Category Archives: fiction

Cornmeal porridge

I love poetry. This might be because it is the only form of art that allows free expression. No rules, just heart-pouring. Being a poet, I often find myself thinking about things people never even notice. Yesterday, as I walked to church, I saw this beggar, sitting by the side of the road, whistling people to come close and drop something in his cup.

None came, all of them walked at a safe distance as if they feared he might pounce on their wallets. However, some came closer to the beggar and just as his hopes rose, they passed without looking his way. And I learn’t that those who walked at a safer distance were better that the latter who deposited dusts from there steps into the beggar’s cup.

I stood glued. As he kept calling, I imagined him shaking dust off the cup in while murmuring to himself “if dust was cornmeal floor, i’d have a cornmeal porridge”. And I moved past in steady strides, repeating the rituals of prior passers-by, church was waiting.

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Sibling Thievery

There is this thing we call sibling rivalry, Well, we never suffered from this disease in our family. We were more collaborative, so most of the time we got neck-deep in shit as a family. In fact, we suffered from a more powerful disease, It’s commonly known as sibling thievery!
My sister June Nyawade and I stole a lot of small things (note that ‘small things’ doesn’t mean we were cleptomaniacs) we stole useful things like maziwa, chapat, mandas, miksi and honey too. you see stealing these small things and getting away with it gives one a very addictive adrenaline rush, we started simple. we were just exploring our abilities and stretching our realities a bit but soon it became a game.
Being that my sister spent most of her days in the boarding school, I was left to exploit these opportunities at home alone. My favorite days were when father came home from Kisumo with two polythenes full of shopping, there would be honey, miksi, goldband and some other sweeties I have since forgotten what they were called…YOu see, I was no thief I was just taking liberties with things I was entitled to, It was the time of serving that I didn’t approve of, I was no thief I was just impatient.
It so happened that one day, I had come from school for lunch, as mama was busy in the kitchen I took my sister Dorcas, then still a baby to her crib but I didn’t stop there..I walked to the door and called mama twice just to make sure she hadn’t followed me.
‘Aaaan’ mama itikaad
At this point you have to be very creative
‘Nyathini pek manade kawuono yawa’
‘hahahahaha kwani ikia ga ni ng’at manindo pek’
‘ooyo mama afwenyo kawuono’
‘tim piyo, ilokna rombono kapok idok sikul’
Having made sure that the disciplinarian was busy, I hopped into her bedroom and opened the kabat..2kgs of Miksi just stood there waiting for me…my ooh my…no spoon! what do you do? cup your hands and do the scooping-licking, scooping-linking and then baang the bedroom door opens…and then history! I went to school without taking lunch…
From that day henceforth I swore not to indulge my impatience in absence of my accomplice, so when she came back we pulled the mother of all thieving.. we drank all the milk we were given to boil..when mama came back she found us very busy teaching Lucy some manners..Lucy was once a faithful cat, dare we call this corruption? Lucy was just a Josephine Kabura, the Waigurus were the ones ripping it’s skin off now..
‘yawa pakanani tinde osechako kwelo yawa’ is all mama said!
I know June Nyawade will say this is a lie
I also know That I have just fooled you!

Hearts Ripped In Throes of Passion

Charlie listened to her plans and knew he was in trouble. The pursuit had ended sooner than he expected. His was a cautious heart, still harboring bandages and stitches from a relationship he knew was destined to earthly heavens. It was now that he realized that he didn’t need a woman and all the pursuit he had waged was just under the illusion that she needed a nurse to dress the wounds that were causing him sleepless nights, but wounds of the heart need no dressing. They are to be left to heal on their own for even the hands of angels aren’t soft enough not to leave a bruise on delicate wounds. He was learning that if there was a concoction for healing a wounded heart then a woman wasn’t a part of it. The concoction would be made of three recipes; time, time and time.

“Babe, are you even listening?” Annett prodded.

