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Officially 29

If at all shit had gone according to plan, I would have been in Kisumu over the weekend. But no, it never did. With me, things can fail to go to plan any minute. Before I get to the destination, my presence there is not guaranteed. I can go cold turkey on anyone or anything at any time. I do it often.

Only fools don’t change their minds and I ain’t no fool.

I had called my mum and told her, “I am looking to come this weekend, though I am not sure.”

“Well, just do what you want.” See, my mum is just like me. Or is it the other way round? “If you in the moods come, if not then just let it go.”

Well, I had been in the mood until she told me I have an option. I started looking for reasons not to go. In that very point, the roommate asks me, “I heard you say you will be traveling.”

“Yeah, but now I am not sure,” I said

“You don’t have to. Kwanza hii si weather ya kutravel.” She said

Ladies and gentlemen, nobody wanted me to travel. So I dropped it.

Yet again, on that very weekend, if at all shit had gone according to the next plan, I would have been at the Tuskys BuruBuru having some stupid lunch with a chick. She decided to stay off the whole day.

Ohh boy wasn’t that a good one! Me being stood up. Imagine missing traveling home only to be stood up by a bitch. I am used to being stood up though. I have been stood up before. It seems I do allow them much time to realize they are too good for me.

Most times I feel sore when stood up. Everybody does. But on this fateful day, I was lucky someone went missing on me, coz now I am at a café with a beauty I am meeting for the first time.

A peek in the mirror at the top of the table we occupying, you would notice the wavy front part of her hair dyed golden, giving blackout to the rest of the laid back dark parts. She moves her hand, and for the first time, I notice the slim silver watch she has on. At this moment she is hysterically reacting to something I have just uttered. She has been howling with laughter most of the time.

I suppose I should tell you how we got here.

The other day my guy called me informing me that he had given some bird documents I should be picking for him. “Man I am busy,” I said in a bid to be convinced more. It’s something I just do. “You know I won’t find time to get to her.”

“You definitely will.” He said. “You know what else you can do apart from picking the documents. In fact, that’s why am sending her to you.”

I was surprised coz my guy had outlawed me from getting new catches. In fact, he had threatened to tell any lady I brought around, that I was happily dating. But here he is setting me up for a goddamn date. He thought that only one person is right for me.

Anyway, I said yeah without divulging into that. When your guy gets you shit, just know it’s real.

“In the meantime, I doubt if you will like her that much.” He said

“What do you mean?”

“We both know that you can barely stand anything without boobs.” He was chuckling, “Though the figure compensates for any loss.”

Today I don’t want to talk about boobs. I am not in the moods. I don’t want to talk about the things they do to me. I will just brush over it. Okay, boobs kill me. They sure do. Those are sacred stuff and I can only talk about them when I am well in the moods.

Well, here we are at the cafe grazing on some fries and soda, the entire good figure, pretty face and all cracking at my jokes.

She has a white dress with black flowery spots, allowing a good view of the good pair of legs, her skin the color of coffee, she has a little scar on the forehead. She got it from a bus accident in high school. You would think scars made people look a little scary. No, this was different. It looked so damn fascinating.  It made her look even prettier. I would look at it intensely in the mirror than I would when I looked over the tip of her glasses.

We talked for long. Way past the time we had anticipated. I enjoyed the time we were together. We parted ways and said we should do that often. I was looking forward to it. I really was. I wanted to see her again. And again. And again. Do you get what I am saying?

Later, from my usual weekend drinking sprees, I gave my boy a buzz.

“How did it go.” He asked.

“What has she said?” I reverted. I don’t know why I like answering questions using other questions.

“She said you are handsome, though young.”

These are a set of words I am used to hearing. I just didn’t believe they were from her. I was concerned with the young part. We talked some more with my guy trying to analyze the meaning of that review. Until we agreed I talk to her.

I gave her a buzz. We talked for some time. I ran out of airtime. We reverted to WhatsApp. Drunk as I was, I felt excited that I could at least get my spellings right.

You are lucky if I ever drunk call you. I only do that shit if I like you hella lot.

“I want to ask you something, can I?” she texts almost immediately. I knew what was coming. Just wasn’t ready to face it.

“Allow me to ask you a question first.” I reverted.

“You have to answer this first.”

I gave the green light.

“How old are you?” I was still giving it a thought when she adds, “be sincere.”

It’s obvious that I was going to be nothing but sincere if I answered. My only problem was the question itself.

Guys we have talked about age before. I gave you a lot of shit about how I don’t give a fuck about age and all. I thought we were done. But you guys never felt the same. You felt that I should find some young lass and settle with. That might be what seems right, I accept. But somehow right just doesn’t happen to me. I keep attracting older people. I never plan these things. They just happen. Maybe it’s an abnormality with me. I don’t know.

Anyway, after some rounds of dodging I tell her, “I am turning 12; I just act way out of my age.”

Yeah, somehow I think it’s true. I act way out of my age. Several people think am 26. At times I have passed for 30 (a nightclub). Personally, she thought am 24. How wrong can people get?

“Get serious.” That was her telling me to cut the crap. At least she was not like these other dumb blocks I am used to in my contacts. Most people I talk to are dumb. I can get away with several dumb answers. I am also dumb as fuck.  Barely 3 people in my contact list aren’t dumb. Plus this, now 4.

“It’s me you want na unanijibu hivo. Do you think it will work for you?” Ohh boy wasn’t she riled up!

“I am just trying to be me right now. I don’t know how to be serious.” I said.

We went through some more messages until we got to another pothole on the road, “Are you ready to settle? You look very young, you have like 10 more years with different girlfriends to finally settle”

I said yes. For settling. It cracks me up when I think about it.

The thing is whatever she asked me I was set to say yes. Even you could have said yes. Every time I remembered her cute legs. I wanted to scream yes. How I wanted to meet her again. And Again. And again. I was going to say yes.

She would ask me to have a pencil in my eardrum and a finger in my throat at the same time. I would say yes.

So guys listen, let’s forget all this crap about having breathed the air of the earth for almost 23 years now.

I am officially 29.

Si 29 sounds better than those other years? It looks like a resting place in the growing age where you rest and take one last look at your life and vividly see you now want to settle. By that time one has faced all the shitty talks from parents, relatives and friends alike on the need to get married.

Ladies my type out here want serious people who are ready to settle. I am now that guy.

So what do 29-year-old guys do in their pastime? Do they drink from Thursdays to Mondays? I want to learn the craft of being 29 years old. I want to speak like they do. Think like they do. Though I hope people still don’t go to church at that age.

But definitely, a 29-year-old wouldn’t ask her mum whether to travel or not.

Are they already losing hair from the middle parts of their heads? That shit’s ugly as hell.

Or guys, just get me a manual on how to be a great 29-year-old.

In the meantime, I have sent her this. For the past 24 hours, I have been waiting for her to be online to see it as I wait for my fate. Maybe that might help build my case.

I only did that when she refused all my advances at meeting one on one again. I know how to handle stuff one on one. But guys I told you she isn’t dumb.

New Lewis Martin birthday update; 01/01/1989.

No Other Pain Like a Mother’s

By Tracy Achieng

I am not much of a storyteller; I’m more of a reality escapist. My mind more often than not drifts into a safe zone where we live in a perfect universe, and all our hearts desires are possible. I know this does not exist because when my niece was born, my mama said ‘welcome to the cruel world’ more than once. My sister and I thought it was funny that she thought to say it more than once, but thinking about it now, I don’t think she thought about it. I know it just slipped out of her mouth.

 

A month has not passed since we celebrated our mothers with paragraphs and paragraphs of heartfelt messages that were probably downloaded or just written without thought. You know, the cliché, ‘a mother does not only carry you for nine months in her womb but forever in her heart’ quotes. Don’t get me wrong, I am not against it, it’s your world, and I am just living in it.

 

I don’t know what motherhood is to you; I thought I knew it all until I had to accompany my sister to maternity. I thought I knew what it meant when the good Lord said, ‘I will greatly increase your pains in childbearing; with the pain, you shall give birth to children’. I thought I knew what to expect when we parked and left the house for the hospital.

