“PRODIGAL SON”

“…hajawai, hajawai, kuniwacha hata kama sifai…”

Enters Moji Shortbaba in his verse in this new hit in town. Of all the verses in this jam, this is the only verse I’ve been able to capture and been able to sing along to. So I rewind the verse and join in on spiting them lines.

Radio:“…hajawai, hajawai…”

Me(obviously off key): ”kuniwacha hata kama sifai, eeh…”

Radio: “…hajawai, hajawai,”

Me: (I murmur something. This is one of those parts I haven’t quite caught yet)...

Radio & Me: “…kutoka nizaliwe Ungwaro, nikicheza na urwaro, akanitoa chini kwa mtaro, jina lake juu Kilimanjaro…” Repeat.

Damn! I love this song you would think I co-wrote it. The sound takes the best of me I don’t notice yet how far I have drove away from the city. Just as Bahati with his new hit ‘TenOverTen’ takes over the waves in the player, I pull up at Makutano Junction (Chumvi). 

Well, the thing about me pulling over is that kind of thing that happens by reflex. 

Short story(Disclaimer: it will be long).

When I was young, well, not young young like in early 20’s, young of nine years old, my dad always pulled over at this junction to buy us those sugarcanes they peel then chop into small bits. That was not the only thing with this place. It was a place papa always used to insist to us on the importance of getting serious in our education.

“Msiposoma mtakua mnakimbiza magari za watu kama hawa ndio wakupee mbao (If you do not read you will end up chasing other people’s cars just to earn yourselves twenty bob),” he always said. 

The way he said it could make you think those people now on a 100m dash towards our car were some lowly aliens at our mercy for their survival. And, let’s say his statements worked. Well, not fully on his two kids. My elder sister turned out really ‘good’ as papa liked to say. 

It’s not every day you wake up to hear that your daughter got a first class honors degree in Law, from The University of Nairobi. See what I did there? The? Seen it? 

Yes, that should tell you how my old man was too proud to see this wonderful day. And we all smiled for the cameras, held my sis real high, while she downed on this extremely huge, black gown. Despite it being a hot day, she put it on throughout the day even when we got home somewhere in Kalama. After all, this was the father’s pride by now. Wait, did I say, father’s only pride by now? Yes. 

By this time papa viewed me as a disappointment. And, let’s say, I kind of was one. I had dropped out of the university as soon as I joined it. And just to nail some sense into my huge head that he could swear was totally empty, throughout his speech on this graduation day, he kept saying, 

“Kijana unaona vile ukisoma mtu anavalishwa kofia?(hard to translate this as it would lose its original meaning and tone)”

And then everyone would stare at me like some worm meandering on their meal, which obviously had brought most of them here. Free food.

His statements pierced with pangs of regret, but well, as I came to realize later, boys’ psychology is totally different from girls’. When you tell a girl how good she is at something, she will strive to be great at something. They thrive on praise. But for boys, they thrive on disappointment. If you tell them how bad their performance is at something, they will work against the tide just to prove you wrong. And that’s just what happened.

So, I had dropped out of the university and decided to pursue my passion for music. First off, I began as deejay. Not that pro level but using Virtual Dj(of course trial version) installed on my small computer I made mixes that only ended up being listened to by myself only. Because they were rotten eggs I tell you. So that didn’t work out so well, and then luck began smiling at me for the first time in a long time.

As my sister was getting married to Mark, her CEO boyfriend(who by the way I came to realize was the complete opposite of Dad),during one of those ruracio gatherings, she told him how she had this loser bro who apparently dropped out of school the moment he set foot in his first lecture. She went on to whine and whine how I was wasting the family money just lying around my house (which sis called a shack) just listening to criminal music, only dressed in boxers the whole day. Mark heard it all and funny thing, he said he wanted to meet me.

“What?” That was everyone’s reaction when he said that.

I mean how? I was such a waste of resources for heavensake! But turns out he wasn’t such a dick as I thought he probably would be.

