers moving faster than my brain. “But I don’t know how I’ll survive without chatting with you.”
“Well… then don’t stop chatting with me,” she teased. “Find a way.”
And that was it. That was the spark I needed. The next morning, I carefully slipped my phone into my bag, hiding it under a pile of textbooks. I knew I was risking everything—my grades, my reputation, maybe even my entire future. But how could I wait three whole months to talk to her again? I couldn’t.
So there I was, in the middle of the term, sneaking around with my phone like a convict smuggling contraband. Most nights, after lights out, I would lie under my blanket, my face illuminated by the faint blue glow of the screen. My hands shook with a mix of excitement and fear every time I typed. But the risk didn’t matter when I was talking to Nadia.
“Nights are so boring without you,” she messaged one evening.
“Yeah, mine too. But here I am, risking my life just to talk to you. You better feel special,” I joked.
“Haha, I do! But seriously, you’re not gonna get caught, right?”
“Never. I’m too smooth for that.”
It wasn’t true. I was anything but smooth. My heart would race every time I heard footsteps in the hallway, expecting a teacher or a prefect to burst in and catch me red-handed. But somehow, I managed to avoid detection. Every night, we’d talk for hours, and I’d wake up the next day with bloodshot eyes and a grin on my face.
Our conversations shifted from casual chats to something more personal, more intimate. She started asking about my life, my dreams, and, of course, my love life.
“So… have you ever had a girlfriend?” she asked one night, casually.
I stared at the screen, feeling my palms sweat. I hadn’t expected that question.
“Uh… kind of,” I typed, trying to play it cool.
“Kind of?”
“Well, I’ve liked people before, but nothing serious.”
“What about now? Do you like anyone?”
The question hung there for a moment, and I felt my chest tighten. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
“Maybe,” I replied, after what felt like an eternity.
“Oooh, who?”
“Well… she’s pretty amazing. Funny, smart, beautiful. We talk a lot. You might know her.”
There was a long pause before her next message came through.
“Is it… me?”
I could almost see her smiling through the phone.
“Maybe.”
“Haha, you’re cute. I like you too.”
Those four words—I like you too—made me feel invincible. In that moment, every risk, every sleepless night, every second of breaking school rules was worth it. I wasn’t just talking to a girl. I was talking to the girl.
From that point on, everything changed. We weren’t just friends. We were something more, something deeper. She became my world, my escape from the drudgery of school life, my secret.
As the weeks turned into months, my bond with Nadia deepened. Our conversations were no longer just casual chats; they were a lifeline, a source of comfort, and a constant reminder of the love I felt for her. But the excitement of meeting her in person was a constant undercurrent, a ticking time bomb that threatened to derail my carefully constructed world.
Music became our shared language. I’d dedicate songs to her, pouring my heart into each lyric. “No Air” by Chris Brown and Jordin Sparks was our anthem, a declaration of our need for each other. “Kiss Me Through the Phone” by Soulja Boy was a playful reminder of the longing we felt when we couldn’t be together physically. And “Next To You” by Chris Brown featuring Justin Bieber was a sweet serenade, expressing the desire to be by her side always.
Nadia would reciprocate, sending me songs that resonated with her feelings. Her choices were always thoughtful and showed a deep understanding of my emotions. Together, we built a world of our own, a digital sanctuary filled with love and shared dreams.
I didn’t care about the dangers. All I cared about was her.
Little did I know, that spark would eventually ignite a flame that would consume me completely.
Nadia was sweet, always checking up on me, and every word she typed made my heart race.
But then, about a month into the term, things started to shift. Even for better.
One night, after we chatted for hours, she brought up the idea of us meeting in person. Wait what?
“Ashnaam,” she said. “I can’t wait anymore. I want to see you. I want you to come visit me in Mombasa.”
Her words sent a rush of excitement through me. Meeting her in person? I had only dreamed about it. But Mombasa? The idea of it seemed insane.
A 17-year-old boy sneaking out of school an army school in Gilgil to travel over 600 kilometers to see a girl he had never met. But she wasn’t joking.
She wanted me to go to Mombasa. She said she couldn’t wait to meet me in person, to go on dates, and spend time together.
And she wanted me to carry enough money to take her out and treat her well. I guess it’s because she didn’t have many such opportunities being a typical disciplined Mombasa girl.
“ When you come, make sure you bring enough money for our dinner dates, hotels and fun.
We can spend time at the beach, go out for dinner to Ukunda… just the two of us.”
I was blinded by my feelings. I was convinced that this was love, and that love could make anything possible.
“I would love to see you too,” I replied. “But it’s complicated. How would I even get there?”
“I know it’s far,” she said. “But I want you to come anyway. It’ll be worth it. Trust me.”
But while Nadia occupied my thoughts, something else gnawed at the back of my mind— Money. I had none. Also the idea of leaving the strict confines of my school was both thrilling and terrifying. I knew the consequences of getting caught were severe, but the thought of seeing Nadia, of holding her hand, of feeling her presence, was simply too much to resist. I began to plan, searching for a way to escape the school without being discovered.
The excitement started to fade, replaced by anxiety. Why? I didn’t have that kind of money. I was barely scraping by with the little pocket money my parents gave me each term. I was Young Dumb Broke high school kid. But the thought of meeting her in Mombasa—of finally being with her—kept gnawing at me. I wanted to make it happen. I needed to make it happen.