 

I was wrong.

 

Guess what, even after the whole experience I had with my sister, I still don’t know. Public hospitals are shit holes, we all know that but I don’t think you know how deep the pit goes in maternity wards and just the same way a choir cannot learn by listening, you too cannot but I’ll be singing anyway.

 

The beginning was easy, all I had to do was be patient and chatty, both of which I have learned to score straight As at when need be. Nurses just like in any other public institution in this country were serving people based on ‘kujuana’, and even in as much I couldn’t take it, I had to bite the bullet because who wants to create a scene in a hospital? Finally, it was our turn, my boiling blood cooled back to room temperature. Once admitted, however, I wished the nurses had cut the line some more because now I did not want to leave.

 

The ward is set up such that three women share a single bed until labor elevates and you are moved to another section for close supervision. On arrival, the majority of the women were at the latent phase of their labor, conjuring a little chat over a plate of white cabbages and ugali.  One of the women suddenly launches complaints about the lack of salt on the food. Then another jokingly replies, ‘Na hii pressure iko hapa, hawaezi weka chumvi’

 

Moments after my sister settled in, the security guards come in to get all visitors out. I kept asking my sister unnecessary questions. More so if she’s comfortable or thirsty like I could change any of it. I only left after assurance of her being well and the prospect of being embarrassed by the guards.

 

You can imagine my displeasure when I returned in the evening only to find my sister the exact spot and condition I left her; uncomfortable and thirsty.

 

I could only solve the thirst. The discomfort was caused by one of the women, a girl of about seventeen stretching from the pain forcing my sister and the other woman to be cramped up at one corner of the bed. This girl was sweating and groaning from pain and her mother kept calling the nurse on duty who kept saying she’s coming, but she never did. This went on for about an hour, and the nurse finally checked out at seven without attending to this girl. How cold can humans get!

 

Among the new team who had just got on duty, there was a tall, handsome doctor with full beards and fluent Kiswahili to foot, who the girl’s mother approached. He came over alright,

 

Umewahi fanyiwa upasuaji kabla ya leo?’

 

In my mind I was like, from the look of things, it’s obviously her first time here.

 

Hajawai fanyiwa upasuaji’ the mother answered

 

The doc in a sarcastic voice asks the mum, ‘Basi shida iko wapi? Kama ni uchungu, acha iongezeke ajifungue, ama wewe unaonaje?’

 

My mind was having none of it, in my head I was like, “dude what is so hard in doing a quick check up to see if everything is fine, aren’t you here for the service of these women after all?”

 

So bad he was also not a mind reader, so he walks back to his station and even before he gets there, this girl’s mum opens up her daughter’s dress, and I kid you not, I see a child. Yes! You heard me right, this girl delivers on her own in a hospital without the help of the caregivers, and I am in utter shook. I scream in shock and walk out, drawing attention and people from the waiting area rush to see what’s up.

 

I feel tears rolling down my checks, a lot is going through my mind; I am starting to blame myself for even bringing my sister here in the first place and how such a smoking hot dude could be so cruel and careless, (like looks matter) and did I just see a newborn child just now? And why are they so white? Then I remember I did not hear the child cry, so I rush back in. The bed has been sealed off and people were complaining to the nurse in charge.

 

She rudely says, ‘its okay, a child has been born, and that is what you are here for anyway’

 

“No, not like that!” I am almost yelling.

 

The security guards walk in and cut short this whole fracas by sending visitors out. I walk home muttering to myself how I have to move my sister out of that hospital tears rolling down my checks, wondering where we went wrong as a country.

 

The next day was less eventful; my sister got induced before I could move her, in the evening the pain increased. I did not want to leave her alone, but then again I did not want to be there when the pain got worse, I was scared. So I hid behind the curtains that were beside the beds, sat next to her and puffed up my trench coat, so it looked like I was also pregnant. This act worked until 8.30PM when suddenly from nowhere a woman started screaming. She ran from the nurses’ station and fell intentionally on the alley separating the latent phase section and the active phase section. She was crying so bitterly like she was in a funeral. Everyone was now watching her; one of the nurses was calling her by name, telling her to get off the floor.

 

She was repeatedly cursing, ‘Siku ya mwisho, Mungu mbona umekubali akufe siku ya mwisho!’

 

And I thought her daughter’s child had died because she seemed older and when I saw her earlier, she did not look pregnant. Turns out, her child had died inside her, and the nurses had just told her. I am not in the medical profession so I don’t know how such things should be handled but when my father passed and the maid waited outside the gate to inform us immediately from school, I could feel cruelty. The very way I do now. Again, the security guards came just in time and noticed I was not pregnant; they whisked me out.

I got home and went straight to bed. Instead of putting my phone to charge, I dreamed that I did and when I woke up at 4.00AM, I found it cold.

 

I had a message from my sister. One word;

‘Nakufa’

 

I died, I could not make sense out of it, and I did not know exactly what it meant. At that very moment my mother calls, she had the same message; both had been sent at 2am. My head couldn’t stop spinning. I didn’t know whether to go left or right. I don’t know how but I convinced myself to take a shower before I left.

 

Still struggling with the door locks, mum calls yet again;

‘umeshatoka?’

 

‘eeh, ndio ninatoka’

 

‘Did you pray before you left?’

 

I started sobbing, why would she ask if I had prayed. She managed to shush me before I hung up. I prayed, I kept saying ‘Lord, let your will be done’, like Jesus on the cross. I did not know what to ask for because I could not imagine that the text meant my sister was actually dying. I got to the gate of the maternity ward at 5.00 Am, the watchman was sleeping, and visiting hours were not due until due 6.00 Am. These people were strict, I did not know what to do, I walked in and stood in front of him, then he moved and made a sound, but he did not wake up.

 

The policy is when you walk into the gate, your hand is stamped and they check for the stamp when visiting hours are over, but I did not care, I tiptoed and went to the ward. Majority of the people were asleep except for those who couldn’t because of the pain and my sister was one of them. The first thing I noticed was she was not wearing a sweater as cold as it was, all my fears of her dying disappeared, it was the pain talking in that text. She had been in labor all through the night, and the nurses kept telling her she was not ready.

 

I was crying, not knowing why, all the nurses were asleep. No one was checking on any of them. One woman in the next bed kept telling me to rub her back, I did except all my attention was on my sister. One of the nurses woke up and I had to run out so she couldn’t see me. I walked back in as my sister was saying how she thought the baby was coming, there was no nurse around so I had to walk her to the delivery room myself. While I waited outside, more tears were rolling down my cheeks, I did not hear her cream or the baby cry, but moments later a nurse walks out and says

‘It’s a girl.’

 

The first thing I did is call my mum.

 

Still standing outside, as the cold wind hit my face, one thought kept crossing my mind.

‘We couldn’t possibly appreciate mothers enough!’

 

 

 

Sexanigans

Ed Sheeran’s club is not the best place to find love so the bar is where I go is definitely not your regular Kenyan line. It is just out of sync with you, the typical Kenyan man.

Keeping that mind, can we have a chat?

Of late I am a regular in a bar, in fact they are almost knowing me by name and favourite spot. The only problem is I don’t talk a lot. I keep cool and stay humble, mostly because I am never the buyer. In fact, one time a bar maid came over to me and notably enquired, “Mbona weh mtulivu hivi?” (Insert Tanzanian accent). The spirits from the bottle were already having conversations in my head so I just flash her a smile and chuckled. She however proceeded to ask, “Kwani weh ni pastor umekuja night service?”

Thank goodness my sponsor was at hand to pick up the conversation. Those guys in my head were having a very heated debate and I was enjoying it. I didn’t want to miss the point where one was going to lose then wear a smirk face and hurl, ”maybe we needed better judges next time!” Before adding some unprintable terms to foot it more. People are yet to learn to take defeats in grace.