The next day he came to visit my ‘shack’ he caught me totally off-guard. If you spend the whole day in the house smoking weed and trying to be a wannabe-Dj the whole day in the house, you relate. So everything was where it is not supposed to be. Literally. Socks in the kitchen sink, cups somewhere in the washroom. Some rotting avocado idling somewhere near the window (honestly, I don’t know how that got there).You get the situation guys. Right?

A knock at my door.

Wait, I wasn’t expecting anyone today save for my friend who pretended he liked my mixes just to pass by my place and get a joint. But no, he wasn’t due until somewhere around 5pm. Who the hell visits me at 11a.m? I peeped out the window and saw the car at the parking lot. What the hell is Mark doing here? Isn’t he supposed to be working? Is it Monday? Or Saturday? I can’t quite figure which it is.

I don’t know how he figured I wasn’t going to open anytime soon, but he picked the door lock and let himself in. At that time I was somewhere near the TV trying to hide my stash. Damn. He was already in the house. I turned around, hiding my right hand with the stash behind me, trying to push the stash inside my boxers.

“Shit! That’s disgusting man!” he complained.

At first I thought he was talking about the weird stench that everyone entering my house complains about yet I have never smelled it.

“Oooh! I get that a lot. The air freshener is somewhere near that carton with food stuffs. You can knock yourself out.”

“No! Well, there is that dead moron stench, but am talking about the weed you are pushing towards your butt idiot! It better be wrapped in paper or I will skin you!”

At this point I am not sure which is which. Does he smoke this shit?

“Hand me a joint and stop staring at me like I’m a baboon.”

Damn! He wants this stuff! Or maybe he is here to confiscate it. Well, I handed him two joints and he walks to somewhere on the sheets and fishes out a match box.

Holy Crap! Who is this guy? I have been looking for that all this long and he locates it like this is his house. And weed he smokes! I’m still baffled!

“Jesus! Are you trying to get mad or what? Kids of these days, if this is the stuff you are smoking, I can’t help but figure why you are dropping out of campus like flies!”

“Here comes the papa lectures, did he send you?” I inquire disappointed.

“No. I just came by to bring you valentine flowers and smoke all your weed! Stupid! Of course he did! It’s your father we are talking about. What did you expect?”

I like him. I light my own joint and join him on my worn out carpet. Don’t ask about the chairs. They are long gone, thanks to weed auctioneers.

“So what have you been doing these days?”

“You know, I’ve been trying some deejaying here and there, but you see I’m still upcoming, so no gigs yet.”

“And?”

Awkward silence.

“And some little chilling you know,” I finally answer.

“So technically speaking, you have been idling, aka,no gigs, and chilling, aka, smoking weed all day?”

“Mmmmh. If that’s what you call it, yes.”

“Can I hear one of them mixes?”

At last someone wants to hear my sound genuinely. I bolt from my seat and put the music on. My most favorite one for that matter. After two beats, I can see him shaking his head. But he stops me. I stop the music.

“The music is good, but the dj effects are wrongly placed,” he claims.

“Says the moron who stays in office all day,” I defend.

“Yes! The guy who manages some of the heaviest artists in Kenya currently? You get that?”

“Stop shitting me. Which artist do you manage?”

“Ever heard of Redsan? Ever heard of Nameless?”

“How do you do that?”

“I have invested in some of those companies. Is there anything else you can do with concerns to music?”

“Well, I’ve been messing around with Fl studio software, mind hearing something?”

That’s rhetoric. By the time he is answering, I have already opened this sound I have been trying to create.

“Is that you?” referring to the music.

“I know it’s a mess, but you don’t have to rub it to my face.”

“No. That’s dope. Do you hear the drum?” He says rising up to get closer to the sound system as if to get a clearer hearing.

“Keep on playing with me. It’s poor work I know.”

“What do you think? Of course it’s poor, but do you hear how good that sound could be with a little practice?”

“It’s nothing I intend to pursue after all.”

