Beautiful endings

Enjoy things while they last, because everything ends. Death and the nature of humans promise just that, endings. My grandfather lost my grandmother at old age, he had three wives, but he wept for losing one.

Still, that was a beautiful ending. I love beautiful endings. Pray for a beautiful ending, not eternity, because that doesn’t exist.

Search Party for Balls

Folks, it’s been devastating these past days. Juzi, I left the balls hanging on the cloth line. I had washed them, and they were pretty happy about it. When I came back past curfew, the balls were gone.

 

So yesterday I reported the matter at the Dagoretti Police Station. They gave me an OB, but they’ve done nothing to help me get ’em balls back. I suspect my neighbors. And I don’t trust the Babylon boys with ’em pair of tongs.

 

I hereby send a solemn plea, can I get just 3 people to join the search party for ’em marbles?

 

I try, but it hasn’t been easy yo!

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Morning, no fighting spirit left, but the balls are bubbly like a puppy.

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!

Getting to Know Achieng’

How well do you know Achiengs?

 

Achiengs are firstborns, even when they’re not. Achieng will be the sibling helping you to find your socks in the morning when other siblings have left for school.

 

She’ll be the one taking care of her sick mother; running around soliciting funds, back at home changing adult diapers and fixing catheters, and making meals and catching the bus to the hospital at visiting hours. It doesn’t matter if she has ten siblings, she’ll always take care of her parents as if she’s the only child.

 

They have a heart of gold.

 

She’ll be the sibling in whose house you can crash for unforeseen number of days when you lose your life’s bearing.

 

My sister June Nyawade is a testament to this, I can’t even count the number of times she shared her pocket money with me because our father never gave us, boys any money while in school. And when it was time for me to have my own crib, she’s the one who gave me the means. She was still a student!

 

But Achieng is a no-nonsense woman. She can be militant if you want her to be.

 

She’ll be the one knocking the neighbor’s door off the hinges because she’s heard a child is in distress, or a woman is getting a beating. She can risk her life for a complete stranger.

 

Achiengs are activists by nature. That’s why they name themselves like freedom fighters; Achieng Otieno, Achieng Omondi, Achieng Odindo. You’ll read her name twice just trying to figure the kind of mayhem she is.

 

Achieng is an incredibly strong woman, both physically and mentally. She can be there for you when you least expect. If you need money from Achieng but she doesn’t have, she’ll make calls to her aunt in Oyugis, Asembo, or her boyfriend in USIU, and you’ll get the cash.

 

When Achieng loves, she loves with everything. If Achieng loves you, you won’t even need a house to hit her genitals. In the village, Achieng can even hold an anthill for you; you hit the thang from the back and life goes on.

 

And they love this sex thing. And they don’t hide it. What she wants she wants, and you can’t use her love for a good dick to manipulate her!

 

Your beloved Vagina Mouthpiece is Achieng Omondi. Had to be an Achieng!

 

Also, a husband can’t scare her. If you’re married to Achieng, and then you begin playing games, you’ll be chased from your house with your clothes in a Nigerian bag.

 

Lastly, Achiengs are not lacking in beauty. In a pool of 10 Achiengs, 7 of them will be beautiful. Look at my homie here, Emma Nyar Asembo, isn’t she beautiful?

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Morning, it’s a good day to make money, but the balls won’t get out of bed.

Weed Kills!

Do your balls play?

Morning, we slept well. The balls are playing hide and seek now. It’s a funny game in a limited field. Here’s how they do it. One ball moves up the mound of flesh up the pubis, and the other has to leave the sac to find it. 😂

You should hear the giggles they make when they collide with each other.

Hilarious.

What if Babies Came with a Return Policy

If children came with a return policy, most of you couldn’t have lived long enough to spell your names. Parents could have been too empowered to raise any wayward, ill-mannered kid.

You break a glass, return.
You hurt another kid, return.
You steal sugar, return!

I’m doubting if we’d be having new parents in 2020. This whole generation couldn’t have lived. It makes me laugh because most of you couldn’t have known Corona.

Nor read about these balls.

Now, think. Could you have lived?
Or you’re a factory defect?

Middays are nostalgic

I love middays. Just when the clock strikes noon sharp. Sauchiel meant every mother was in the kitchen preparing something for us, kids.

You’d hear a mother asking a pupil;

‘Omondi, iduogo chon nadi, en sauchiel koso oriembi?’

And Omondi would answer with a starved voice, chocking on his anger because he knows his mother depends on this woman for time. Omondi’s parents didn’t have a radio. It meant his mother wasn’t even back from the shamba.

Midday splits your day in half.

When I was a serious man with a serious job, it was the time to take stock of the day; what I had accomplished, and what more to do before the day ended.

Today, midday finds me too stoned to take stock of anything, but when I miraculously do, it will be about the pleasures of wasting oneself. It’s a mixed thing you know; on one side you want to take stock of the pleasures you’ve got and how you can’t sacrifice them for anything, but on the other, is a biting conscience that you had so much potential but smoked it all away! Still, midday is midday.