Fast forward to this fateful day, I am in my second favorite bar, keen not to drink too much as I am not yet over my hangover from the other day. I had become a wreckage of a person. My guy had got me a whole mzinga (anyone who buys you a mzinga doesn’t like you, they don’t have your interests at heart, keep them forever). Thanks goodness it was a bit pricey alcohol. I did not wake up cursing alcohol. And please I don’t want to hear about alcohol limits and shit.

I am in the company of a lady with the skin of groundnuts, donning a greenish dera that flows to the ankle, with a white tuburn on the head, and a stud on the nose. She looks like she shouldn’t be here, until she opens her mouth to get out an already alcohol altered speech. She speaks a lot and anytime she says a Luo word or phrase she interprets it to me. Guys I told you I look more like a Russian than a Luo you couldn’t get it.

She seems to be taking a keen interest on me as she suddenly slips to my side then says, ”I am Violet, what’s your name?”

Yours Truly, and I am taking you home with me tonight. My Samantha is broken so maybe I would use some drunk hands for a change.

Now this is the night I realized I can be a Lewy, Lewisky, Lewiso, to one person in a single night. All this time the lady is showing clear intent, or maybe she was just enjoying having my alcohol. But in my mind I was like, ”please not tonight, father take this bird away from me, you don’t have to let this happen to me the second straight day without hitting the shower. It would be a shame if you let her win the third straight month before I take a shave. Please, please this is not the night.”

Pap! My prayer gets answered instantly. A fight ensues.

A man is holding with an intent to crush the throat of another guy and people are frantically moving to separate them. But why are they fighting? They are fighting over a lady. At last one is thrown out while the other remains throwing curse words around. I believe that decision was made solely on the likelihood of purchasing power. I drink at cheap places, where the so perceived big purchasers can be that desperate.

Apparently the lady being fought over is an acquaintance to this lass and she had to go check if she is okay. I could enjoy freedom again.

“Bwana mimi, mimi mtu asicheze na mimi. Me naweza ua mtu. Huyo boy mngemwacha tu na mimi kidogo, sahi roho yake ingekuwa kwa mkono yake,” the retained man direct that to me, immediately he settles on the seat next to me that by now, had become vacant. I ignore him! I wasn’t going to massage his ego. He turns to the next person and says that very statement, and to anyone else in the bar who would care to listen.

Sitting next to him was proving worse than accessing a site that takes ages to load. So at one point, I am like maybe this man is truly infuriated and he would sure be holding this other guy’s heart by now like he threatens. So maybe I need to talk to him lest I become the next object of intent.

“Kwani huyo boy amekukosea sana?” I asked him for lack of a better way to start the conversation.

“Eeh bana, na me nakuambia huyo mtu ameponea sana.”

“Shida iko wapi?”

“Huyo mtu anacheza aje na mshichana wangu!!” He retorts while repeatedly stabbing her chest with the index finger.

“Kama ni mshichana wako basi hiyo hata mimi naona hauko vibaya sana.”

“Me akianani ningemuua!!”

Have you seen a drunk man curse before? Most probably yeah. Most of them with issues do it a lot. Like this one.

“Sah ulileta mshichana hapa na mtu akakuja ati anasema ni girlfriend wake?”

“Hapana nimempata hapa. Na ananipenda.”

“Anakupenda yenye mnaenda kuoana?”

“Banah Kwani weh uelewi hizi vitu. Me namwoa aje na niko na bibi kwa nyumba. Hii tu ni kitu ya sahi”

Okay, let’s get this right. So a man is swearing all over that they will indeed kill someone else over a basic bitch in a bar for sex? Well, talk might be cheap, but I saw that guy hold his nemesis’ neck.

For what again!

A whole new level of being DUMB.

Here is the thing, I believe there are things that you are allowed to kill someone over. Like when you have a ridiculously ugly head shape like me here, then they tell you to your face. You are allowed to collect your arsenal and come clear someone. When they get boring, kill them before they kill you with boredom. It’s self-defense. But never about sex.

Sex is one of the most overrated acts in this earth.

Sex cannot build you anything worthwhile. Sex will not help get our forests back, meaning we will have sex and still die of drought. Sex cannot repay our national debts. It can’t even cure procrastination. Sex does not give meaning to anything except to sex itself.

To kill over that?

Again why would you kill or injure someone over something that is overflowing. There are times one will experience dry spell for months and wonder even if it’s possible for a man to have sex maybe once every month. But that point when you will have three people in a day, and you never broke a sweat to have, is when you will know how valueless or worthless this shit can get.

Also is somebody’s life worth something that you can be able to achieve with your own hands? As long as you have a good internet on your hand, and a lubrication on the other, then you would have achieved your way to ejaculation land.

Well, let’s say you hit someone over a lady and you win. You proudly get your slay on the chopping board only for the tools to fail you. It happens! You work hard, you do everything right, you have been touched well, and the weapon of massive destruction is rearing to go. The atomic bomb wants to down Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Then one word or one phrase, and the flag goes immediately from full swing to half must to zero.

Ohh boy, will you not get frustrated! Nothing frustrates like a penis that is flaccid and numb in the face of a welcoming vagina.

You will try recalling all the atrocities you have committed before, the hands that might be working against you, and even ask imaginary forgiveness for the first lady whose heart you broke. Just like that, you would have hit your fellow man for what’s not worth it.

I understand there is this phenomenon on good sex. That it possesses you. It messes with your thinking. You see people do things unimaginable, like sell a prime family land in Kitengela to come spoil a lady in the city. I don’t believe it’s love. It’s the sex. I mean, good pussy will make you beat another guy for just looking at her.

Well, that is a different case, excusable by all measurable standards. How about in a case where you have just met a bitch in a bar? You fight your way to stardom, you leave your guy behind writhing in pain and cursing ever drinking. You make the good man sin by contemplating leaving alcohol (punishable in the court of wrong men) only for you to end up being taken to Lake Victoria you swim for a whole night.

Here is where we officially discard the Ed Sheeran lyrics. We are not going to find love in the bar.

Men we must stop being selfish. Let’s learn to share. Like when we get to a point where we want the same thing. Let’s talk about it. Let’s agree who between us it suits the most and why. If at all you hit a dead end and you can’t agree on either side. Go ahead agree on a three some. Some new experience won’t hurt. By the end of the day you will all be good to go.

It’s also not like you are even going to invent anything new when having sex. There are only four sex styles, and that won’t change today, the next generation or forever. We have the missionary for we the boring types. Girl on top for those trying to enjoy sex. You will go the doggy way to avoid facing your mistakes. Ultimately a variation of all of those when trying to be a fun person.

Some of us have a proven record of prosperity being side guys, more than being the main shit. So we can always talk and agree who is worthy of being the side guy and who takes the crown at side nigga.

By the end of the day let no man hit, contemplate killing or even do any harm to another man over some 10 minute (yeah I don’t do a lot) strokes.
PS. I never miss a chance to have sex. some drunk hands for a change.

Now this is the night I realized I can be a Lewy, Lewisky, Lewiso, to one person in a single night. All this time the lady is showing clear intent, or maybe she was just enjoying having my alcohol. But in my mind I was like, ”please not tonight, father take this bird away from me, you don’t have to let this happen to me the second straight day without hitting the shower. It would be a shame if you let her win the third straight month before I take a shave. Please, please this is not the night.”

Pap! My prayer gets answered instantly. A fight ensues.

A man is holding with an intent to crush the throat of another guy and people are frantically moving to separate them. But why are they fighting? They are fighting over a lady. At last one is thrown out while the other remains throwing curse words around. I believe that decision was made solely on the likelihood of purchasing power. I drink at cheap places, where the so perceived big purchasers can be that desperate.

Apparently the lady being fought over is an acquaintance to this lass and she had to go check if she is okay. I could enjoy freedom again.

“Bwana mimi, mimi mtu asicheze na mimi. Me naweza ua mtu. Huyo boy mngemwacha tu na mimi kidogo, sahi roho yake ingekuwa kwa mkono yake,” the retained man direct that to me, immediately he settles on the seat next to me that by now, had become vacant. I ignore him! I wasn’t going to massage his ego. He turns to the next person and says that very statement, and to anyone else in the bar who would care to listen.