He turns off his joint, stops the music and glances at his watch.

“Do this, come to my office tomorrow at 2.00pm.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I kid you not. We gotta do something about that or else you will become a retard here with all this weed, yet you could use your sound to build yourself. And take this to my designer today and get some decent clothes,” handing me a card.

“Wait, were you serious?”

“Yes, I’m fucking serious. Don’t come to my office in those charred boxers,” and he locks the door behind him.

Now, I could say, the rest is history, but that would sound too cliché. So, let’s say I went to see him the next day, not in boxers, and began my journey in the other side of making great hits.

 

Right now I’m on my way to Machakos, T-Sound records to be specific. There is this rising star from Machakos who needs a really heavy track to push him way way up the ladder. And who else to produce it than yours truly? By now, papa is my biggest fan. He spents most of his retirement time watching Tv, or on the radio, just to hear my signature on the hit songs I have produced. In fact, he texts me all my hits that play on air each day.

Just then my phone rigs. Talk of the devil. It’s papa.

“My lost son!” So typical of him.

“My old papa!” And that’s me.

“What is that I hear that you are coming to Machakos and you haven’t told me?”

“Come on. Where did you hear that?”

“You forget that the owner of your studio owes me a daughter?”

“Mark must make a mark everywhere?”

“Well, can you pass by and say hi to your mother before you go back?”

“My schedule is really tied, but I will definitely do that. Don’t tell her, I want it to be a surprise.”

“Too late, you are on loud speaker.”

“Weee! Mutua upitie hapo Kenya Israel ukinichukulia nyanya ulete.” that’s momma.

“Hehe! Mum hio tutaendea na wewe. Papa, nitakupigia simu acha nifike studio kwanza.”

“Go make music my prodigal son.”

I hang up.

TILL LOVE DO US PART

(PART II)

 Incase you missed it, read Part I here

 

PCFA CHURCH, MACHAKOS, 11.31 a.m, 17^th December, 2016

Well, they say weddings are a woman’s golden moment, but this right here? It’s doomsday for me. Karma is a bitch, so they say again. I am lost of words as I stare at these two men. Words escape my mouth as I can’t quite figure what to say at this moment. Yet, someone is waiting for answers. From the dumb-me by now. The past comes to haunt the future.

“Hello Carl, Carl meet Elisha, Elisha this is Carl and Betty was my nickname back in Campus.” 

At long last a few words decide to make way through my mouth. Wait, did I just introduce my two lovers to each other? Holy shit. I just did. On the altar. And on my wedding day.

 

Then silence.

Carl stands there smiling and staring at Elisha like a buffoon. A smile of jealousy clouded by bitterness, yet past sweet memories, and a little whisper in there of, ‘I’m gonna punch you right in the face’. I’ve seen that fake smile before.  That is the exact smile he always had whenever he told me about this girl he once loved but she couldn’t love him back, because he was a poor boy from the village.

LEGENDS LOUNGE, EMBAKASI, 20.22 p.m, 11^th March, 2014

“You talk of trust yet you refuse to tell me about her, you know that’s not trust. Right?” I insist.

“Haha! Says the hooker. Nice try.” Carl isn’t quite the sweetheart of words.

“You know you are trying to spoil my luck in business by always having me come here, right? Yet you can’t trust me?” I ask nervously.

“Were it me, I wouldn’t quite call that a business just to sugar-coat it,” Carl answers making quotation marks gesture with his index fingers.

“What choice do I have to keep up with the class around the media world. I just have to.”

“You know that’s not true. You can let me be your hero.”

“You forget that heroes don’t live long?”

“I know, but I would rather live a day only knowing that I will leave you with every happiness you wish for as my wife. That’s something called love, but I bet you don’t subscribe to that school of thought.”

“Huh! Love? You know that is something people just to get into each other’s pants, right?”

“That is dependent on what is in those pants.”

“And you have gladly taken what is in my pants, thank you, yet you can’t tell me that one damn story of your experience with love? Quite the charmer I see.”

