The East African Story

Of Deadbeat Dads and Runaway Fathers

But you see, you are my son. You will be my son. Always my son. And I know that you have the special blood that runs within my veins. No, son, do not get me wrong. We are not in the lineage of akina Albert Einstein. We are not geniuses (I think at this point I should speak for myself). I have nothing much to offer and claim credit for and render me a genius. Just some useless blog and an old pair of shoes, which has been eaten lugubriously by the Nairobi tarmac. But son, unless your mother will come to me with the babe, guess what phrase, triggered by the boiling hormones and a treacherously clinging blastocyst from another man (This happens a lot by the way son), you have my DNA in you. I see a shapeless head like mine, carrying mild and shy eyes, an ugly smile, and a chipped tooth. I see a mind that looks deep into things and comes up with the bigger picture. In you son, I see a guy who has seen and has experienced more than his age can accommodate. A person, who through observation, has lived ahead of his time and back. Son, I believe you can handle this. Partly because, you have no choice and partly because there is no simpler way of putting things to do with the deadbeat dads and runaway fathers.

I Almost Died for My Country II

On the day I almost died for my country, we fetched the water and started our journey back home and we discovered that more people had evaporated into thin air. The wonder in our heads just alternated between two theories. Either they escaped or they died. But that remained to be seen. We had a more urgent matter to deal with. As we were crossing the road, a rowdy group of youth was running towards our direction. Agitated barrels were exploding behind them. The pinching sensation of teargas had caught up with us. that was when we realized that Houston had a problem! We pushed out bike loaded with 40 litters of water up the hill as fast as we could. But just before we could cut the corner, the helmet-head saw us! He began to raise his AK-47. We disappeared into…

I Almost Died for My Country

But since its about the day I almost died for my country, I will tell you about Vicky. His name is Victor Omurwa. He identifies himself as a kisii or Omogusii. At the age of 13, he had held the record for the most skillful Pool player in the A thousand streets of Oyugis. Yes, Oyugis also has a street with such sobriquet. And yes, it is sometimes called K-street. At around the same age, he had already styled his hair into 24 hairstyles. He had fried his hair using balataglo, he had put culkit (that thing you do so that your hair looks like Joseph Hellon’s), he had shaved marine, punk, Jordan, Mohawk. He had even tried kibaki style. You know. He had done it all. It was another record. In 2007, he had rasta. Dreadlocks. Okay in short Vicky

Nature is Hell

Beating the dust off your Capellano, you walk majestically towards the apartments as Njoro’s Kwashiokor infested car diarrheas its way along the dusty alley, waking all the children having their afternoon siesta in the neighborhood. But that is none of your concern.

Domestic Violence II

One hour passes. Mum hasn’t arrived to school. She is your class teacher. She will stand before you and other children. She will teach you guys. Like morning never happened. Three hours pass. She isn’t there yet. The first lesson goes. Second… third. No mum. You are in fear. A fear too dangerous for a kid. You imagine mum was murdered by domestic violence. She finally gets into class. She heads straight to her desk.

Domestic Violence I

How I wish this pillow was black in color. Hospitals should set rooms with dark things for people who have lived dark lives. Anyway, white will do for now. With one foot slightly supported by the bed and the other acting as a pillar rooted to the cold ICU floor, I make my last move. A move of Power. Finally, I am the powerful one in the room. I am enjoying this! But wait…

There is nothing powerful about domestic violence

Dear Future Ex III

You see, my dear. Unlike the other letters, this one is full of sweet nothings and ridiculous pet names. This is proof of the kind of progress through which I have gone ever since that day. I found my lover. My soul mate and friend. I saw you in a different light my dear. You became the most beautiful creature I know. My lucky charm. Guardian angel. My muse! Whenever I heard your voice, the higihaga feeling in my heart equaled none under the sun.

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