Water Please!!!

Equinox casually saunters into my neighborhood on a fine Saturday morning wearing a bathing suit and those fake ray ban sunglasses I see advertised on Facebook, being the good person that I am, I offer it a seat and we immediately strike a not so good convo. The good oll’ K.P.L.C on the other hand feels rejected and a bit sidelined so it decides that it’s the most appropriate time to cut me from the power grid, so that means no A.C or any such thing that provides cooling. The two individuals engage in a superiority battle and it’s at that point when a stroke of genius comes calling; I discover that I have been having a tummy ache for the past week and decide to pay the doctor a visit.

The pilgrim journey to the hospital is one filled with three angry and ferociously blazing suns that leave no part of my body untouched by their hot unromantic rays. I unceremoniously appear at the hospitals reception stinking like a stagnant lake of perspiration that given the time and chance I would freely donate my body to medicine students as a cadaver save for my very expensive ‘camera’ dress bought in the deep seated and cube like stalls of Kongowea market and some two hundred shilling heels I bought at night pale Ngara during the pre-colonial period that have changed color from white to a shade of brown after one wash.

In to the doctors I go without farther ado. Doctor Kinuthia is a fine young man probably in his late twenties with a properly contoured chest, clean shaven, well-manicured nails and a baritone voice that has a slight influence of his mother tongue.  Had he not attended medical school he would have used it to woe young girls somewhere in the heart of Kirinyaga County. His baritone voice is smooth and just as pleasant as a new boxer motorbike; enough to send you into emotional overdrive. He goes ahead to use his hand to perform some tummy squishing magic and am relieved when he rules out  pregnancy( how could I be pregnant when the last time a specie from the opposition last talked to me decades ago. It’s good to be positive sometimes though.) He however sends me to the lab for tests to rule out any infections.

The lab hand I find is not as interesting as the doctor and I can’t wait to be over and done so I can go back to Doctor Kinuthia; my new found love. She requests for two things, my blood sample and that number two thing. I look at her dazed and wonder what could be wrong with her. Could she be conspiring with that nurse who looked angrily at me so as to defame me? Had she noticed my crush on doctor Kinuthia? Why had she not asked for a pee sample instead? Anywho, being a member of comrade power, I know better than to hold banners and placards to protest against the said instructions.  So I stretch my arm and the precious red fluid is sucked into a one litre syringe and then grab the biohazard container for sample number two.

Distance and vectors become applicable when I strategically position myself several footsteps from the loo with the task at hand a bit uncomfortable and almost impossible. Why are these doctors so interested in my poop? Murderous thoughts run through my mind. I could kill someone with a zip lock bag and stuff their mouth with the bio hazard container and break out to freedom; just like that. Nothing attempts to come calling. So I continue sitting there, 10 minutes, twenty minutes, nothing. I have attempted all avenues of producing anything for the doctors’ diagnosis. So I continue sitting. The white washed walls tell a story I can’t really understand so I find comfort on the soundless telly placed somewhere on the high wall, complete with a metal cage and a padlock. Who is interested in stealing a 12 inch TV that has seen worse days than kizza Besigye?

So I continue sitting on that seat, that very seat and watch with a tear stained face as other patients come and go. The pharmacist keeps stealing glances at me with suspicion etched on his roundish face, probably thinking of the extent to which I doubt his manliness (which I was actually doubting) and the big black bag strapped on my shoulders didn’t make the matter any better. Everyone is cautious these days you know. At first I also stare at him with contempt, and then remember there is another person close to me who has also over sat in that waiting lounge and a wicked smile spreads across my constricting and contracting visage.

Everything goes blank when I finally feel that solid mass descending my large intestines; I get excited about it, invite me, myself and I to a celebratory party and forcefully inhale to give it momentum, fast landing. It gets to the rectum and I’m satisfied with the results. So I rush to the loo to download and obtain the long awaited, master of ceremony sample. Real happiness I have there for a while.