Sitting next to him was proving worse than accessing a site that takes ages to load. So at one point, I am like maybe this man is truly infuriated and he would sure be holding this other guy’s heart by now like he threatens. So maybe I need to talk to him lest I become the next object of intent.

“Kwani huyo boy amekukosea sana?” I asked him for lack of a better way to start the conversation.

“Eeh bana, na me nakuambia huyo mtu ameponea sana.”

“Shida iko wapi?”

“Huyo mtu anacheza aje na mshichana wangu!!” He retorts while repeatedly stabbing her chest with the index finger.

“Kama ni mshichana wako basi hiyo hata mimi naona hauko vibaya sana.”

“Me akianani ningemuua!!”

Have you seen a drunk man curse before? Most probably yeah. Most of them with issues do it a lot. Like this one.

“Sah ulileta mshichana hapa na mtu akakuja ati anasema ni girlfriend wake?”

“Hapana nimempata hapa. Na ananipenda.”

“Anakupenda yenye mnaenda kuoana?”

“Banah Kwani weh uelewi hizi vitu. Me namwoa aje na niko na bibi kwa nyumba. Hii tu ni kitu ya sahi”

Okay, let’s get this right. So a man is swearing all over that they will indeed kill someone else over a basic bitch in a bar for sex? Well, talk might be cheap, but I saw that guy hold his nemesis’ neck.

For what again!

A whole new level of being DUMB.

Here is the thing, I believe there are things that you are allowed to kill someone over. Like when you have a ridiculously ugly head shape like me here, then they tell you to your face. You are allowed to collect your arsenal and come clear someone. When they get boring, kill them before they kill you with boredom. It’s self-defense. But never about sex.

Sex is one of the most overrated acts in this earth.

Sex cannot build you anything worthwhile. Sex will not help get our forests back, meaning we will have sex and still die of drought. Sex cannot repay our national debts. It can’t even cure procrastination. Sex does not give meaning to anything except to sex itself.

To kill over that?

Again why would you kill or injure someone over something that is overflowing. There are times one will experience dry spell for months and wonder even if it’s possible for a man to have sex maybe once every month. But that point when you will have three people in a day, and you never broke a sweat to have, is when you will know how valueless or worthless this shit can get.

Also is somebody worth something that you can be able to achieve with your own hands? As long as you have a good internet on your hand, and a lubrication on the other, then you would have achieved your way to ejaculation land.

Well, let’s say you hit someone over a lady and you win. You proudly get your slay on the chopping board only for the tools to fail you. It happens! You work hard, you do everything right, you have been touched well, and the weapon of massive destruction is rearing to go. The atomic bomb wants to down Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Then one word or one phrase, and the flag goes immediately from full swing to half must to zero.

Ohh boy, will you not get frustrated! Nothing frustrates like a penis that is flaccid and numb in the face of a welcoming vagina.

You will try recalling all the atrocities you have committed before, the hands that might be working against you, and even ask imaginary forgiveness for the first lady whose heart you broke. Just like that, you would have hit your fellow man for what’s not worth it.

I understand there is this phenomenon on good sex. That it possesses you. It messes with your thinking. You see people do things unimaginable, like sell a prime family land in Kitengela to come spoil a lady in the city. I don’t believe it’s love. It’s the sex. I mean, good pussy will make you beat another guy for just looking at her.

Well, that is a different case, excusable by all measurable standards. How about in a case where you have just met a bitch in a bar? You fight your way to stardom, you leave your guy behind writhing in pain and cursing ever drinking. You make the good man sin by contemplating leaving alcohol (punishable by…) only for you to end up being taken to Lake Victoria you swim for a whole night.

Here is where we officially discard the Ed Sheeran lyrics. We are not going to find love in the bar.

Men we must stop being selfish. Let’s learn to share. Like when we get to a point where we want the same thing. Let’s talk about it. Let’s agree who between us it suits the most and why. If at all you hit a dead end and you can’t agree on either side. Go ahead agree on a three some. Some new experience won’t hurt. By the end of the day you will all be good to go.

It’s also not like you are even going to invent anything new when having sex. There are only four sex styles, and that won’t change today, the next generation or forever. We have the missionary for we the boring types. Girl on top for those trying to enjoy sex. You will go the doggy way to avoid facing your mistakes. Ultimately a variation of all of those when trying to be a fun person.

Some of us have a proven record of prosperity being side guys, more than being the main shit. So we can always talk and agree who is worthy of being the side guy and who takes the crown at side nigga.

By the end of the day let no man hit, contemplate killing or even do any harm to another man over some 10 minute (yeah I don’t do a lot) strokes.

PS. I never miss a chance to have sex.

LET’S TALK AGE

Being someone who lives life on the fast lane, I don’t think things over. I believe in doing them first and thinking later or even failing to think altogether. I suspect when I think first, I would persuade myself out of it (happens with my writing all the time). But then we all know that regret for the things we do can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we do not do that is inconsolable. Dating has never been an exception.

One of my recent adventures gave me something to think about though. So for the first time I am thinking about age in relation to dating and relationships. In this case I was talking with a lady I actually had intentions of making moves (smooth or otherwise) on.

With my permit for story on approved, we join the story in progress.

Her:  So there are screenshots I want to bring to our attention (winking emoji)

Me: Eheh go ahead

Her:  (sends two social media profiles) Open mind (winking emoji)

Me: Okay, I can see, go ahead

Her: What’s your take on age and relationship…genuinely…? Like you’ve not seen those screenshots.

Me: I saw the screenshots and can’t see what’s up.  With me I am not pro age. It is important, but it is just a number.  What’s your take?

This is someone I have been talking with for some time. She found me witty and really fun. She thought I am someone worth knowing more about. After doing her stalking (she made open her impeccable stalking skills) it dawns on her that I am a year younger. At this point she was going all out. Like she had seen the biggest turn off ever.

She was gearing to drop my ass so hard. Emanating noise would be magnitudes louder than thunder. Buildings would shake like biscuits shaken in a box. Glasses smashed. Books falling off shelves. It was to be terrifying. Tarmac would crack with cars on top. Electric poles would fall, lights sparkling all over. Squirrels would jump to their gods of rodents for redemption. In that moment I had instantly gone from sexable to invisible.

While many people would want to lie or even create an illusion of being older, I don’t do that. I am someone who accepts things they can’t change. No one has control over the time they are born. Not even the people they are born of. So all I do is take time to understand why someone would think that my age is a turn off. Here is how that conversation ended;

Her:  (several laughter emoji)…but I can’t really say it works because av not dated older men… So I guess ni mentality nimekuwa nayo.

Her:  I just wanted to talk about this…rather than have it lingering

I had retained my place as sexable. No earthquake is happening. I can’t be responsible for the first 7.0 magnitude earthquake in Kenya.

Society has created a mental picture revolving around age differences. Most of the time people feel wrong when they start developing feelings for people outside their age bracket. The society wants to make you feel that dating an older person is mainly for material gains and not love. Well, you could still date someone your age for reasons other than love.

Several people choose their relationship partners based on different criteria. I don’t know how a guy wakes up one day and decide that he is all about ass. That a great ass cannot let him settle, it makes them uncontrollably giddy, and super excited. Some will go the boob’s way. Juicy boobs look to him so inviting. He just wants to hold, caress and appreciate. The world can keep its supermodels, anorexic looking as they are.

Is it hereditary? Like my liking for BBW a trait passed to me from my dad who got it from my grandpa who also got it from the people before him. Like one of my ancestors would send guys out to bring a woman home with clear instructions. She must have things I can hold to when I fall asleep. Or maybe am just compensating for my small body, who knows? Or even worse I am looking for a parental figure. Whatever it is, to me there is something disarming about big women. Without lingerie their boobs sit lower, more natural less close together and look so perfectly molded.

Many people have age as a factor in deciding whom they date. The media has also portrayed age to be a big factor in the relationships people have. It has revered men for having younger partners, while castigating older women for having younger spouses.

