Stories and Poems From Kenyans: May 2014

Saturday, May 31, 2014

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Wednesday, May 14, 2014

LOCKED IN THE GENTS

Forgive me peeps but there are a species of human sapien race that I can't put up with !even with Aromat I will still avoid them like plaque!

So for some reason I find myself in Bima plaza Mombasa,I'm in a waiting bench,Tabitha Njeri is keeping me waiting-she always does!so I let my mind wander around throwing a gaze from one corner of the building to the other,the architectural plan for this city beauty can only have come from a talent!By the way do you guys know an architecture somewhere, who is around 35?and unmarried?loooool!
So I'm lost in thoughts when I certainly realize a change in atmospheric diffusion of our God given oxygen.....a sweet scent of male Cologne, or is it an aftershave?I take a swift turn just in time to meet eye for an eye with this guy!He smiles broadly on realizing how silly my jaw dropped!This drop gorgeous guy has those eyes that see you through your heart, I say to my self "this must be the architecture" He has a briefcases,a white shirt or was it cream?its ironed to perfection tacked in black trousers!My eyes rush to the fingers! Manicured?at least no ring on them-oh what a relieve!
He goes on like.."hi,I'm Nick,Nick Nakhoulogo"My head is reeling,what a busy name,oh no,please let him not be form Botswana!Esther Wavinya had a crash with one and it didn't work)..."oh I'm Faith Mueni,Kenyan,kamba tribe ,from the only famous beautiful Mbooni hills..."(I wanted to add that Alfred Mutua is my neighbor governor)
"I'm Kenyan too"...he goes on,but I have ancestors from Congo"that's a relieve,this guy is so cool....
So we end up talking about jobs and how the economy is giving us an ugly look when he suggests business and am impressed!a this guy has a way with words guys,and the smile can raise my dead grandma!
So I ask "apart from your PR job,what business do you do around?"...God has to come here,and He has to come so first because I'm running out if time,this guy starts to preach about the famous GNLD networking shit!,how do I stop him?who do I tell him that im tired with the GNLD,VEEMA,HEALTHY LIVING...and all that cult-like stuff?He us unstoppable, he opens the briefcase and plucks out their networking maps with all those chains and preaching how he is now driving a Harrier and about his holiday to Australia courtesy of GNLD!....I'm getting choked here,am suffocating, the architecture plan of this house didn't consider good ventilation-I figure out.....my life is in danger from this speech,show can I turn off a handsome guy?am sweating,I take a turn and start walking...... I'm now running to the restrooms!....Did I look the sign well?oh no!I'm in the gents.....and several guys behind me,can't get out,got to lock myself till they finish their shit!only then I get those phone calls that you can't dare ignore,its fromGeorge Morara all the way from majuu!
When I get out of this place I'll surely kill Tabby!George Kimeu andProff Muli please pray for me,im still in the gents!!!!
By
Faith Mueni