I complete my business, use lots of tissue and stuff some in my bag happily as a pledge of allegiance to the Kenyan ladies tissue grabbing association. Who doesn’t love free tissue anyway? I hear shuffling of feet and decided to hurry up and give room to the next patient whom I wish has the same problem. My gorgeous hands reach for the cisterns flash and nothing comes out; no water. I’m left between a rock and a hard place, how do I exit the loo? What will the next person on the queue think when they find my excreta that smells like 100 rotten diapers mixed with 44volts acid from a car battery? Believe me when I say Satan is no small boy.

May the mighty warriors of Israel who released the ten plagues on the Egyptians release their wrath on every infidel who conspired in terminating the water supply to the loo.

ooh well

A slightly creased but clean pair of shorts, a clean shirt, well-polished black Bata shoes ( in my days those were designer shoes mammeen) and a pair of knee high socks were this boy’s trade mark. He was always neat, spick and span. He was the kind of boy who showered and did laundry daily as opposed to his counterparts who partook of the ritual on a weekly or worse still a monthly basis. Being in a boarding school is tricky my friend. He had this poise that spoke so much about him even though he was just fourteen years old. He was an A student and his interactions and discussions with other high ranking pupils and teachers reinforced that fact.  He was the kind of pupil who read supplementary science and other encyclopedias while the rest of us especially me did not understand what the hell webbed feet were so we avoided the book all the same. A prestigious national school was his ultimate destination and nothing was going to neither dampen his spirits nor put him down. His entire day was spent deep in books unlike other boys his age who were out in the field playing “lifundo” yaani a ball made out of plastic bags or paper bags for those of us yet to catch the western cold. He spoke with authority and his word was close to final. He was my definition of perfect. He kept crossing my mind at times when I should have been deeply engrossed in my studies or enjoying my sleep in the middle of a science class.  In layman’s language, he was my crush.

Puberty had just set in and a lot mysterious things were happening to our small bodies. It was interesting to see how skirts started shrinking on the sides and baby avocado like things grow at the front of the girl’s blouses. Girls who wore bras or boob-tops would get glances from the male fraternity and were envied by other girl’s big time. Boys on the other had developed rough casts in the name of faces and to hear a slightly deep and groggy voice was a plus for them. God works in mysterious ways I tell you. My small ‘man’ had already undergone most of this metamorphosis and I would sneak glances at him just to get my little heart the spark it so badly desired. He sat two desks behind me and I watched as he flirted with other girls oblivious of my presence in the big room full of funny looking wooden desks. I longed for a day he would brush himself on me as he conversed with the girl who sat next to me, he would have to apologize and that would be a conversation starter as absurd as it may seem. It was evident that he was after her so it meant that I had to try harder to grab and retain his attention. That fact doused my heart in ice cold water even more.

Years passed and we were in high school about to start our final exams. He had been accepted to a national school and I had been relegated to a high ranking provincial school which meant that our acquaintance had been cut short nonetheless. As true custodians to our traditions, sending the good old success cards to wish our friends and loved ones best wishes in their exams was a must. I had racked my brain over whom to send a card to since sending or receiving a card from the male spectrum of society was a plus. Viola!  He re-emerged from the corners of my mind. But there was a problem. I was not sure whether he remembered who I was or if he would be kind enough to give me a call after bravely jotting down my phone number on the card (there was no better way, at least at that time). I was determined to get to him no matter the cost and effort it required. It took an oversized investment of courage and Isaac Newton kind of thinking to put the ink on paper and mail the card.

Sitting far away from civilization in my village home, I had totally forgotten about him. Then that call came through, he introduced himself and laughed with sarcasm over my stupidity and impending lack of digital migration techniques. For a minute I was ashamed, embarrassed and did not know what to say. I was dumbfounded and tongue tied to say the least. I didn’t know whether to be annoyed at his remarks or just play along. Anyway, whatever I did worked in my favor. We hooked up on several occasions. We became great friends. He was the best I had. For a moment, I was in my little heaven on earth. I was on a rollercoaster powered by a whirl wind of emotional overdrive. The kind where you forget your mind and throw your brains in the dumpster

On that fateful day, I made a trip to the big bad city to work on some summer camp things. I had not seen him in a while so it was only fair that we hook up and enjoy the spur of the moment while it lasted. It was a Friday anyway so we had to let loose. We went to a diner had a meal and enjoyed some music along with some drinks with me staying true to my Fanta orange lane. I can’t be tripping you know. Minutes morphed into hours and It was getting rather late for me to walk alone to the east side of town. Being not so conversant to the town, I let him take the lead. He suggested his place; I followed him like a lamb even though my heart was not at peace. I had never been so close to a man my entire life. It was strange that the entire universe was blocked and only the two of us existed.