Emmanuel Macron, France’s youngest president hit the headlines more for his marriage with the 64 year old first lady. Instead of praising Macron and Brigitte, the media cast bad light on the first lady. Some people in France went ahead to sign a petition barring Brigitte from becoming the official France’s first lady. But how about in reversed roles where the man is older? Trump and Melanie’s age difference has never been a hot topic. It did not even make the man to almost miss the top seat. You are left wondering, what has someone’s love life got to do with their leadership skills?

The Kenyan society has had its fair share on the age difference debate. The most mentioned one is the wedding between the former Mau Mau freedom fighter Wambui Otieno and Mbugua. The 67 year old Wambui kissed with the 25 year old Mbugua on live television. Did you think romance dies with age? Wambui’s daughters boycotted the wedding while Mbugua’s mother refused to accept Wambui as her daughter in law. She later on collapsed and died.  It was that serious.

We often put up walls and flee for the mountains, but before shutting the door on the chance at love, think about your potential lover’s maturity level. If you both are on the same level of maturity, don’t let the attached age number cloud your decision.

How many times have you heard the phrase, “act your age”? It means that the society expects you to behave in a certain way at a given age. Well, that is not the case with everyone. People experience life in different ways making growth different in people. You can be 22 years old with the mindset of a 42 year old or vice versa. This is to say that time is just a human created concept.

One of my all time favorite writers Oyunga Pala also had a very sober look at age that you will definitely  like. He likened it to a Jail cell being just a room

So age is just a number. It’s totally irrelevant unless, of course you happen to be a bottle of wine.

Whose Baby Is This?

By Agnes Opondo.

Earlier before that random Friday, I had the following conversation with HR after she looked me in the eye and told me, “You need rest! Take a day off.”

“How do you know that?” I asked

“I can see it in your eyes”

“I know my glasses have no tint but, can you actually see the fatigue through my glasses?”

“Agnes just take an off!”

“But there is a lot of work!” (Me pretending to be employee of the year hihihi!)

“Work will never run out, you look tired…..plus I have noticed with great concern that you don’t use lipstick lately.”

“Well…..pretty hurts.”

“What is so painful about dabbing some lipstick? Huh?”

To cut the long story short, I took an off day on that random Friday. Not because of HR’s concerns, but because I wanted to. I wanted to wave my middle finger at the universe and tell it, “No matter what you throw at me, I run my life, motherf*cker!” (Breathe Agnes, take it easy). Have you ever been at a point in your life when you feel like you are losing control? Have you ever wanted to do something crazy like get a tattoo? Or an extra piercing? Or even propose marriage to a random person? How about get into a relationship with a random person and make sure that it is as peaceful as Rob Kardashian and Black Chyna’s romance just to prove to the world that you run your life? OK, don’t look at me like that, I didn’t keep up with their reality show. That is general knowledge.

Anyway, because I was not going to work, I decided to do some cleaning. This may sound weird, but dirt removal and organizing my stuff is super therapeutic for me. After cleaning, I showered, dressed up and headed to the CBD just to prove to the world that I can go to town if I wanted to because, it’s my life damn it! (OK, enough of this proving to the world madness). I boarded a matatu and while the conda was wooing pedestrians into the matatu, I noticed two women standing at the bus stop. One was carrying an infant and the other was carrying a toddler (there is a difference guys). They were deeply engrossed into a conversation which I could tell was either good news or gossip, juicy gossip for that matter. I mean, they looked happy. The conda approached them and asked them where they were headed and after talking with him, the two women exchanged the babies they were carrying. The one who took the toddler got into the matatu and took the seat next to the conda’s seat.

Hell broke loose immediately the matatu took off. The baby began crying she became louder as the matatu progressed. At first I thought that crying was caused by fear of motion. I hear there are babies who are terrified of being in a moving vehicle and considering the seat that this lady had occupied, that could be true. The lady tried to silence the baby lakini wapi! The baby had no intentions of hiding her protests to this journey. This attracted the attention of other passengers and one man turned to the lady and asked her if she had breastfed the baby. The lady who was now beyond frustrated, ignored that question. I could tell that she was about to cry, the veins on her forehead began to show and eyes were getting bloodshot. She kept trying to calm the baby down but her efforts hit the wall, a good one.

A certain middle aged man seated in front of me turned to the lady and asked her, “Madam huyo mtoto ni wako ama umemwiba?” This sparked murmurs among the passengers. A lady seated at the back seconded the middle aged man, “Exactly! Tumwambie kama mtoto ni wako!” Hobee! The lady with the child was now already crying, “Sijaiba mtoto, mimi si mwizi” This argument irritated the baby and she cried even louder. The conda, who by now had an assistant, (ama what do you call that guy who dandias the matatu along the journey not as a passenger but as a conductor number 2?) asked the passengers to calm down.

For some weird reason, the assistant conda caught my eye. I don’t know, maybe it was his blue black complexion or his big dry cracked lips. In fact for the purposes of this read, let’s call him, ‘Crusty’ in honor of his cracked lips. I like the name already, I will call my next pet Crusty, sounds so exotic, right? So Crusty, sat next to the lady with the child looked her into the eye and asked in his heavy Dholuo accent, “Madam hii mitoto ni chako ama wewe nilikuja Narobi kufanya opareson kama mwisi?” If the DCI ever needed someone to coerce criminals into confessing the truth, then trust me, Crusty would do a legit job because this question triggered the tear glands of the lady! Elnino style! This interrogation was interrupted by a sweets vendor cum preacher who boarded the matatu some few kilometers from the CBD. He was fully armed with his tools of trade, a packet of sweets and a Gideons International bible, but before he could introduce himself to the brethren, the baby who had been quiet for a while now, unleashed the loudest cry. Meeen! This baby will grow up to be such a hater. So the preacher, took a French exit never to be seen again.

Finally we got to the CBD and while people were alighting I chose to stay behind, I mean, I witnessed this baby owner drama from the start and surely I must see how it ends. We got to the Railways bus terminus and everyone else had alighted apart from the lady with the baby, the baby, a certain old man, a middle aged lady, the conda, Crusty, the driver and I. Crusty upgraded his interrogation techniques by yanking the phone from the poor lady’s hand. He then asked her, “onasave aje baba ya hii mitoto?” “Anaitwa Godfrey!” The lady replied amid sobs. Crusty dialed Godfrey’s number on the lady’s phone and upon calling him, the guy admitted to being the child’s father. When Crusty asked him whether he knew the owner of the phone, he said that this lady was taking the child to his mother.

Makosa! Mistake! Crusty turned to the lady and yelled, “tunapeleka wewe kwa polisi sai!”

The poor lady whose wails were now in perfect harmony with the baby’s crying, pleaded with Crusty, “Nimemchukua kutoka kwa mama yake, mama yake alishindwa kumlea juu akona mtoto mwingine mdogo kushinda huyu!”

“Sasa akisindwa kulea, mama yake napatia wewe mtoto. Madam! Iwalo koda!” Crusty was now boiling with rage. The conda tried to restrain him from doing something stupid.

The old man, turned to Crusty and told him that he should contain his anger as it is wrong to hit a woman. “Huyu mama hasemi ukweli, unajua nimewahi kudeal na wezi wa watoto nikifanya kazi kwa hospitali kama nurse!” The middle aged lady said. “Na mimi nimework na watu wa children’s rights najua wezi wa watoto!” Added the old man, I don’t know why I did not believe this old man. Crusty was quick to jump in, “Mwisi ni mwisi!” then the driver, “shukeni mmpeleke kwa polisi basi, nataka kuendelea na kazi.” The conda who was a bit empathetic to the lady said, “pigieni mama ya mtoto kwanza ndo twende kwa polisi.”

Now that everyone was giving their parting shot, I couldn’t be left out. So I said, “Guys despite having two left feet, I can burst decent Bazokizo moves and even better, I have ever gone live on Kilimani Mums!” I know. My comment was totally unrelated to the issue at hand, so that is why I didn’t say it. I kept quiet and observed the whole drama unfold.