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

MY PRESIDENT BY Beryl Wanga Itindi

Alone but not lonely,
I waited in the lounge at the Airport,
Not for a long lost relative,
Not for a long lost friend,
And not for any family member,
But for the Air Force One to land,
So I may see my president.
It took me not 2 hours,
It took me not a whole day,
It took me several years,
Just to have a look at my president,
This president that was God sent,
He never came early, he never came late,
But just at the moment when I needed him most.
He is not the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces,
Neither is he a member of the parliament nor a senator,
Neither bodyguards nor the Presidential Press Service,
And above all, no one voted him in the office but me,
No pushing and shoving at this lounge for the president,
Neither red carpet nor dancers to welcome him home,
But I waited still for my president to come.
I did not know how he looked like; I did not know his name,
But I knew for sure I would recognize him when I see him,
At first, the lounge had been fun for I had never been there,
But with time, it got boring and I wished I could walk out,
Only I had no idea where else I would sit and wait for my president,
I wanted to go and meet him as he alighted,
But the security man at the lounge could not let me go!
One evening I was bored and decided to take a nap,
Only to be woken up by others at the lounge,
With sleepy eyes I woke up and looked out the window,
And there it was! Air Force One was on the runway!
Landing swiftly with my president on board,
One look at him and I knew he was my president,
“Your statesman is here for you sir” I whispered in my heart.
I was not carrying my country’s flag but he knew I was the one,
Right there at the Airport we bonded like one,
We had fun at the runway as everyone watched,
Some envied us while others cheered us on,
I kept my president happy and updated him about his country,
I tried making him feel at home for this was the country he would lead,
I was the statesman, he was the president, and did I have a choice?
With a smile on my face, I decided to bid the lounge goodbye,
That lounge that I had been in for the past years,
That lounge that had turned me into one boring robot,
Doing things not because I wanted to but because I was being controlled,
Now I was out and was not planning to go back at any cost,
I knew the guys at the lounge would miss me but I had to go,
They had their chance with me and now they had to let me go.
My president told me all about my other statesmen,
The ones I had never seen and whom he had left behind,
Although I longed to see them, all I saw were their photos,
A good picture is worth 1000 words and sure enough their pictures told me so much,
My president also told me about all the national holidays in our country,
And I longed for the day I would spend the holidays with him and my other statesmen,
He even went ahead and taught me the country’s national language!
From the blues and without a single warning,
My president decided it was time to go back to the lounge,
He told me to go back to this lounge that I dreaded so much!
As much as I knew this was not what I wanted,
I could not disobey my president because I knew he was older and wiser,
I trusted in his word, I knew it was all out of goodwill,
With a heavy heart and without a choice, I went back to the lounge.
As I swallowed my pride and walked back to the lounge,
I saw my president walk back to Air Force One!
I saw Air Force One speeding down the runway,
I saw Air Force One ascending in the air,
I looked out the window at the lounge,
Air Force One was gathering momentum in the air!
Tears welled in my eyes; I was not ready to see it leave.
I had thought I had found my president,
I had thought I would finally be in my country with my other statesmen,
I did not even have the chance to spend one national holiday with him!
With whom shall I talk to in this sweet national language?
With whom shall I celebrate these national holidays?
Are my statesmen okay and will my president be fine?
How I wish Air Force One could turn back!
I had thought this was the president’s destination,
Only to realize that he had just made a stop,
Made a stop as he headed to his destination,
Mr. President, I still believe this was your destination,
Whichever destination you are heading to, I pray you find a true statesman,
One that will make you and your country happy,
All I want to see is a happy country lead by you, your Excellency.
I am still watching Air Force One in the sky,
I see it flying over our land every day,
I wish I could forget that it ever landed,
But I am unable to brush its thought off my mind,
Fare thee well Mr. President, I wish you all the best!
Do not mistake this for a goodbye my president,
All I am saying is see you later sir!
By
Beryl Wanga Itindi

Festus Mbuva Midnight Runs( Lowell nightlife)