We got to the room, took a shower and changed into night clothes. There was only one bed so it meant that we had to share. Sharing is caring, right? All this while, a thousand thoughts are going on in my head.  Will morning come to pass? What will he do to me? Will he harm me? Lucky for me, he was tired from pitch practice earlier on and had dozed off as soon as his head hit the bed. My heart stopped its rapid pounding and found peace. At least I could catch some sleep. I dint know what to do with him had he been awake. As the night grew old, he moved closer and closer. I was scared to even breathe.

Then I heard him speak;

“Wake up I want to leave…”

“But why” I said, afraid of being left in an unknown location

“I can’t stand it here. The pressure is way too much”

I was not ready to let him go but he meant it. I had to give in.

Things moved on smoothly until he became silent and quite. We rarely talked. Conversations became interrogations and the spark was lost. Not knowing what to do, I probed him on and on but he was still unresponsive. I had done my best to make things work. God and man were my witnesses but the “die” had been cast and he was not looking back.

The Struggle Is Real

It’s a Friday evening and fate decides that its time you bump into some of your college mates somewhere in upper hill. They are doing good judging by their demeanor and overall appearance. They have on sir Henrys suits, Tom Ford shoes and ties from Italy- Wall Street kind of dressing. Classic men if you ask me. You cuss your god for allowing such a thing to happen at a time when your shoes are so dusty and have taken another angle with the acrid smell of sweat emanating from the depths of your body notwithstanding. You could have used some deodorant in the morning had it not been so scarce that you spare for ‘special’ occasions.

They drag you to a fancy upmarket eatery and offer to shoulder the bills because you look somewhat disturbed and disillusioned by their presence and your surroundings. The look on your face is now into a thousand shades of unreadable emotions. You chose the cheapest meal, that which you can pronounce right. You don’t want any more embarrassment any way.

They talk of big meetings and projects they are currently pursing. Most of them have businesses and are entrepreneurs as they call themselves these days. You don’t have anything to say so you just sit there taking in notes like some kind of P.A. it’s not your type of conversation any way. You only thrive in discussions that involve mama mboga escapades, the latest chang’aa dens or tricks to ace boda boda trade.

They get engrossed in their conversation over the ever rising stock exchange rates and the trips they can’t wait to take come December. You just sit there consuming space and oxygen not relating to anything they say. Once in a while one of them looks at your to get your opinion and suck you into the discussion but soon forgets your existence and again get sucked in on a topic on the current war in Syria and how Kenya is without doubt turning into Greece. You don’t have much to say and excuse yourself to visit the wash rooms.  You wonder what they think of you and your lack of knowledge on the current status coo. While at it in the loo, you give yourself a couple of chest thumps to reassure yourself that you are still the ‘it’ man, but there is a tiny voice deep within that says otherwise.

You return to the table only to find one of them discussing how he is about to propose to a girl with a budget spiraling to the environs of two million Kenyan shillings and over. You transition into a daze as you calculate what that amount could do to you and your entire clan; it could buy vaccine for your favorite cow Zawadi that gave birth last week , buy your old lady some fertilizer for her maize farm and your house would have the luxury of donning some seats. It could spin your life around in the blink of an eye to say the least. You have no girlfriend so you also device a tact to woe one. These Nairobi girls are difficult. They want someone who’s got something in the bank, you mumble to yourself.  That’s when it hits you that the only account you got is an M-Pesa account and that is because it’s free to open. You also can’t remember the last time you received or sent any cash.

