Yes We Can by Maina Ndugo - HTML preview

DEPORTED

Michael Njeru, a 22 year old Kenyan deportee kicked out of America, struggles to get his life back on track through rapping and selling drugs.

Chapter 1

"Mike, I got customers at the Nuthouse who want some of that good stuff. You got some?"

“What do they need? I have some colors and snow"

“Awesome man! Come to the Nuthouse, second floor. Hurry bro!"

Michael Njeru Njoroge shoved his phone back in to his pocket then reached for the black Sony subwoofer and loosened a couple of screws so that he could take off the back. He took out a small blue round plastic container and some sachets, screwed back the subwoofer and bolted out of his spacious apartment. The Nuthouse was just a block away from Cypress Court, his apartment building located at Emerson Street.

Loud, intoxicated clusters of students milled around the entrance of the Nuthouse. Cigarette and marijuana smoke ascended lazily above the heads of a different group of students near the parking lot. Just a typical Saturday night outside the Nuthouse except the brightness of the full moon, against the backdrop of ever changing stellar constellations and occasional meteorites. Mike made his way past them quietly and squeezed through the crowded narrow steps occasionally turning his head to greet a few acquaintances. The grey and narrow corridors were lined with inebriated couples smothering each other with sloppy kisses while others had advanced to second base with their intense groping. The floor was littered with cigarette butts, empty beer bottles and crumpled red party cups spilling swills of cheap beer mixed with discounted spirits. Mike took out his phone and was about to call Paul but was interrupted with a sudden grab on his left shoulder.

" Mike! You got the stuff?" Paul asked. His whisky laden breath stung Mike's nostrils.

“Do I?" Mike replied with a mischievous grin.

The Nuthouse was built over twenty years ago to provide accommodation for the staff who worked in the busy upcoming shopping center in Greenway Village. It had four one bedroom flats on each floor and built with red bricks. There were small restaurants, bars and shopping malls targeting the rapidly growing student community and these humble establishments expanded with time and as a result, the campus town stretched its boundaries wider. The rising demand for student accommodation made the Nuthouse's owner to rent out apartments exclusively to students. Unlike the nearby apartment buildings, the Nuthouse had the prestige of hosting some of the most memorable campus parties whose history was passed down from one generation of University of North Carolina Wilmington’s freshmen to the other.

They squeezed their way through the shadowy cramped corridor and Paul took a left to a quieter side of the corridor. They stopped at door 11A and Paul pushed the door open. Mike's eyes swept all over the living room filled with pretty ladies in short, tight dressess gyrating to Kelly Rowland's Motivation while their male companions held on tightly to their slender waists. It wasn't as teeming as the staircase and corridors and there was a pleasant aura of maturity and sanity in this gathering unlike the ratchet hooligans throwing up in the corridor and staircase.

"Don't just stand there, let's grab some drinks as we wait for her" Paul said and Mike followed him towards a large table near the large window next to a small bunch sitting on large blue velvet pillows lazily blowing thick strawberry flavored sheesha.

"This is the jackpot!" Paul roared and his semi open blood shot eyes instantly rejuvenated. They both counted eight bottles of Grey Goose lined up in front of the other liquor. The drunken duo agreed that the heavenly vodka deserves every fiber of its prestige. Behind the vodka stood a diverse cluster of Johnny Walker, Smirnoff and Tequila. Who wouldn't kill to be here?

Mike took a half full bottle of Grey Goose and poured some into a red party cup. He mixed with some green lime and walked away with the bottle in his left hand, while he sipped from the party cup. He walked to the sheesha pot and took a few hits then turned his attention towards the lovely blonde in a black and white dress on his right. She constantly giggled and choked on the scented smoke whenever Mike leaned close and whispered in her ear. He leaned in closer towards her neck letting her perfume fill his nostrils as he exhaled softly behind her left earlobe and her soft, elegant and warm neck.

Suddenly felt a gentle tug on his t-shirt and slowly turned round away from the blonde.

" Are you Mike?" she asked.

Mike stared back blankly at her then it suddenly hit him that she was the customer Paul had brought him to see. He withdrew him skinny arm from the blonde's shoulder and turned round to face the short pretty lady with a small purple butterfly resting on her long black curly hair.

" That's me. What do you need?"

She bent her knees and leaned closer to Mike while glancing left and right to confirm no one was listening.

"I need some Molly," she said, blinking fretfully.

"I'll be back soon,” he whispered in the blonde's ear then rose from his pillow.

It was obvious that the customer was a newbie who had never encountered a dealer. Despite his intoxication, Mike couldn't help noticing her fidgeting and paranoia since she glanced left to right like she was making sure no one was eavesdropping. It made him annoyed because nervous newbies drew unnecessary attention to themselves. He took a huge gulp of fiery vodka from the bottle in his left hand and swung the door open for the slender, chocolate skin lady and followed right behind her as he shut the door.

She was about 5ft 5 just a few inches shorter than Mike who stood at 5ft 7, he also observed she was not wearing heels. He finally pulled out the small blue plastic bottle and took a couple of small round bright red pills with skull and crossbones engraved at the centre.

"Ten dollars each. How many do you want?"

“Five, I guess" she whispered as she fumbled her hand in her glossy red clutch.

Two Caucasian lads left the apartment and saw Mike with the curly haired female. The guy in a red Nike hood approached Mike.

"Got a lighter?"

Mike felt a sudden overwhelming and intense sting on his neck as the unforgiving and rasping volts of electricity penetrated his neck for about ten seconds. She returned her taser back into the red clutch and stepped aside for the men to carry semi conscious Mike out of the nuthouse.

"Hello?" Paul grunted

"Have you seen Mike? His phone's been off since Sunday and I've just left his place but he isn't there. "

"Can't you wait until morning to look for him?" Paul replied as he yawned

"Dude, it's nine a.m. Are you high?" Larry mocked.

"Later you fool.”

Paul's eyebrows shot up in dismay when he glanced at the time on his iPhone. He kicked away his bedding and bolted into the bathroom for a quick cold shower and jumped into the same pair of grey bleached jeans he wore the previous day. The skater threw on a red long sleeved t-shirt that had small skulls intertwined with black gothic roses printed on both sleeves. He tucked his iPad safely in his faded black denim backpack and rushed out to catch up with the new day.

No one seemed to know the Mike’s whereabouts since that crazy weekend at the Nuthouse, three days ago. At two p.m, Paul Meadows had a thirty minute lunch break then went to the Market Research 303 class in the Center for Innovation and Entrepreneurship, the newest building in campus. This amazing work of architecture bore the latest features found in modern, technology savvy high end complexes. Its strategic location gave the best view of the appealing rich lawns and an aerial view of students walking, jogging or skating on the concrete maze of the campus paths. The steel door elevators were double the size of an average elevator and it had a touch screen instead of regular buttons inside. An hour had elapsed since the lecture began and Paul's attention shifted to his missing friend who never missed class. Where could he be? He endured listening to the long sedative lecture on the different theories of market segmentation and a surge of long awaited relief rushed through his veins when the Lecture said "See you next week".

Paul asked for a ride to Greenway Village from a friend in the previous class. His idea was to go to a couple of pot dealers where Mike frequents and ask whether they had seen him.

Two hours later, he returned to his apartment stoned and still clueless.

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