So last night I still went for a night run after running twenty miles earlier. I was waddling a bit but nothing a little alcohol couldn't numb. The weather was perfect and streets were full of potential stories as nightwalkers and street pharmacists went about their business....literally. I wasn't seeking much of that kind of story so I trotted on heading to a bar in Gorham st where I planned to drink a beer and check out the crowd before turning towards downtown. As I neared the crossing point, a young man was screaming shirtless towards the road. He had some blood in his face but I chalked it to drunken falls or some stupid stuff and kept jogging. He had sat down by the pavement a few yards from the bar cussing loudly and making some noises that's have indicated he was crying too but I couldn't see his eyes. As I walked by to enter the bar, he asked if I had a cigarette . Right then, I knew he wasn't too drunk or much of a threat so I told him I would borrow one from some guys smoking just a few yards away. Instinctively knowing there was much more to his story, I returned with a lit cigarette for his convenience. I asked him where his shirt was. His mother had it he replied. The next question was obvious...where is your mother? He motioned towards the bar so I knew I was going back there with him. He explained that his uncle had been spending more time with his mother and that he had just got into a fight with him over the issue. His mother had left his father a few months ago and that upset him. Before I could ask if he lived with them, he told me how unbearable it was to hear "noises" from their bedroom at night. So why fight at a bar instead of home? He had no answer for that but the climax of their passive aggressive stances just played out in full public view. I asked him how his mother was taking it. He asked what I meant...I wanted to joke that I knew she was taking it "hard" from the uncle but I meant the spectacle of their confrontation. Instead he asked if I could buy him a miller lite. I promised better....a pitcher of pbr!
So in to the bar we went. And just as he described, sitting there was his mother and a very short potbellied black man who is probably in his late 60s or has been partying too hard. I couldn't believe how this man could win a physical battle with a young man in his 20s but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, you will live your entire life thinking its clumsy i`d find out soon. Soon all four of us were talking. The obvious question was how he was the uncle....it couldn't be blood... based on color but their answers were far confusing than anything I've heard at midnight. Leaving that alone, I asked how the two were doing and why her son was so upset. She started by trying to slap him and nearly slapped me in the process. After I held her up and she regained her balance, she exclaimed that she was very happy and that her son needed to mind his business and life. The "uncle" lifted her spirits. At same moment, he was busy trying to lift her dress driving the message home. That really upset the son who jumped towards the pygmy.
The old guy had the son by his mullet and in almost like a trance state, just span him around and punched at will but never hard enough as id expect from a fight. Realizing the son wasn't getting himself out of this, and perhaps natural compassion kicking in, I pressed my left palm on the old guys face shoving him hard while pointing my finger at the lady to warn her of any ideas of defending her man. Calm resumed as the son sat on the floor. This seemed a joke to everyone except the crying son who seemed to be reeling from years of emotional damage. I was amazed at how a mother could watch their son broken like that and not care. After all I had just spent two hours talking to my mother in a conversation that was always lively and motivating. Through most of my life and work and even relationships, I've mostly disengaged from fights I don't need to be in but watching a young man crumble like yesterdays bacon was a far sad and sorry state. So I decided to be precisely honest with him. This guy will be doing your mother I said...to the chuckle of the mother who planted a kiss on my cheek at about the same time. But that had nothing to do with him and if he didn't like it as id suppose, he should move out and not hang out at bars with his mother. About his uncle, he came from India many years ago and was a martial arts instructor at some point. By how dark he was , I couldn't have guessed. He told me he was "living the American dream" and this young kid was messing it up for him. We all laughed, shared another pitcher after which I broke away and trotted home.
By
Festus Kasyoka Mbuva

MY FLOWER BY Symon Oreri Nomizo

My flower,i mean my morning glory
I feel that pride, i will never take side,i will feel sorry
You blossom bright,you love sunlight,your lovely look-lonely
I love your principle, you're just simple,you look noble.
Like a bird,you spread your petal wide
High above the sky,you enjoy the cool breeze what a sky
If you were human,i would fall in love like a real man
A man i mean who can match,feel it back and match.
From zero to a hero,i think am a big weight kilo
Have taken care of you,like a chick have fed you
Your fruits are sweet and bearable,your bitterness are also edible
I love your sweet scent,i think you must be heaven sent.
BY
‪#‎SymonThePoet‬

Monday, May 12, 2014

OPEN LETTER TO SAUTI SOL

Where do I first begin with this(taking a deep breath as I watch the “Nishike” Online.) Am in alpha state of mind so are many women. Just in one week this song has managed to make the ladies happy and men angry.The video is banned but there aint no ban if we can view it on you tube.Sauti Sol,you knew very well this video will be banned,and you went ahead and did it.This is where we say-'tumeshikwa psychologically.many listeners are now calling our local station to say they love Kenya-Do you know what you just did!Women cant get enough after watching it over and over again.You need to open a school for our men.Bien being the lead.The ladies are drooling.

For the longest time Kenyan men have been bleating incoherently about our weaves,the shape of our bodies,our heels,make ups,bla bla bla.....They normally say“unajiringa na uko size 1” yet they are one packed ... Now we have a match-up courtesy of You guys.The men will no longer dominate us in regards to how we look physically because we now have a weapon-...'get Sauti Sol body and then tell me what I should look like'No steroids-gym please.

First and foremost thank you for the “Nishike” video.Do you know how happy you made us the female species be!We are left glued to the screen.Ask me what words I know from the song-Only Nishike.We love listening to the video with the sound muted.It gives us intrinsic reinforcements. For so long in Kenya we never had eye-candy from our local entertainers hence traveled internationally online to appease the vanity of female wishes. The entertainment industry in Kenya has always been gratifying the sexual impulses of men.They should use you guys in the Vaseline ads,we want billboards of you so that we-the women can also cause accidents while driving on our highway by being distracted by your billboards.We need something to carry our attention during the traffic jam.For Long we have always had scantily clad women on huge roadside billboards,our men have been hitting the car in front of them because they were gawking at a beautiful damsel.It is now our time.