They suggest visiting the club to unwind and know you can’t deny because you are just 27 and if they remember right you were one of the party freaks back in the day; which is not so long ago. You hastily oblige but walk behind them like their bodyguard to the preferred location. In that uptown club, music is blaring from humongous speakers as sweet smelling, well-endowed women and girls dance to the rhythm of turn down for what by Dj Snake ft. Lil Jon. The only thing you can do is fantasize about an encounter with one of them. You are too broke to fall in love anyway.  You are roared back to life when two of your ‘friends’ suggest buying a round for everyone and then everyone has to sort their bill afterwards. You sit there and wonder what on earth pulled you in. In your pockets there is just enough to get you back to your almost empty house in the heart of Kariobangi. It’s also getting rather late, so you hope the bus fare won’t be hiked. You utter profanities hoping your assailants *read tout* would do no such thing. That fact leads you into hoping that some hood rats don’t decide to wipe your house clean.

They suggest you take pictures for some memories but the state of your Huawei ideos does not think so. The scratches and bruises it has can’t be displayed to the elite public in your company at the moment. In the first selfie, you look so lost and without doubt the odd one out so you opt to be the ‘camera man’ insisting that the photos would look better since you are an “experienced” photographer.

It’s time to leave, you bid each other farewell and exchange rather incomprehensible pleasantries as everyone other than you hope into four wheelers and roar them to life as they take off to their respective destinations. Your face remains glued to the ground and hands in your pocket as you trace your way to the bus stop somewhere in downtown. You walk without looking back; the way a man does after urinating by the road side.

Will it get any better?

Campus hostels had been my home for the past three years or so. The news and fact that I was about to clear school and subsequently leave for the unknown was met by a set of mixed reactions. It meant that I was finally going to apply the knowledge I had acquired and probably earn a decent salary from it, but it also meant no more pocket money, free swimming pool sessions, regular food at the school cafeteria, random escaped out of school and happy hour moments; chicken wings and cake were and still are my favorite. I know you are wondering why class work is evidently missing from my list, who likes classes anyway?

“mkimaliza shule, msikuje kwangu tuanze kushindania choo…” that’s what mum always said. It simply meant home was out of bounds for over eighteens. She emphasized the fact that over eighteens were only allowed to “visit” her home. So, I had two options; find a housemate somewhere and apply some business in terms of cost sharing or board “msamaria mwema” and head over to the village I was harvested from. The later notwithstanding, I choose the former.

The frantic search for a roof over my head found me at the doors of Mathew; Jason’s elder brother. Jason was and still is my partner in crime, my confidant, he knows me like the back of his hands (call it friend-zone level 100). He is a cool guy but way too cocky for my liking. I lost count of the number of times we were sent out of class for laughing, chatting or lack of concentration altogether.( other outrageous sins intentionally left out).If I ever get arrested or go to jail this nigga will sure be behind it. Being the darling that he is, upon hearing my story he was more than willing to help me out, so he hooked me up with his ever grumpy but cute brother.

It took a lot of effort to convince him that my stay at his place wouldn’t result into any casualties.

“Any friend to Jason is a disaster” he kept repeating.

His sentiments were 70 percent true but I was too desperate to back off. The thought of being relegated back to the village dint help either. He miraculously accepted to house me but not without a set of ridiculous rules and regulation I was supposed to adhere to. He insisted that the toilet seat was to be left up at all times, no telly past eleven among other outrageous things.  This one is something else I tell you.

Days slowly matured into days with nothing eventful happening. We lived like stranger. No talking, just HI’s and byes. Not that am not attractive but hey!! He hasn’t made any advances, which is unlike most men his age. I have to do something soon jeez, singlehood is way to boring.

Lakini God has a way of testing people ptho!!.

So this morning I woke up unusually early and carried my lazy bones over to the kitchen to kill my hang over from last night’s party at Jason’s place. It was pin drop quite for a Saturday morning. By now Mr. Nicks kids are usually out in the porch playing and making the most noise they can. Thank God for this quietness though. They would have made my headache worse anyway.

Seated on the kitchen island flashing back to yester night event and enjoying my cup of coffee, a seemingly well-built object decided to block my view; it was Mathew. The morning sun rays literally illuminated his body highlighting his best features, from his angled jaw, to his strong tattooed arms , to his perfectly chiseled cheekbones and dimpled cheeks ( auwww, how cute).He wore nothing but some old gym shorts that fell just below his hip showing a thin trail of hair that disappeared down his groin. I imagined his lips on my boobs, cheeks, neck, lips; my entire body in totality.  Apparently today is when I noticed all this features on him. Was I falling for him? Was he trying to play mind games on me?