Can you guess what they did to the poor lady? Am so sorry to disappoint you dear reader, because I also don’t know. I had to leave to go do the nothings that had brought me to town. I run my life, remember?

*************************************

Now am pretty sure you’ve all enjoyed this piece. Perfectly penned by Agnes Opondo. Click HERE to connect with her on Facebook. And HERE to view her blog for more interesting stories.

 

 

 

 

 

WELCOME HOME

Being born and bred in the village as a first born son is one of the best things one can be lucky enough to have. It is mere an accident of birth yet it has several packages. You come second only to your dad in the hierarchy ladder. It comes with loads of privileges, but then you have to know privileges comes with responsibilities. When much is given, much will be expected in return. As the eldest son you are the de facto signatory of all transactions at home even in your absentia. Not even a tree can be cut at home without your information and permission. Those people will not go planting without giving details of the seeds used, whether certified and the duration expected for them to mature.

It gets to an age where you will need to go to your house and a good house(simba) will be erected for you at the lower end of the home. A strategic position to act as security of the home and also to enable you sneak in whoever you are with, with confidence that you are not being seen. Spoiler alert: They will know even if you bring her at midnight. Your age not withstanding, as long as you are an elder son you are old enough right from birth. Even before you come of the right age, your people will expect you to make sure the house is active. Some smoke should be seen from the house, a smoke not caused by lighting a fire. They need to start seeing you bring along different samples of the daughters of Eve, one to assure them that you will keep the family lineage on and two, to see your taste and know if you will bring forth good looking kids. It is believed good looking people have it easier in the society. When you take a different route and fail to bring along someone, they start wondering if you are really a man. They even start suggesting hook ups.

After a good period of deciding, you settle on this lady who has had your heart for the longest time you know. It was not really hard knowing she is the one you want for life. She is the type of lady who will not cook in your house the first time she is visiting. She will cross her leg and tell you to your face when you dare ask her to cook.

“I am a visitor remember, so atleast do me the honours.”

You will establish that this is not just your regular girl, she is a precious being. You will grow closer as you sought to know her better. She is someone you don’t rush; you take your sweet time to understand her. You know you want her to be yours in the long run but it is not easy. It is like a marathon, not the Usain Bolt seconds stuff. This one would require perseverance, focus and hard work because having her in the long run is a motivation big enough. Hope. You will be assured she will hold you down when need be. She is a good a person and everything she touch flourishes. Even you when touched in the literal sense you flourish, the blood movements to the downer sides tells it all.

When time is right you take her to your good friends who will immediately like her and tell you not to let her go. They will already be planning you romantic nights, in an attempt to make sure that you don’t fuck up. After which,you take her home to your people for vetting. They need to see if she has the abilities good enough for their son. Is she someone who can be a first of the daughter in laws? Does she cook right? Apparently their son needs to add some weight. They want to know if she won’t wash fish using detergents and chapatis don’t taste like wood. You  are not worried about that though, she is a great cook and somehow, people just like her. The visit goes well and your mum tells you, “you let her go, never step foot again in this home and don’t even think about ever talking to me again, not even in my worst.” Isn’t that all you wanted to hear after all? She also introduces you to her frends and family. Let’s say things go well. After sometime you are tie the knot.

There you are living together as life partners. Hoping and working for a happy stint together forever. Atlast the sacred friendship has been permanently bonded.

One day in the middle of your usual chats, she gets that serious face on and shoots up, “will we stay in this house forever or are we going to move after some time?”

You know at that moment that she needs a better place. Some place where she will authoritatively call hers and give you those commands on where to place your dirty socks when you return home. You will keep forgetting and throw them around as you enter the house. You will get on her nerves sometimes.

“The other day I told you to place your socks in the laundry basket when you remove them.”

“Yeah, you did”

“And then?”

“I have dropped them around, I think I missed the laundry basket. Can it be moved next to the door?”

An emoji face, then later a look saying,”if only I didn’t love you this much!”

She wants a place where she can peacefully have those days when she just want to sleep through the day on her off days. A place where you can plant trees together for occasions and put scientific and local name tags on them, with the name of the one who planted it. Where you can host friends without causing disturbance to the others. Above all, you can easily give her that one hour long foreplay without worrying that someone might bulge in unwelcome. After which she will wake up to breakfast in bed, your romantic side will not catch even a little slumber. You also need to make a ground for soft landing when you will get on her bad side next time. All she wants is peace and an environment to prosper. A place where you are free to be you and do you. A place to be lazy without being scolded and work your ass off when you decide to. A place where you can make mistakes and learn without anybody judging. As long as you will have each other for support, you are ready to face the world. You can achieve all you want to.

It happens you had also been thinking of moving. Therefore you already have information of where you would want to move. You know that ultimately she will want a home in a cool area, a beautiful house with a kitchen garden. You are aware she cant stand heat and her comfort is top priority. A place she will be proud to park her Prado in the garage next to the house. A good place to raise your cute kids (the cute is given, she is pretty). Some place where you will watch the orange rays of the sun as it settles even in your old age as you watch your grandchildren play around. Thank God the sun will never grow old or tired. Just before then, you know you have to take steps to get there. You believe in doing good at the lower steps of a ladder headed to a much higher target.

You guys pull resources and see to it that the new place you are moving to is well built and that you are okay with the design and plan. You get someone trustworthy who will make the ideas on your head come to life. After some good work, your house is ready and you are ready to face life in it. You bring along some furniture from the previous house that still looks polished and throw away the ones that would not resonate to the new house.

You have both vowed to give your all to have the best home. You don’t just want a house, you want a home. A place where you will have family around and keep them entertained all through. It is the place they will think of when they think of fun. People think of fun all the time meaning the home will be a beehive of activities. They won’t have to ask for permission or inform you first before coming. It will be their home as well. You might have kids who will be cared for and brought up in the best way possible. You will have friends coming over from time to time.

This home is our new website. We hope to make it a home for most of you. A place where you will come to be entertained with the stories and teachings we will be keeping at a consistent supply for you. The house we have left is the free site on WordPress. It was a good place for a start but the limitations made us realize we needed to move. The man of the house is yours truly, Lewis Martin. The jewel he got for you is the one and only partner in writing and a good friend in life, the most beautiful Paula Norah. You guys overwhelmingly approved of her when she came to be part of this. Salute to Ted Odera for being the architect behind the design and building work around. Thanks for the good work. We will be having guests from time to time in the form of guest bloggers. As members of the family, you need to be good to them. Appreciate them and say thank you when they bring goodies. When moved you can give them reviews and tell them if you want them to return next time. Our kids might come with time in form of other ventures in writing. From to time to time we might have to run copies that are pro marketing. I hope you understand it takes money to refill the fridge and pay for bills. Though be assured we will work with brands whose ideologies we believe in.

Expect anything from us. We are diverse. We are open minded. And we are as crazy as crazy can get. Bring your friends along. The many the merrier. We have resources for everyone. Our love for you is given. Keep it here. Keep it at PepperLife. Let’s grow together.

Welcome Home.

 

Keeping them informed

It is late in the evening, and this happens to be one of those cold evenings. Such evenings make me remember school. It is one of the coldest places I know in the world. The kind of cold nights I have to endure inside my lonely house cannot be explained. The cold bites as if it has an agenda, the agenda being to punish you for being single. It is like telling you that it is a curse that these many beautiful daughters of you cannot have you for a boyfriend. I pick my coat and snap back and head to D-Lux Hotel. It is one of the good hotels I have experienced in Nakuru. It’s not like I have experienced many, no, I have always wished to do that but how will my broke ass afford that?