After you released a sizzling new video early this month— where you showed off chiseled bodies alongside semi-naked ladies,gladdened our hearts. What stole our souls was Bien Aime Baraza (his sexy move is 49 seconds into the video), It rekindled our yearn for irresistible sexual impulse taking us way back in 2001 when Tyrese did the Baby Boy comedy drama(the baby boy sex scene).We are left having exaggerated images of the cut part of the video.This has subjected us to want the same treatment in our bedroom but seems impossible.You know our men have one pack or slim body which is concentrated on the belly part as The capital Fm nishike version.Sauti Sol you have left us to ask questions amongst girlfriends if their guys can do the baby boy as done by Bien.Do you think one pack can be able to do it.This has made us run to the gym(impulse planning) so that we can hook up with guys their for Nishike moments.Lifting weight ,going to the gym is now called sautisoling.

You have made us increase our demands on physical appearance of the guys who want to date us the singles.For the married ones-their wives have started sweet talking them to go to the gym even promising to accompany them.You have brought a new lifestyle which I hope will be here to stay.Gym.Its all about the abs.The one pack guy who used to floss in the clubs as many women went for them as a sign of being loaded pocket-wise are now loosing their ways in the woman's eyes.We have started looking for guys with nice abs like six pack or eight pack,broad, muscular shoulders .I cannot tell a lie, abs are PRETTY important,they make a woman play with them like a Spanish guitar.

Sauti Sol,You are now officially in trouble.You need to hire more than enough bodyguards because when we meet you at Bachus,Galileo,Alliance Francaise we will demand you to stay topless and if you don't coercion will be the way to go.We will tear-off your shirts.You have awakened an animal that has always been rendered dead in women. We have been listening to your songs which make us want to cuddle and drift into sweet daydream of first love.For Nishike the notch is higher-the sexy dial a song.So for this reason we as women of Kenya,we demand to have you walk shirtless in the street of Nairobi and its environs.Create your own Tv channel where you will be the news anchor.We are tired of having the female anchors flaunting for our men to be stirred up.We are also becoming visual.Open train up school for the men so that we don't get limited to you.The Kenyan male have so many eye-candies from socialites to Anchors.We now have you.When we go to the malls we want to scope some nice eye candy trained by you.

Lasty for the media justice tour,I suggest you fire your PR.We expected you to flaunt the confident, shirtless, buffed, hot bodies on the Trend.You killed our long to see you live without shirts.Those shirts don't look good on you.Abs do.

I don't mind watching your hot shirtless selves again and again.

Sincerely

Your die-hard fun

Esther Wavinya

DILEMMA by Sen Keli

It’s no use anymore,
Holding them back; will just let the tears flow,
Coz imma feel relief for sure,
Even for a minute or more,
Coz the pain is too much to hold.

I stare into space,
As if in a haze,
Feeling trapped in a maze,
Trying to figure out some ways,
I could untangle myself from this web.

Ooh shit; what a mess,
I got me into; what a shame,
And I thought I’d got it all under control,
Like a fireman handling a hose,
Buh sadly I was completely off.

I’m so deep, like sinking in quicksand,
No matter how hard I try,
I can’t lift myself up,
All I hope now, is for a magician to wave his wand,
N I’ll go back to the tearless times,
Feeling less times, heartless times.
By
Sen Keli

Sunday, May 11, 2014

SOMETHING I WISH THAT ALL MEN KNEW byOscar

“I came, I saw, I conquered.” A man will always whisper this saying, sipping his mug of coffee somewhere in a balcony as he watches the setting sun. His heart is overcome with joy and pride, so he lifts his hand in the air, and then he lets it fall on his chest. He then repeats the act once again, this time with more energy and zest. The corners of his mouth then begin to twitch, so that a naughty grin is born, with words escaping his mouth “another fish for my net”. All this will happen, whilst on the other side of the world, a woman will be in her bedroom, the door locked, laying on her bed as she holds tight to her pillow. She then sheds tears of joy, feeling the love that she is drowning in so that she swears to never leave the side of this man she has met. This man she is in love with. Then she fishes out her diary and circles the day’s date. Here, she squiggles a few strong words, words that echo the kind of feelings she nurses in her heart; a heart that has been conquered, a heart that has submitted, a heart that will never be the same again.