“Why are you always insisting on hearing this one thing? I’ve told you time and again, it is not as sweet as one of those soap operas you watch on Citizen TV.”

“If you really did love, you could trust as well.”

“You’re watching a lot of Mexican soaps that I can tell from your words.”

“Well, what’s there to call love then if you can’t quite trust me. So I bet my job here is done. Pay me so I can go catch the next bird before midnight.”

“Okay, here you go.”

He fishes out some Ksh.3,000 from his trousers on the floor. I hurriedly put on my clothes. I am pissed of course. I can see him stealing glances at me from the corner of my eye. He always does that when he is remorseful about what he has just said. He isn’t good in handling guilt unlike me.

He hands me the money and I turn to leave. Just as I turn the door knob to leave he mumbles something from behind.

“What?” I ask.

“I really loved her,” he answers as he pulls a chair for me to sit.

I act as if to hesitate taking the offer, but he stares at me in such a way that I feel obligated to stay and listen to an old sad story. What I have always asked for, yet never been given. I place my handbag on the table then sit opposite him. He is still in his boxers only. He sits on the bed staring at me, then continues.

“I fell in love with her while in my first year in the university. A friend of mine had just snatched my high school girlfriend, but since it was an high school thing, I thought it couldn’t hurt.”

“What love doesn’t hurt? God, I still remember the heartbreak of class one when a boy dumped me because he met this girl with a mathematical set and I had none. It hurts at all levels.”

“Now, will we listen to your childish thing or will you let me tell my tale?”

“Go on bossman.”

“So after my girl is snatched by this friend, I just switched to this girl who was interested in me. Better still, we were pursuing the same course. That means that I could make all manner of excuses just to go see her. From asking for notes which I already had, to asking her out in the name of private discussions, then came the late night coding classes whenever I was lucky to borrow a laptop from a friend. You know the whole freshers’ thing.”

“Damn right I do.”

“Then in no time she as well parted ways with her home boyfriend. He said he couldn’t trust a girl who goes to the university…”

“I quite can relate, I couldn’t as well trust a girl who is in the university miles away from me,” I say as I think of the same thing that Elisha, my home boyfriend, could probably do in the future.

“My story please, can I finish it? Thank you. And so we begin our thing. It was really beautiful. We were the envy of the rest of our course-mates. We always held hands together on our way to class. We even finished each other’s sentences. I couldn’t imagine a life without Stacy.”

That name sends a piercing shock down my spine. Could it be coincidence that the girl who hurt him was called Stacy like me? Or is it fate? Well, whatever it is, let’s just stick to Betty, the name Carl knows.

“Well, when it came to the subject of sex, she at last gave in to my a million begs for a night. And she was a virgin. Then I knew that we were meant for a lifetime together. She had given me her innocence. And I was determined to make her the happiest woman the universe has ever seen…”

“Can we skip to the part where she turns out not to be the one with you now?” I interrupt.

“So there is this guy who was living next door and had a crush on her. I always told her to keep off that guy because, for some reason, I believed he was an asshole. But she always entertained him, in the name of they are going to watch this and that series which is out, she was going to code from his laptop, her visits to my house decreased while the other guy’s room experienced an inverse visit. It caused me a lot of worry that I could hardly sleep. How could I match up the standards with which this guy was treating her, yet I was this poor guy. So one day I decided to get all the monies I had between me and poverty just to make her learn that what we had was special. I booked us a table at one of the best hotels in Murang’a, just near the university so that I could save on fare. We were to meet at 6.00 p.m, but she was a no show up. I waited for and a half an hour but she never showed up. Her phone wasn’t going through. I was worried because this had been her habit whenever she was in this guy’s house. By the way, his name was David, a.k.a, Dave, never trust a man with that name, he is a player. So after taking lots of coffee while waiting for her, I decided to swing by her place and see what happened to us meeting today. Arriving at her place I found two pairs of shoes at her door, one for her, one for Dave. Funny story, they had not locked the door, so I turned the knob. After all, why knocked yet I was her boyfriend, I could get it at will. So I opened, and right there they were. Dave on top of her. Her pulling him closer to herself. Him smashing her like he had a grudge with her. She was moaning like she was under the influence of ecstasy. She pulled the sides of the bed-sheets as if to tear them apart. She was abso-fuckinng-lutely enjoying this moment, I could tell. What I saw made every part of me lose the mojo to do its work. My legs caved in and I found myself seated on the side of her bed. My hands were powerless, and that saw the bottle of coke I had brought her fall onto the floor and break into pieces. The sound of breaking glass made Dave jump out of the bed with his penis releasing lots of thick creamy fluid all-over Stacy as he scrambled to cover himself. Disgustingly as it was, I just sat there stupidly, staring at Stacy who now looked like a newborn due to the liquid on her face. Was this what we had promised each other?”