“Yeah, we’ll have children, we’ll wed and we’ll travel the world on love’s back. What more have you talked about?”

“Babe, don’t be cynical about love, why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like this”, she twitched her lips. She was pissed off.

Here she was, trying to please a man who was too mean to pay her the least attention she needed. Why does it always have to be like this? Finally Charlie was proving to be worse in conversation than Kev she was ditching, but he had it all; all he sought in a man. He was well endowed, got looks to die for and was stable financially. Even if he was incompetent in other aspects, he would be worth the risk.

To Charlie, love was a grand illusion. It was a huge chess board, every player reading the opponent’s mind and hiding their next moves under their sleeves and aha! Their true intentions surface, too late for any defense. Good intentions floored as illicit passions take toll. And then ravens would perch on nearby trees, waiting for the opportune time to come down and feed on the vestiges of hearts spread on rugged earth, hearts ripped in throes of passion.

what d’you Blame Testosterone Or Lust

The secretary was summoned. She entered as I exited the boss’ office. She had a mini on and her juicy thighs were exposed to the ravaging eyes of the boss. Her lips moist with allure and her presence annotated with sweet scent of cologne. She swayed her hips in a manner that sent single men of my variety to a nostalgic frenzy tour of our past encounters with women half her charm. Her booty etched on her tight skirt, finer details of her underpants impeccably illustrated in tempting diagram. Every edge and strip sending wake-up call to morbid testosterone in sexually starved. The door closed!

I left. At exactly 8: 15 Pm I got a text. “May you please bring the key to your office, am changing locks”. And that job was gone. I knew she told him. It’s now five years since this happened. I am set to read this eulogy on Wednesday the 16th. Dear Boss we loved you but lust loved you more. RIP.

Theft is justified?

She sat across the table
Demanded to be told the truth
Then spat the rebel
“This is all I’ve done in my youth
Do I have a choice?
I speak they mute my voice
I tried to flee they crippled me
A bullet shattered my knees
I’ve got people to feed
Don’t you think theft is justified?”

U-Tube Manometer Drama

U-tube manometer drama

Madam entered, I was asleep but the tik, tik, tik, that was the evidence of engagement between her high heels and the floor got me bolt upright. I was drooling, but I still don’t understand why everybody was looking at me, had I made any weird sound? Or was it a hiss or an aroma, a spice or whatever it was that changed the chemical air composition that made the whole class to turn their heads towards my direction? I am yet to know.

Everything still as hazy, I was told to clean the chalk board and I did, That was whom I was; a very obedient student but never be fooled my only defense was what I baptized ‘the reverse mechanism’, I was physically weak and so staging a physical fight would have placed me in the front line of a death row. I never blamed God for that because he knew how to make up for the absence of biceps, shindumbu, masgwembe and six packs that he never bequeathed me on the day of creation. Apparently, I was late he was already heading for the dining when he saw me coming for my share of the muddy touch, so he created with a tim piyo wadhi attitude. My defense was my tongue and the words were the weapons.

The lesson began, as she turned to begin writing, I caught a glimpse of what apparently was to be displayed before my naked eyes yet I was supposed to refuse to see! I was only 15 but I knew a good ass when I saw one, the problem wasn’t really in seeing but what followed; not only did my eyes get glued but they tried to see what laid way beyond the rears and that left my mind in sort of lustful frenzy, fantasies crept in and I began day dreaming. If this has ever happened to you, you will know that daydreaming about a woman who is supposed to be your physics teacher is not only detrimental to your cognitive functions but also for your genital health. Such fantasies have a tendency of creating a bulge, inflammation, a lump or whatever makes pants adopt shapes that can only be known be known by Pythagoras at the fly. Now my heart was beating faster, I was now melting in my own lava but my main concern was to do all that could be done to conceal the swell that was getting bigger with every second (puberty, I hate you), I pulled the locker closer in a bid to do just that but that only made matters worse, the sound was horrible, she turned to look at the back, my ecstasy slithered but the package was still sickly hard, I thought she was going to tell me to stand up.. I was lucky.