“God damn it” I whispered in my breath but he was able to catch it.

He looked up, smiled and pulled his shorts back up. You should have seen the embarrassed expression on my face when his gaze met mine. It was worth the look anyway.

By now, my lady parts had been reacting in the same tingly sensation as that at Jason’s place when he near enough had me tucked under his arms; I leaned into him without realizing it. The more I stared at him, the more I thought of some hot and steamy tongue hockey.

“Did you make anything for us Bree?” he said.

His voice had never been so romantic until now. This boy had given me something addictive. How comes I had never seen this other side of him?

“mmmhhh” that’s all that came out of my mouth.

He looked at me smiled and walked back to his room.

“Damn it Bree, you really need to get laid” I made a mental note.

Just Rants

So that day you gave him some cash and almost immediately work sprung up in Nairobi and he had to go. The next thing you saw, was him hanging out in KFC!!, KFC for crying out loud. Come on darling ‘broke’ people go to Altona not some fancy up market eatery. Oh wait, point of correction, broke people go to mama Atieno’s food kiosk, Altona is way too expensive. The worst part of it is when he came back narrating to you how his date with that other girl went. Coming to think of it, has he even taken you on an actual date?

Has he ever asked you how your day was? Can he even call? Or what he does is just send you some “please call me’s” and you smile sheepishly as you dial his number. Does he know your middle name, your fears, your strengths, weaknesses, ambitions and what note? Is he aware that cancer scared you out of your skin last month? Has he seen the pain in your eyes the past few days or what he does is just drown you  in himself, himself and more of himself? Is he even your friend in the first place? Just because he manages to steal some ‘babe “this “babe “that doesn’t mean anything to him. It’s just a word anyway.

He has no respect for you in the sense that he picks phone calls, answers text messages and visits social sites when you are around him. He does so without excusing himself; the last time I checked, phones were meant for our convenience not the person on the other end, unless you were a Gyna or a fire man. Which, clearly he is not. So you think he’ll fall for you just because you bail him out. Mmmhh Babe, it doesn’t work like that. Just because you take his shit, doesn’t mean he will do the same for you sweetheart. He will just suck the life out of you.

His talk is all so mixed up. This guy is a scum.  He is not so straight with you.  Today he says he wants to get ‘serious’ with you and the next day he says the only thing he wants is a fuck mate; little girl , have you been reduced to that? (The way I know you, I know it hurt so bad; He threw daggers at you but somehow you still entertain him.) You claim to cling on him because you think he has gorgeous eyes and a cute smile, but I know it’s because you are afraid of losing him and going back to the drawing board means that you have to start another perilous journey towards this thing called ‘love’. I don’t understand how your heart works jeez.

For a while you dint considered yourself worthy, then he came in and showed interest somehow. You are afraid of being left alone, but if you ask me, you are dating yourself. So accept and move on sweety. Ooh, need I remind you how you spent the last 20 something years just to find yourself? don’t waste any more time just to learn to understand and accommodate anyone else. The past few months have seen you change for him, you have been playing different roles and lost yourself in the process.( I don’t understand you anymore.) Do you have to lose your mind –again so you can find yourself?

Don’t close your heart too soon too. God is testing your patience, after all he doesn’t give us more than we can handle; he knows you are up to the challenge. But if you ask me sweetheart, just move one. Something’s are just not worth the wait. The world is a big place, you will just find another homo sapien who will love and treat you as per your worth.

Ooh, before I forget, Yester night I saw him with another girl, they were all over the place.  He told you he would be working late, dint he? Ooh and he had all this cash and was making it rain. Did he also tell you he was broke and asked for some kind of soft loan? Now you know darling. He has dragged you into the mud but you still can’t see it. Wake up and smell the coffee.

But, don’t you worry darling. He will re-live his mistakes wake up from limbo and discover that he lost a gem while scratching garbage.