 Carl makes this creepy smile as he wipes the little tears welling up on his right eye. Then he continued.

“‘How long?’ that’s what I asked her. Two words, how long.” Then he paused.

NASHUKURU(Happy New Year) - Danny P

 

Nashukuru Mungu kwa kunilinda mwaka mzima,
Siunajua kuna wengi walituacha wakazima,
Lakini bado uko na uzima
Na wengine hosipitali wanalishwa kwa mipira imeunganishwa na stima,
Lakini mimi natafuna tu vizuri githeri na sima,
Acha Mungu apewe heshima
Vitu umefanya ata uwezo wakukulipa sina
Ulinipenda ukaniokoa when i was a sinner,
Nasema vitu God amefanya they are great si minor,
Great kama student wa matiangi akipata above C minus

Naelewa huu mwaka umekuwa hatari,
Kuna wengi walipoteza mali,
Case za break ups tumewitness kila mahali,
Na mwingine alinyang'anywa bibi coz hajalipa mahari,
Hata Rafiki yangu Larry alikuwa ameplan kumarry, kabla huu mwaka haujaisha
Lakini bado yuko single coz wasichana wetu wanatafuta mwenye ako na gari na nyumba za kifahari

Shukuru Mungu kama uko salama,
Wengine juzi waliangamia kwenye road accident Mombasa road huko salama,
Wengine kwa mabiashara wamepata gharama,
Juzi rafiki yangu amepoteza mama
(Moment of silence )RIP mama Mercy na Lucas

Yaani Yesu nakupenda na kwako sitahama,
Sijui niongezee mistari sita ama,
Coz vile Umenitendea nashuhudia na confidence siezi stammer,
umeconfuse seasons hadi winter kwangu nikama summer
We ni Jehovah nissi Jehova Shammer,

Rafiki zangu huu ni mwaka Wa urejesho
Kama ulijitahidi jipange sasa ule jasho,
God ako na hesabu ya life yako ya kesho,
Atakupromote uingie kwa ofisi uache io kazi ya Casual
Its your spoken word star Dannypdalton as usual,
Clear sound kama Johnttez wa krucial,
Na hii Ni audio tu ngojeeni vitu visual,
A prosporous Happy new year is what i wish you all

@Dannypdalton
  #spokenword
#Mzikisanainjilisana

 

Till Love Do Us Part

(PART I) 

MAANZONI LOUNGE, 19.02 p.m, 21^st April, 2014

Cool music. Playing in the background. I guess it’s Neyo. Usher. Or maybe Akon. Yeah. Akon. By the way, how does a black ninja sing in such a feminine voice? I don’t get it. That’s a thing for white folks (No racist). But it’s great. Cheers to yoh all Akons out there. Keep making stuff. Serves the purpose just right. Puts you in the mood.

Warm lighting. Illuminates the room. Thanks to the candles adding a breathtaking look. What’s that scent? Scents of garlic, boiled onions, not really sure which it is now. But it is something close to that.