She held the u-tube manometer and filled it with water then she opened her mouth, shaped the lipstick stained lips and blew the device from one orifice, water came spluttering out in suppressed turbulence onto her shoes, the class burst out in laughter, I did laugh too, but my voice was the last to be heard, the walls echoed the mockery with which that laughter was maliciously served, All eyes on me.

“Stand up”, she ordered.

I obeyed,

“Don’t look at me like your village girlfriend”, she fumed

And just as the rule of ‘reverse mechanism’ dictates, I chewed her cud and spat it on her face

“I wish you could match my village girlfriend” I chortled.

And that was the last time I learnt physic. I am still convinced I was innocently evicted from the class. Was I to blame? I blame it on the u-tube manometer mellow drama that placed full-stop on my physics assignment before the sentence was due.

Murder? Can’t Be

Marcel woke up from his drunken stupor, his muscles worn of fatigue, he stretched his every joint making such weird crackle. Pushing his blanket aside he struggled to his feet, stretched his hands and yawned releasing a nasty smell of yesterday’s rum. The sun was already up and the rays struck through his bedroom window creating an ambience he never really seemed to enjoy, rubbing his eyes he walked to the washrooms. He lowered his head into the sink letting water flow through his hair. He never cared to use the face towel maybe after pangs of hunger struck so painfully he couldn’t ignore them. He made his way to the kitchen, water still dripping from his hair making his back wet.

Even in his most weary state he knew his kitchen door is always locked, he held the knob and thrust the key into the keyhole but before he could initiate any motion with the key in the lock the door opened. Normally, this would be a big reason to worry but since yesterday was a day they had spent celebrating her son’s birthday his kitchen had got accessed by all who cared to step in there and so this was expected anyway. He lit the cooker and placed some water to boil, he opened a freezer from where he expected to pick a packet of milk but what greeted his eyes was quite fictitious if not frightening. In his freezer laid a frozen body of a boy they had spent the better part of the night searching for. Apparently Jose had opted to hide in the freezer knowing that none of the kids would find him and he will be the winner of hide and seek game they were playing after enjoying meals that were served at the party. However his winning plan proved torturous when his whole body became numb, maimed by freezing cold within his hiding hole. He might have tried to open the freezer but he couldn’t unlock it while inside and that only left him with a single option- to look death in its eye and maybe embrace it.

The police cells were cold and dirty, they reeked of urine and piss. At the corner of this cell where he was, a bucket filled with piss and urine was stored and who knows it maybe his turn to empty it. From the very day he got here he has got more reasons to dread it than he had anticipated. You can’t imagine how fellow offenders beat him up for killing a child. He had become a criminal of the highest cadre without even knowing it. His whole body ached from uncalled for beatings both from the police and the fellow criminals but that pain was nothing compared to what he was to go through.

Murder? Can't Be

He was still using every thread his mind could hold to knit his niche in this world he had been forced to live in when the officer came to the window and shouted his name.

‘Marcel Kwong’ he shouted. But when nobody answered all eyes roved on him, partially because he was the only freshman. He neither moved nor talked.

The officer flashed him a bilious look before shouting his name again, almost insanely. He awoke from his lost state of mind and answered ‘yes Afande’. That earned him some ‘knee therapy’ after which he was frog-matched to the visitors’ room. When he saw Jose’s father he went to his knee and swore, ‘I didn’t kill your son’. he looked at Marcel in the eye and for a moment Marcel thought he didn’t hear him but when he spoke he spat venom,

‘I wish you accept my solemn gift, I will make this earth a furnace for you even if it will cost the last drop of my blood’ he paused and then ‘I will kill you, just like I killed your wife’

and then he left, leaving him being ripped apart by the venom he had spat on him. What a lie he had lived, Matt was his best friend or so he thought but now this revelation opened his eyes, he wasn’t a friend anymore but a villain the world was delaying to deport.