Whenever I needed a loan, it was just one person that comes to mind- Zak.
But this time there was something else weighing on me—a problem I had been trying to ignore. I owed Zak money, how can I ask him for more loan? Zak wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with. He was a tough guy from Nairobi, always hustling, always in control. He was in his 30s and had his own businesses running. He knew people, had connections, and had this air about him that made you feel like you owed him even before you did.
I had borrowed money from Zak during the last term holiday to take another girl, Najma, on a date. I met Najma during school “funkies”. She was from Wellsprings Girls.
Najma wasn’t like Nadia; she was a real girl, someone I knew from my neighborhood in Nairobi. She was smart, funny, and we hit it off quickly.
So, when the opportunity came for me to take her out, I jumped at it. But I didn’t have any money. That’s when Zak came in. He lent me some cash, no questions asked.
I took her on dates, trying to impress her with fancy dinners, shoppings and adventures. But things didn’t work as planned (Story for another day “Najma, the Girl from Nairobi”), and by the end of it, I was left with nothing but a sinking feeling and an unpaid debt to Zak.
Zak wasn’t the kind of guy who forgot things easily. He had been after me for weeks and months, calling and texting, reminding me that I owed him. I tried to avoid him as best as I could, but it was hard. The truth was, I didn’t have the money. I had no real income and no way of paying him back. But Zak didn’t care about that. He wanted his money, and he made it clear that he would get it one way or another.
Whenever I thought about Zak, a knot of anxiety twisted in my stomach. I knew I was living on borrowed time. I didn’t have many friends outside of school, and Zak was one of the few people I could turn to when I needed money. Every time I thought about him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen to me. But now that I’m in school I knew I was safe for the next three months- Alhamdullilah.
Now Nadia’s demand is here and I was desperate to make it happen. The thought of finally meeting her was enough to make me ignore all the red flags; No money and sneaking out of school . It felt like I was drowning, caught between two impossible situations.
That’s when I came up with the idea of a fundraiser. I couldn’t ask my parents for money—they would never approve of me traveling home during the school term, let alone to Mombasa. So, I turned to my friends in school. Teddy, Olal, Dale, and Muss—they were my boys. We had been through everything together at Koelel, and I knew I could count on them on ANYTHING.
Teddy was a character, the kind of guy who never took life too seriously. He had an insatiable appetite, always thinking about food and never passing up the chance to eat. Whether it was a snack from the school canteen or leftovers from the dining hall, Teddy would devour anything in front of him. But it wasn’t just food—he loved his alcohol and cigarettes, always managing to sneak a drink or a smoke when no one was looking. What made Teddy so endearing, though, was his sense of humor. He had a way of turning any situation into a joke, even when things were tough. His carefree attitude was contagious, and no matter how bad things got, Teddy could always make me laugh. It was no surprise that he was all in for the fundraiser, especially when food was involved. Teddy Kariuki.
Olal, on the other hand, was a dreamer. He had big ambitions to make it in the world of hip hop and become a DJ. Music was his life, and he would often spend hours listening to tracks, creating beats in his head, and imagining himself on stage, performing in front of thousands. But his passion for music was a constant source of conflict with his mother. She was a strict high school teacher who believed in academics above all else. She wanted Olal to focus on his studies and saw his love for hip hop as a distraction. The tension between them was always simmering, but Olal never let it get to him. He was determined to chase his dreams, no matter what anyone said. To him, the fundraiser was an opportunity to show off his DJ skills, and he was excited to make it a night to remember. To his mother, Olal was the perfect student. To us, he was the next DJ Khaled in the making.
(FUN FACT: Olal is now a top DJ in Kenya and goes by the name Deejay Laughter. You can check out his mixes, great stuff out there buddy)
Dale was the leader of our group, the one everyone looked up to. As the football team captain, he was confident, strong, and always ready to take charge. He was passionate about the game, and I was his star striker—the one he could always count on to score when it mattered most. We had built a bond on the field, a trust that went beyond just being teammates. Dale admired my dedication in football, and in return, I admired his leadership. He was fiercely protective of me, and he didn’t hesitate to support the fundraiser when he heard about my situation. For Dale, loyalty was everything, and when it came to helping a friend, he was always there.
Muss was different from the rest of us. He was a mama’s boy through and through, and he didn’t try to hide it. His mother was his world, and he respected her more than anyone. Muss lived in Gilgil, close to Koelel, and since I traveled from Nairobi, he took me under his wing. He treated me like a brother, always looking out for me and making sure I was okay. Muss was quiet, thoughtful, and had a heart of gold. He wasn’t the type to get involved in wild schemes, but when I asked him for help with the fundraiser, he didn’t hesitate. He understood my struggles and, in his own calm way, supported me through everything. His loyalty and kindness were constants in my life, and I knew I could always count on him.
We met up one night after lights out, huddled together in our dormitory, whispering about how we could raise the money. Teddy suggested we throw a party—charge a small fee for entry and use the profits to fund my trip. Olal was all for it, saying he could DJ the party and make it a night to remember. Dale offered to get us some snacks and drinks from the school, and Muss, ever the practical one, agreed to handle the logistics.
It wasn’t long before we had a plan in place. The excitement of pulling off a secret fundraiser in the middle of a military school added to the thrill. We were doing something forbidden, something risky, but it felt right.