Two silhouettes. Silhouettes in the dark. They hug. Caress. Kiss. Touch. And shag. One of those figures is Stacy. Me. Me naked. Him nude. The shagging goes on and on. 

This is ecstatic. It will last forever. I want it to go on. On and on. It’s magical. I feel him. Him in me. I move my waist round and round. He moans. Moans like a wounded dog each time I do that. Each time. I do it faster, then slower. Faster, Slower. Repeat. I want him all. All in me. I feel him. He feels me too. He is getting there. He is downhill and going fast. He will be 'home' soon. I better catch up fast.

“Keep going!” I shout. That ecstasy again.

My left hand rubs his Arab hair. It’s soft and pleasing to touch. My long nails dig deep into his skin. His masculine back though suffers most of my claws’ adventure. I wrap my legs around his butt. And pull him deeper. I can’t hold it anymore. Yeah! Yeah!

“I’m cumming baby!” I beg.

“Yeah! Have it! Get it baby!” He replies.

“Yeah! Hit it baby!” I command. 

And boom! He explodes like its fucking Afghanistan. His grip tightens with every grenade of his ‘warm-yoghurt’. His grip is stronger than those of Thor and Batman combined. Those guys should come benchmark with this guy. It is the very last blow of his drip that sends me to worlds unknown. My turn is here and kaboom! I blow up and shake like I’m having seizure. His, now immobile, body pins me to the bed like the nails on the Titanic. For a second one could mistake my shaking to power surges. He keeps it in there, just the way I love it, till I am shaking no more. I stare at the ceiling above. Stare, and stare for long.

15 minutes later.

I slip to the side of this king-size bed and sit up. I look at Carl lying there. His chest reveals a good amount of time invested to keep fit. I envy him. How does one get to be so lucky in life? Wealthy and good looking. I think that is success on steroids. No potbelly, or one of those forced-kitambis some of these Subaru-driving boys try to force on themselves. Hey fellows, you look like malnourished kids from somewhere in Turkana. Cut that thing. His eyes. They look so peaceful. So certain. Like he has found exactly what he has always been looking for all along. I do not know what to feel about it. Should I be happy or sad for him? Guilty? Maybe.

I look away and stare at the candles still ablaze. Wide awake. The flame burns lazily. I can’t help but stare at it. The flame is swayed from side to side by the breeze from the swimming pool outside. But never does it go off. It is resilient. It forms irregular, regular and all manner of shapes as it burns. Yet remains as the flame. Just what it is. I feel becoming the flame. I have been hit by waves. Waves of life. Sometimes the waves are too strong that I have had to change my shape. Yet I still remain a flame, no matter what shape I take. Or have I? 

“Creepy?” Carl whispers into my ear.

His voice isn’t the deep type, but it is very reassuring. It has a way with me. It takes me off wonderland.

“So you say, maybe,” I reply.

GNFA CHURCH, MACHAKOS, 11.02 a.m, 17^th December, 2016

Flowers. Lots of flowers. Lilies and roses. I look around and I am amazed. All these for me. I love it. All for love. I never thought in a million years that this could ever happen to me. I mean, why me? I do not deserve it. But well, here it is. You better make hey while the sun shines.

Smiles. Smiles everywhere. Male and female. All smiles. All for this big day. I look around and all I can see are good hearts here to witness my big day. The day I turn from being a little girl, to being a woman. A woman of a man. I have looked forward to this day for long. It’s my wedding day.

Now, here we stare at each other with my soon-to-be husband. His eyes glow. The kind of glow that makes you feel creepy if you are lying. It’s my wedding day, but well, what probably could I be lying about? Well, I’ve lied twice or thrice. Maybe a little more than that. Hey fellows, hold your whip before you begin judging me. Who hasn’t told a lie or two? Well, I have, and can’t a bride for fucking sake have a lie or two hidden somewhere in the past? So like the Son of God once said when he himself was walking amongst us mortal folks, he who has no sin let him cast the first stone. Funny story, the fellow just then decides to begin drawing things on the ground. And before he is done with the fifth bird(if that’s what he is drawing), he looks around and everyone has left. So, kindly, put back your holier-than-thou guns. So where was I? Flowers, smiles, staring. Okay.