Apart from getting the weekend rolling I am getting to see Kevin, a friend of mine who works at this place. Kevo is this guy who used to be so tiny when we were in school; the only tinier person was me. I think he was one of these who made us tiny people to be called cheeky. He was my first friend ever in Kisumu, Nyalenda by default, with the fact that he was already my friend from school. I had some short staying stint at Nyalenda during my high school days. Apparently dad wanted to keep me in Kisumu with him having the thoughts that I will not have many friends and concentrate on my studies, or maybe he wanted to bond with his eldest son. It was that period during my teens when I was taking ground and my hormones were starting to charge. What a disappointment when the second day I was already coming back to the house way past dusk. I could read see it all on his eyes. So bad the period never lasted when the man’s health drastically moved from mint condition to shitty and it had to diminish altogether. Kevo seemed to know everyone in the neighborhood and pretty ladies would flock him. I swear he is one of the most talkative guys I know. He would always ask me if he could throw one my ways, but hell no. who was I to break the say jogoo la shambani hawiki mjini.

So here I am with Kevo sited next to the deejay’s booth, and Sam, also a high school pal joins us. I am amazed at how both of them exclaim how big I have grown the first thing when they see me. I used to be the smallest in the whole school when I joined, but here I am taller than these two bustards. In fact Sam was very big. He started lifting weights way back. All he’s got now is a huge chest but I beat him in height. For those who said God’s time is coming, just know my God’s time in height is already here. As usual Kevo points an ass passing by and asks me, “Odundo nikupe huyo?” These guys call me Odundo; they knew me when I was not yet Lewis Martin. I didn’t even know it was coming. I politely decline the offer. They are surprised just as I am as well and ask whether I got married. How do you explain to your boys that you stopped fancying the asses that you used to adore? That nowadays every time you wake up next to a different face you feel so wasted. That having a casual woman around does not exhilarate you anymore. That you cannot even make time for chats with different women sending smiley and kissy emojis. That the number of visits prospects that you have declined are shooting on an upward trend. They let me off the hook but Kevo makes sure that I know that whenever I feel I need to work my waist he can always swiftly outsource me a lass.

After some little talk I let them get back to work as I proceed to the bar counter to get some beer. Just when I was starting to bond with my bottle and glass, I realize that I will be getting home late and I have to say something to that effect home. It hits me what freedom means and what being under someone means. I can’t imagine how it is like staggering back to a house that you do not pay rent nor foot the bills in late in the night. How disrespectful. I once did it before in Nairobi in the company of a crazy cousin; it never went down well with the missus of the house. The type of lecture we got on how bad alcohol is and that it has no additional value for us. To make it worse if we drink when we are broke, how about when we will be earning? Well, they were partly truthful but I don’t think one has to endure all truths all the time. Some truths are always just left to be, because they are nothing new to a man and whining about it won’t change anything.

So here I am trying to get the words that I will use to say that I am not around and might come back off time and a little off mind. I need to pass this information without sounding rude yet not being on my knees as well. First I think about just letting it go altogether. Then it hits me that it is only my mum who I can pull such shit on and the next day will still be happy and throw a joke at me, meaning I have to text. Calling is out of question because we know how such an environment spells rotten on you when talking to a staunch Christian on the other end. I have experienced such situation of having to choose words carefully before only when chatting up a new lady. You know those get to know you threads when someone gets to give you a glimpse of who they are for the first time and every text is a paragraph. That point you religiously wait for an answer as you get to know the prospective wing lady. I do believe most of the battle is won in this stage. This is the point where you know if you will invest time here or just let it go like the rest. You are also making an impression.

I compose my well thought text, sends and it is delivered. The only problem is that I don’t receive a reply. I always smell bad stuff when I text someone and they don’t reply, one of the things being that am out. That is coz I rarely reply to shitty messages even though at times I can also be full of shit. I just read and look at it as if nothing has changed or just assumed they somehow feel my reaction without me physically replying. I had to hurriedly clear my drink before it gets too late and could not even wait for the meat Kevo was bringing. From my sprees before, I had learnt that there is a big difference between getting home at 8.57pm and 9pm. The three minute difference can change a lot. I get home, go clear any proof of me touching a bottle that has alcohol content in it and try make sure that I talk and react normally. Not like someone high on something that you should not handle machinery after taking. After that I take rice and broccoli for supper.

So for my friend who once asked me how it is to stay with a relative, how I wish you know how to describe something that can make you leave beer and meat on a Friday evening at a nice hotel behind. Always having in mind that to me food is bae and I treat it with the love and care it deserves. I really hope it’s my last stint though.

 

A Letter to my future kid

By the time you get to read this, I will have learned enough to know what is right and wrong in parenting.

This was written this on the International Women’s Day, 2017. I ought to have been writing to your Grandma but I cannot do that now, not yet. For the love that I have for her, the sacrifices she made, the hurdles she has faced, I do not feel ready to do it. I feel I haven’t done her proud to warrant it. Grandma is a genius, she is the best, remember that always. Enough about Grandma for now.

I know you will wonder why I never wrote to your Mum on this day. You might have a lot of questions and I will be ready to answer them. I can tell you the truth as at now. The reason I am not writing to Mum is, I still don’t know her. I don’t know if she is tall or short, light skin or dark skin, black or white. I don’t even know if she’s someone I have met before or not. I don’t even know if she is a lady I deeply love at the moment. Nobody knows the future my dear, and nobody wants pressure as well. All I know is that she will be the best mum. Very beautiful and powerful; mentally and emotionally. She will be there for you at all times and we will bring you up together. You will only get the best.

I am not perfect but I promise to always be there for you and to be the best for you. No matter what you will face in life. Dad will always be in your team to give you support. Consider me your number one fan in life. Dad will make you comfortable when you are still an infant, will help mum look after you, will get you the essentials you need and want. Though some I know you will break in hours. Dad will take you to school and always be present in your growth. Together with mum, we will be at the field side cheering you when you participate in sports. We will support you whether you win or lose. I am hoping you win more. We have a reputation my dear. No pressure though.

Come to daddy anytime you have a situation. We can always talk about anything you face as you grow. I will guide you every step of the way. Just to be clear, this does not cover weed and related things.

I will teach you to believe in yourself. I want you to grow with high self-esteem. Growing up, I have learnt that you will never get validation from others if it’s all you rely on. People will judge you. Do not worry about that, focus on what makes you happy. Accept every part of yourself, that way they can’t be used against you. I have a strong feeling you will have a big head, embrace it. Sorry in advance.

I will teach you to always say thank you, and to be appreciative of everything thrown your way. I will want to you to be respectful. You will know how to treat different people in the society with equal respect. I will like it if you would have a good relationship with your grandparents. They are pillars of wisdom and guidance. What we (Mum and I) are to you, they are to us. I will want you to keep them close and give them your time, unconditionally. I know I fail to give my grandparents that time and I am not proud of it. I will make it right. In my next letter, you will get an update.

When you go school, do not feel pressured to perform in a certain way. Do not feel confined to a particular box. Do what you can, what you feel is your best. We can always seek for different avenues if things go south. I am sure your mum will be smart. Dad is a born genius (just had to tell you that) so you will partake of that brightness.

Right now I am striving to create an environment that you will be proud of and comfortable in. Starting from me, I will work hard so you don’t lack. I will also try to live healthy because you will need me alive for long. We have a long way to go together.

I want to be your hero.

Best dad in waiting,

Junior.

What If this is it?

Last night I had a bad dream, I think it was a bad as I saw an owl hooting in the dream, it was not in a place I could see clearly, all I could see was the owl and its sounds. At that point my superstitious side came to life, I mean at some point in time we have known what owl is associated with, most so when you hail from the western region of the country. I am sincerely convinced there is no cause for alarm, I might have just gone to sleep worried about something, but it got me thinking. What if this is the last piece you ever read from me? Not necessarily dying but what if the life I have led sums it all? What if all those dreams I have just go down and melt to ground never to be heard of again? What if this is all the growth I ever had, physically, intellectually, mentally or even spiritually? What if all my life count will be from the ones the earth have seen till today? I mean what if this is it? Well in that case I will have several things to reflect on having seen, done, heard or felt in my life;

My family life has been great. I have always been a joy to my family from the word go. Given from the fact that I was conceived and delivered at a time when my parents were under so much pressure. I mean a whole five years into marriage and nothing was forthcoming to show for the labor. The person getting much criticism more was mum first because of the African tendencies to blame the woman and again dad was a champion and a few manifestations would be seen across the village. I mean one time in the village you meet someone looking like you yet you are not relatives until you start questioning stuff. It is good the truth has a way of coming out some times. So after being there for one another in the five years, I really can’t tell how much or how hard they tried. Not even places and positions they gave a try on. How many times mum told her, “let’s just try this one last time.” I really can’t know how many times they searched for me for a one last time. Which I know was never going to come. All I know is that at last a good looking baby boy appeared in form of me. I don’t know where my childhood good looks went to though. It is hard being ahead, you always want to be a good example. Many times you fall but you never let those who come behind see it. They need the motivation you impact in them. I have strived to stay true to my family all the time. It is another one thing that never misses in my prayers except when saying the grace for meals. Even though as I grow I have fallen out with some extended family members to mean am normal. I am good with several of them though both maternal and paternal.

