Category: Non-Fiction

Shedding The Tear of Loss

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We are in a funeral… I see someone I know. She is a friend of Mama’s. She is Rosaline. A devotee of the Holy Ghost faith. She is busy, busy washing utensils. I walk past her and smile. She smiles back…

I’m in a “matatu” ‘’a public service vehicle.’’ I’m dressed in a custom-made company shirt. It is white with blue cuffs protruding longer than my blue slim fit blazer’s.

I alight at bus station. To darkness. Blur and nothingness.

I’m back at the funeral. I don’t see my blazer anymore, but I can feel flip-flops under my feet.

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Our Love Lives

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Tonight the vinyl won’t play, the homeless won’t lay

Clouds may turn grey and our pet Osogo won’t sing

Cuz we’ll be gone by nightfall, the child will be coming, she’ll say I’m ready to see that new mall Dad

And when she grows out of her cot, she’ll ask, daddy isn’t a mall the same as a shopping center?

Is it?

I’ll be no driver of no canter or trailer or Range or Benz or even own no sling and carry stones to Raila rallies

Or walk to gor mahia games with other goons,

I will be no Aeschylus no Aristotle no Adams (not Jane, not James not Quincy)

Abebo

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“Ken, Churchill has been shot in the stomach. He bleeds a lot. He’s lost physical strength” A female voice delivered the bad news. Her voice filled with terror and tremors that sent shivers down my spine, sparking a sickening confusion within me – a stomach filled with hot boiling intestinal ribbons, or was it a drench of diarrhoea, debugging? I don’t know.

The Initiation

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Kapsoit town is green with grass, trees, weeds and most notably, tea plantations. The air around smells of fresh rain and the sky holds a dark loose cloud, awaiting a trigger by wild winds from the south, for downpour. The town has noticeable wood houses harboring various informal businesses; a man roasts maize under a Britam Insurance branded umbrella, another hawks sweets on a hand woven basket; his cloth is wet by drizzles and his teeth are bigger than his mouth can cover. There is an old woman in the middle of the busy Nairobi highway holding a bucket full with cheap energy drinks. She is ignorant of the road safety rules. Do not stand in the middle of the road! And she certainly doesn’t know that the dotted continuous yellow lines mean motorists can overta

Homeless

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It’s not what you think! This is not my city, I am just a passerby, I am going home, home to my most precious wife, home to our 1 year old daughter, home where my father is nursing my ailing mother. She suffers from liver cancer, yet she doesn’t know. The doctor says she’ll die by April 19th, that’s 4 months from today, yet she doesn’t know. It’s like how they told my pregnant wife she’d be due on 4th September and true to their word, she writhed and heaved with labour pain on that predetermined date. So I somewhat choose to believe them again, even though I don’t want to. I’m going home to see her (my mother), to pray with her and to tell her how much she means to me; then later to show my affection to my wife and tell her of the good news. I might have done well in the interview which brought me here; 360 KM away from home (Kisumu). I hope she’ll be proud. We’ll hug, kiss and she’ll regulate my bathing water and say,