He looks very handsome in his tuxedo. Trust you me, this is the first time I have ever seen this guy in a suit. I mean, this guy is allergic to suits because, since time immemorial I have never seen him in one. He keeps saying suits make people like penguins. Forgive his sense of humor, but that’s just the way it is. Not even the pants. The closest he gets to penguinsm is a khaki. He has an attitude to white collar. I guess that explains why he never pursued his education even after having passed so well in his KCSE. He rather opted to get into the farming business. It seemed like a pretty stupid idea considering his parents are advocates, but you gotta give it to the man. He really made it work. And here we are years later. Him forced to put on a penguin by this particular event. Why hasn’t he ever downed on a suit before? He fucking looks awesome. Enough with the cursing fellow! This is my wedding.

“If there is anyone here who thinks these two should not be joined together in a holy matrimonial, speak now or hold your peace forever.” The Reverend poses the most dreaded question ever. 

I mean why the hell do they ask this question? Are you trying to break families beforehand, Reverend? You see, some desperate girl somewhere who thinks my husband could work best with her could probably shoot their bloody hand up and fuck up this whole thing up. Or some random mad man somewhere could just show up in decent clothes, like  my guy’s suit here, and say that we have been shagging in the preparation room just before the wedding. You see? That’s what I’m saying Reverend. Is it possible to remove that part of the wedding recipe?

Karma is a bitch.

“Yes! Here!” Some idiot from the back shoots their hand up and everyone turns around with their mouths wide open like they have seen a ghost. As wedding security is about to grab him, two bigger securities appear, and well, the wedding security curl their tail in between their legs like a little puppy. Every part of me begins shaking like a twig. I don’t know why but it feels like everyone’s eye is on me asking, 

“Who the hell is this dude?”

Hey idiots, it 2016, don’t you know dudes shag dudes these days? Or haven’t you heard of those men who go around kissing other men like maggots do, what the fuck do you call that(cursing again?)? Stop staring, you are scaring the shit out of me. This guy could be anyone guys. So can we at least keep an open mind fellows. Thank you.

No, no, no. Guys, tell me this is a nightmare. Where the hell has he come from? On my wedding day for that matter, come on guys? You don’t just show up on my wedding day fool? Or which asshole invited this other rich asshole? Suckers! I told you guys to keep a secret. Come on. Who told him I am wedding today? Oh, wait a minute, and he didn’t bring a fucking date to my wedding? Gross. Who does that? I mean, everyone brings a date, right Benso(You guys remember Benso? My retarded cousin, and guess what guys, he fucking brought a date!)? Not even a present or something? Come on? Someone please hit the alarm button? Or if there is a sink button too, or any fucking thing that can snatch me from my own bloody wedding? Guess what? That ain’t happening. This shit is as real as it comes.

There, right there. Walking to the pulpit, on my wedding day, is the ‘lover’ I left in the middle of the night two years ago.

“Hello Betty” Carl greets.

“Who is this honey?” Elisha asks.

To be continued.....

Mama, Now That's A Job

"Index 143!" ordered a loud female voice.
"Yes sir! Sorry, Yes Madam!"
The whole battalion of students eager to face their life defining paper burst in laughter as I majestically walked to my desk. I could feel the sharp eyes of the invigilator pierce me to the bone marrow as she escorted me with them eyes like a faithful bodyguard to his master. It was as if she was asking me the Sholei-question, "Do you know who I am?" But I gave no single care of what she was trying to declare with her stern face that completely was no match to her curvy body.

She had the kind of body that God created on a weekend when there was not much to create. You see, on a weekend I imagine God created the "wonderfully" made, while the rest of us normal/ugly folks came off the pipeline as the "fearfully" made. She downed on a very thin dress that seemed to beg any hand that had the opportunity to touch her. The kind of dress that isn't too long to kill you with boredom or too short to make a man have a heart attack, but long enough to hide the subject matter, you know that type? Right?

