Category Archives: friendship

Of Poets, Weed, and Balls

Yesterday mi had a lengthy conversation with a poet I respect. We’ve walked the streets of Nairobi with him. We’ve eaten snacks from roadside vendors together, and we’ve also eaten at prestigious hotels where he mostly waited for me to serve so that he could have not only the same dishes but also the same quantity.

He’s a brother I hold close to my liver, you know, he’s one of those few wise men you want to consult when you’re stuck.

One time in 2015 I had Sh.200 only, and he had an event somewhere in Westlands so I asked him what he’d do if he were in my situation, he told me to buy food. He reasoned that events come and go, but hunger doesn’t understand the human language of negotiation.

He’s that real!

So, yesterday, he called, and we talked for about 45 minutes. Guess what we were talking about?

Balls!

He was concerned that all I do is talk about the balls and weed, and not writing poetry as I used to. He told me so many veteran poets have reached out to him, and at one point they had this ka-meeting discussing how to ‘help Agak get back on his feet because he’s fallen from grace’.

Lord, people care. And it’s assuring. I don’t take it lightly that poets of repute held a meeting to bring me back to the Agak they knew. Yo, that’s not concern, that’s love. And you gotta be grateful for such people.

But me, I haven’t fallen from grace yo. I might write about balls and weed and girls and everything withing the dark side of morality, but damn, my head works fine.

It’s just phases. One time you’re the poet, other times, you just want to sit yo ass down, light a spliff, and get wasted. Now it’s the phase for balls and weed, and I can’t know what I’d be doing tomorrow, but if my balls and weed posts worry you, I assure you, I am fine.

The balls are fine.
The weed is good.
And when these two are alright, then life must be good.
You, may you have people who genuinely care.
#Rollanother!

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Black Queen

There she was
The black sheep of the class
She neither belonged
Nor felt at home
She was alone in a crowd
She was lonely too

Nobody dared speak to her
So she nibbled her nails
To remind herself of her existence
Or to converse with herself
After all she’s three in one
She too knows the power of trinity

A language she spoke
But none of them understood
Or paid the least attention
Mute and dumb they assumed she was
How language can be so limited to words

And then they beat her
She cried painfully
As tears streaked her visage
The others kept mocking her
And I rose
Sauntered towards her
She came running into my arms
And she sobbed and sobbed
Silence prevailed
And she fell asleep
In a stranger’s arms

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Janarobi Is Home

It all began here. Good intentions spelt in creased faces, friendship bred in warmth of smiles and brotherhood submerged in wine glasses like ice pellets. Odhis jararobi was home. As the custom is, janarobi had to ‘untie youths’, so he got them together and kanyaseme they went. These days kanyaseme is the most popular of all the breweries. Other breweries had had their share of darkness and were ditched. Each brewery had its own way to collapse but kanyalego brewery’s collapse is the most memorable. It was said that she used bilo, charm to siphon customers from other brewers and all this came to light when Bonke discovered that Nyalego used a dead man’s arm to stir he brew instead of cooking stick. That discovery tainted the image of kanyalego breweries, consequentially customers ditched followed by investors who couldn’t invest in a crumbling pillar.

They sat down on benches at the feet of Nyaseme’s hut. After he got filled on what was happening in the village; who had died of AIDS, who had divorced, who had married and who was remarrying it was his turn to tell them how Nairobi was fairing.

“Nairobi is going how?” asked Omengo as he straightened his arm for the bottle.

“Nairobi is going well” the answer came before he filled his glass.

The conversation took a different twist when Alanyo interjected;

“I hear ohuru is really castrating you Nairobians, you pay for water, rent, light. He paused, and then with emphasis, is it true you pay to piss?”

“Yes, Bwana there life is hard. Everything is money. We pay to eat, we pay to piss and if the constitution is abolished then we shall have to pay to breath”. Odhis answered as the rest jerked in laughter.

“Where is Lucinda these days?” he asked

“Lucinda went to Uyoma, he got pregnant, I hear she sells fish at Aram Market”, Oduno answered between muffled giggles.

As the rest laughed, Odhis just spat on the ground and in a raspy voice, “suits her, I wanted her but she refused. She told me she was studying to go to the university. I didn’t know it was university of Lake Victoria”.

Omengo who had been quite spoke. He stuttered. If bits of his words were to be joined, he would have insisted that janarobi had to leave his timberland boots, his hat and his shirt for him. He was completely floored by the brew; he was now blabbering and dominating conversations. Soon all of them followed suit and their conversations turned to choruses and insults.

It was well past midnight when Nyaseme threw them out of the compound. Everyone staggered home, or where he thought home was. Odhis woke up at about 5:30 am in a ditch. He had no shoes on, his bones ached and a terrible migraine was shutting him down. And he leant that not everything distilled is water and chang’aa isn’t just any other distillate.

Greedy Bastards

Greedy Bastards
I trust people, but I trust my pen more
For nobody sticks when palatable turns sour
It’s only my pen that drips in sorrow
A friend I can count on for tomorrow

These smiling faces
Are just painted vases
Homing dead roses
Bro, BFF but they depart
When your world is torn apart

I’ve got your back so they say
But they laugh when life strips it bare
Their talks barricades your every way
As they hide beneath ‘because we care’

You walk barefoot in bonfires they’ve lit
They backbite of your wounded smelly feet
With empty goodbyes they leave
To tell of how stuck you’re in deep shit

They’ll have you for their convenience
Your naivety, their greed; a perfect blend
Selfies, for what? Reminiscence?
When all they did is watch as you bled!

Off My Chest

Sometimes it takes a little more than age and gray hair to understand situations. The fact that you saw the sunlight before I did doesn’t make everything I do wrong. Actions are not really the problem but rather the intentions behind them…And who said I don’t have my private life? I am an open book as you said. Covers already torn, read me but never edit what you never authored in the first place!