I have several education avenues in my life. I have learned in formal set up where I have gained a good bit of knowledge. I have read a lot of written pages, screens, posters even walls, I have been a good reader. Not class work reading but just reading every other thing. I have even tried reading minds. I have learned by observation and have learned from the best about general life skills. Of all the things I have learned I have come to conclude that my life is good with two virtues, honesty and patience. I hold them dearly. I have had my hands on several things, some that have gone well others not. I have also had a go on a karaoke (umama I tell you). I have learned to pick up and do what makes me happy. I have been happy and sad at times. I know how they feel. I have also learned how not to beg, not for anyone to stay in my life or to love me. You can always stay if you want and hit the road when you feel like because I will sure do the same. I also know what it is to break rules and get in problems with the law and, most times evading consequences I also have known how to respect authority and also to question it.

My social life has been great. I have had several friends along the way, some gone along the way, other we keep a little touch, others we are waiting to write RIP for the one who goes to the maker first. I have made brothers from other mothers. I know what it means to have someone have full trust in me and know that I always got their back. I have grown to know the little people who always got my ass covered whatever the situation and I can’t thank them enough. I know what it means to fall in love and what it means to fall out. I have known what it means to be vulnerable to someone and also what it means to be all about someone, still trying that though. At one time a pretty lady has wanted to be a carrier of my seeds, she loved me but I was not lovable and I got the phrase “your kid is all I want.” It never happened though, these seeds are way precious. I know what it means to be with a lady for over half a year telling her you love her when it’s true but then you are in love with someone else. I learnt that love can be shared. If you don’t believe that go hang or any other thing to show your resentment or doubt, am ever democratic. Again I have never told anyone I love them if I don’t, even when you ask me that when we both naked I will never lie just to get through. I know what it means to get random lays and to pick one night stands from parties. I know what it means to go silent on someone after it has happened. I also know what it means to get a passionate kiss from someone you love until you stop in the middle, look at her closed eyes in the heat of the moment and ask yourself, “why can’t I keep this forever.’ Someone so good you want to eat her all up by your mouth. I know what it is to wake up in the morning after a night of shit and ask “where am I?” Damn Mombasa it was!

I know what it is to live in a mud walled grass thatched house that you have to move things plus yourselves to a corner when it rains, where preparing meals will be hell coz of the water in the fireplace. At the same time I know what it means to live in a big perimeter wall fenced, multi roomed mansion with several cars parked outside. From the experiences I swear that thing referred to as the root cause of evil is good. It is good to have it. You see someone you share a roof with being picked in the morning, saluted with fellow men and car door opened for him. You feel the real effect of power. Being broke sucks and it is not a secret. The good thing is that I don’t know hunger. I don’t know sleeping in an empty stomach. Poverty might know me by name but we never flirted up to that level.

From all these, if this was to be the end, one of the biggest things I would not want to imagine is not getting a chance to hear one say, “if it were not Lewis, I wouldn’t have turn out this good.” Every day I live I want to be a positive influence on people even if it’s a single person who will see the bright side of life because of me, those whose sun will shine bright because of me. Again it is huge that I have never taken a daughter of Eve home for vetting, a daughter of her dad, even after the obvious pointers that have been thrown my way. It is bad I never got one worth that, the one I asked was just a friend and I know they wouldn’t have appreciated it as much, though it would have worked to show that I am on the right road with the society, that I play for the right team. So if this was my last shit I am giving you, just know I am not SORRY for anything. Even the things I did that am never proud of, if I got on your bad books you can do whatever you wish. Then do whatever pleases you with me. You can be true or not, I don’t care what anyone will say I am good in whatever have been through and anything have wanted have always gone for.

Are we ready to embrace legalisation of prostitution?

The county government of Nairobi recently legalised prostitution only to withdraw their support, I don’t know why. Truth be told this presents a market that has not been tapped since there is always demand, from businessmen, politicians to men who cannot keep their houses in order. Thus, there will be always supply, if you understand the basic law of demand and supply.
The biggest gainer from legal prostitution would be the government itself. The amount of taxes that would be generated by regulating brothels and the trade as a whole is unimaginable given the size of the market. The government would grant licences to the brothels at a fee. The revenue regulated can be channelled to other sectors of the economy.
Germany is a good example of a country where prostitution has been legalised and regulated. The country has actually benefited from this industry. Others are Netherlands, Japan and majority of the Asian countries.
Honestly, we now live in a society where things have metamorphosed. For instance homosexuality, transsexuals’ and abortion are some of the things that civilization has come to embrace as a normal. Same sex marriages have been legalised in United States, abortion has become part and parcel of our new constitution, leave alone transsexuals, a good example is the famous Maseno graduate, Audrey who was on News Headlines, fighting to be identified as a ‘her’. My view is that we live in a society where the wrongs are the new right. However, one thing that people fear to utter in loud tones is prostitution, and the prostitutes go through a lot to makes ends meet. So my question is, what if prostitution was to be legalised and regulated?
Legalisation would help stop the spread of sexually transmitted diseases. Most (around 60%-70%) commercial workers in Africa are HIV/AIDS positive. A framework would be put into place whereby the commercial workers would be tested regularly for STIs and given treatment. This can also be of benefit to long distance transit drivers who run the risk of spreading the STDs since they are the regular clienteles. This would play a big role in the fight against HIV in Africa. Commercial workers go through a lot of victimization from the police who demand for bribes or sex, watchmen who continuously harass them on pavements where they sell ‘merchandises’ and the society when they pass judgments to them as the most immoral people in our communities. Actually the worst insult to be called is, Malaya wewe. The legality of prostitution would actually make the victimization go away and make it a formal type employment.
The security of the commercial sex workers would also be guaranteed since they be working in conducive and well secured environment, that is the brothels. Most of the commercial sex workers have been faced with violence from their customers who refuse to pay and some have been killed by their patrons. If you remember the Onyancha story; a sequential killer who murdered several prostitutes, is a good case scenario. I recall of a story told by a male commercial sex worker who narrated a story of a Mhindi with the habit of acquiring their services and driving off without paying for the service rendered. If they were to be protected, then it would show the humanity in human beings.
The industry would also be regulated from forced prostitution and underage prostitution. All in all, legitimisation of commercial sex would come a long way in protecting the rights of some of the people in this industry whose rights have been violated. The industry will be streamlined and income will be earned without fear of being violated. There will also be proper policing.
Some of us who may think they are morality Judges. I would like you to remember that some of these people are our mother, sisters, brothers and all they are trying to do is make a living. Some of these commercial workers are highly educated. Some work as escorts to the elite in society. My point is, these are just normal people on the job and together we build the country. I know we as Africans hold high moral values and acceptance of prostitution may put my morality into question, but I maintain that it’s high time we change our perspective. Whether we like or not, prostitution started centuries back and it will continue to exist.
But are we ready to accept prostitution to be legalised? Can the country sustain such an industry? Are the commercial workers prepared to accept such industries in a place? Will the timing be right for such a change? These are some of the questions that I ask myself as I conclude this piece. Are we ready to embrace every change that comes with civilization?

The writer is a final year Economics and Statistics student, Laikipia University.
The insights are his opinion and does not necessarily mean that it is what PEPPER LIFE stands for

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