I took the desk next to the wide window. Not that I chose it for myself but because the Old-Man up there pulled His strings of fate and saw it fit for me to be index 143, not 142 nor 144, but 143. But who am I, a mere mortal, to question what His Highness the Lord Himself selected specially for me? Who am I?

I took my rightful place and began chanting every prayer that my staunch Reverend had ever taught me. I could feel that these prayers were being served to God by His army of Gabriel and the strong fellows up there. They were not the kind of prayers that have to go through the likes of Peter, Matthew and doubting Thomas for vetting, no, they were designed so personally that daring to open my letter/prayer would amount to one trying to read a letter of a son telling His father the problems that ail him. I hope saint Peter with his excessively inquisitive habits didn't poke his nose on matters that do not remotely concern him. If you did, Peter, I have a bone to pick with you. That's not a threat for that matter.

"And lastly, index 223!" That female voice again.
Each student took their designated place ready to reap what they sow for a whole scorching 4 years. I was in "the others" hall with the rest of us bunch of fellows who never worked hard in form three and fell for index numbers that were identifiable by more than 2 numerals. This is where all idiots who hardly managed a mean grade beyond a C - converged to undertake our examinations.

Don't judge me that I found my way to this hall too. You see in form three I had these adolescent emotions which were burning me up like a raging fire on grass. Story for another day, but now you know how I ended up here.

Two very mean looking men joined the lady and begun dishing out the examination papers. A thin sweat was declaring its paths down my shaggy hair which had not had a visit by the barber in ages. I took a deep breath, thanks to my yoga tutor, and calm took over me the same way the seas calmed during the time of Jesus of Nazareth. By the way, I still don't get how this fellow used to talk to storms like they are his pals. How?

So I take out my pen and ready it to ooze knowledge and experience that has been earned not so easily but by a long four years of hardship(read canes) and lots of maize and weevils, aka, githeri, and a few beans here and there. I felt completely ready for this specific English Writing paper, regards to my teacher of English, one Mr. Hillary Muthoka(this is where I send shout out to the rest of my teachers, but today save this space for this soldier-strong teacher).

I was armed to the last tooth to fire arsenal after arsenal. Delivering blow after blow on the Queen's language. I could imagine my fellow students scrabbling to catch the slightest glimpse of the justice I was going to do to this paper. My very joking friend, George Mwendwa(by the way watch his music on YouTube as Rota Dee, how have you guys not watched his music?) would probably be throwing papers at me in an attempt to have me position my paper squarely for him to copy my work. Yeah, he would do that like he had a PhD in Exam Thievery and Answers Editing. Sorry sir, that just seemed like a good line to spice my story

I could imagine the examiner marking my paper with broken ribs out of reading the wealth of memes married with sophisticated language I was going to deliver. I hope his/her insurance works, owing to my humor he/she would be in hospital for days, which means a big bill, where the insurance comes in.

I brace myself up and I open the paper. Karma has a way of embarrassing me each time I am ready to do justice to a task.

Long story short, five years later here I am behind my laptop delivering my wrath upon the keyboard to pen down this article, namely, a blog post, while the rest of THE students are surgeons, pilots, accountants and other jobs which deserve the name JOBS.

But well, I guess it's not such a lose because I keep folks like you glued to their phones, iPhones, iPads and other i-devices.

Mama, now you see where your fees went to? Right? Mama, I have a serious job. I do articles, scripts, blog, write, in short, I am some idle jobless fellow who writes stuff as it trickles down my brain. Now, that's a job.

On a serious note, adults, I am a seasoned filmmaker, script writer, photographer, and basically any job that involves holding my camera or penning down my story via the qwerty keyboard.

Check out my coming film, "Circle of Games". Thanks my faithful readers for keeping me employed here. Have a drink on my bill.
Cheers.