Go where you are celebrated not tolerated

Twisted in the wind

“Given a chance would he still be my father?”  My little boy clasped my hand. He was on his hospital bed down with pneumonia. His body was so pale and he looked almost lifeless. The past week had seen us out in the cold with nothing to neither eat nor cover ourselves up. I looked at him and my eyes squishy swelled with tears. He was a little boy and I did not want to lie to him neither did I want to keep the truth away from him. We had come a long way and this was not the point to ruin our relationship.

His father was my high school sweetheart. He impregnated me right after college admission. My dad being thunder did not want to hear anything about it. Someone had to be blamed and Mum had to take his entire wrath. He claimed that she did not raise me in what society termed ‘perfect’. As a result, I was sent out of home to fend for myself and my growing tummy. It was not easy. Everyone had an opinion about my morals but no one cared to take me in and give me the courage to face yet another day. I had to get two jobs just to keep him alive.

I went to him; he didn’t want to see me.

“I have a dream to chase and not you nor that thing you are carrying going to stop me”

“I will only provide a roof under your miserable head, nothing else”

Those were his words. I didn’t believe him until delivery time. I was alone. It felt cold and hopeless. God knows i had not bargained for that. Jealous eyes watched as people milled around other women in the maternity ward. I had no one by my side. I had to practically do everything for myself and the baby; save for well-wishers who would step in once in a while to help me out. It was helpful and I appreciated it, but it didn’t bring the closure that comes with family.  I longed for someone to hold my hand and tell me that it was going to be okay. I wanted reassurance that it was going to be fine but no one came.

My little one was born. He was the only company I had. He gave me peace and love only mothers understand. He was my imperative to live. We had been through a lot. We knew what it meant to sleep out in the cold, we knew how it felt to go without food and without doubt knew what it meant to be locked out of the house and how it felt for strangers to immediately take our place in what we once called home. Life certainly has an uncanny way of playing favorites.

He wanted an answer but I was not ready to pick a side. This was the man who gave him life and was without doubt determined to take it out of him.

3 Broken pencils

I quickened my pace as I entered the train station. Mike and Sofia were tagging on my dress to keep up with me. John on the other hand was panting heavily and I could feel his presence from miles away; the smell of his musky cologne by now had shadowed the entire place. (He looked so good too; he had been working out or something). He had done it again and was asking for forgiveness and another chance to make things right. The look on his face was pale and spoke volumes of frustration. I wanted to turn back and make peace with him. This little heart of mine amazes me at times. But then that would be the gravest mistake I would have ever done under the sun.

He liked his shirts with the top buttons open and the sleeves rolled up to reveal firm arms. I always imagined him shirtless. His face was perfectly carved into perfection; God took time on this one. He always looked and smelt good. His kisses kept drawing me closer in toxic excesses. They were so full of life. He touched in a magical way like no other sending all touchables into disarray. His strong grip had a way of sending flushes all over the place; I always fell to my knees. Let me not start with the voice… ooh Lawd. He had made me a wrecking fireball, a robot at full charge.  I was hooked.

But…I caught him with Stella, again! and this time round the story was all so intimate and elaborate. Church wedding plans were already underway.  He wanted to make things formal with her. Apparently he had “killed “us in a grisly road accident in some remote area, she said. I’m made of thick skin but this time round he had managed to douse me in ice cold water. He can’t blame it on the alcohol like he has always done.  It was his doing, his own making.

The kids were old enough to understand the goings in their environment and had now grown resentment and anger for their father; Mike thought he was the coolest dad and Sofia couldn’t finish a story without him, but he had chosen to “kill” them. I could see their hearts literally breaking down. They were hurting and it pained me that I could do nothing to ease their pain. What had we done wrong to deserve all this? The home we built together can no longer stand.

The clinking and clunking of the locomotion engines doused my feelings and tears. They transported me to a nostalgic place; the walks in the park, random lunches and dinners, naked Sundays and family Fridays to mention a few.  I crawled through the shadows of time and all the good moments and memories we shared just flew by. It was the end of a fairly odd paradisiacal torcher. We were officially on the run, destination unknown.

I hope I remember to forget him.