The following days will be warm days, days when the air feels cooler, days when the wind feels gentler, days when the hours are more generous with their time. The mugs of coffee are emptied more often and the balcony is out of wear from the many visits, a condition that it shares with the chest. On the other side, the pillow becomes wet and the diary pages are inked to the very remaining space. A heart is bursting with pride; a heart is bursting with love. The net is bursting from the weight of excess fish, which make more fish become slaves. They become slaves of a darling whose inside is a Lucifer, yet they know not, for when the net is cast, it looks so beautiful and attracting, yet it is the very source of death.

Days trudge on. The woman visits her friends often. Her face has those writings that spell happiness. She lets her friends know that she is in love, that she has met the man of her dreams, the apple of her eye. Her parents are even aware, that their daughter is now tired of their nest and that she will be flying away to distant lands whither she will build a home. For this, they are happy and cry with joy, for a daughter was well raised, knowing that their maker has fulfilled his promise. The woman goes to bed, and she is soon bombarded with beautiful dreams, of a big nice wedding, of beautiful children, a happy home and a loving husband. She wakes up happier, for she knows that the day is coming when her ring less finger shall be adorned by a beautiful diamond ring, a sign of love from another soul, a soul which she loves dearly.

On the other side of the world, the man is a bee. He makes gorgeous suits adorn him such that when he enters the casino, all ladies take notice. And they do. He is a smooth player, the kind that is patient with their prey; the kind that will broadly smile at you so that you mistake that smile for genuine affection and before you can even discern it, you are under his spell, another fish for his net. His behavior soon graduates into a habit, an addictive habit which he cannot survive without. For this, he ups his game and more women are in his grip. This is his happiness. He has become a fisher of women.

One day, he will call the woman and tell her that he was not interested in her, that she mistook his generosity, and that she misunderstood his kindness for love. It is at that juncture when high aspirations come tumbling down. The tower of happiness is but an ugly mess. The woman runs away in tears, she cannot be consoled. The woman is such devastated, that she contemplates suicide. Meanwhile, the man is the happiest of all men when he sees her tears. It reminds him that he is still a man, that he has powers, that he is simply the best, the lady whisperer.

Sitting on her bed, she makes a mess of her diary, memories cannot let her be. The woman does not forget those sweet words that were said to her, those words that broke her defense and made her vulnerable. It makes her cry even more, but her family is there for her. With time she heals and she is in love again. She is in love with a man who cares for her, a man who cannot accept to see her in grief. A home is built, and for eternity, the couple is happy.

On the other side, women are flocking the man’s world such that he does not know what to do with them. He is a happy man, the game has proven to be worth, yet the passing of time has escaped his mind. He has dug so deep a hole, such that he cannot get out. He remembers the women he has hurt, women whose tears made his heart lip with joy. He remembers everything. He is now determined to get out of the hole, but he digs deeper instead, so that he reaches the netherworld. So that on the heaped earth lays an epitaph. “He who finds a wife finds a good thing, but the words were heard not.”

Oscar Shakespeare Ghitto

Friday, May 9, 2014

THE BEAUTIFUL ONE IS ALREADY BORN

It will never be an honor to beat your chest, if you are a boy.
Chest beating is supposed to be for real men.
Real men who have seen the beautiful one.
The beautiful one is already born, and real men have seen her.
She is the dreaded killer brew,
for she can blind, kill, paralyze or cause other lethal harms only with her hips.
When the beautiful one swings her hips,
like this and like that, like a tree on a windy day
men loose memory and women abhor their maker.
Real men have seen her, but they cannot beat their chests,
for the sight of her thighs make them drop dead.
Her thighs are not just thighs.
They are the thighs of the beautiful one
. Those that look like the inside of a ripe mango fruit. Juicy and fleshy.
When she walks, they shake as if they are dancing so that men join in music,
stepping on their toes,
loosing their heads and eventually dying.
Surely, the government should do something,
for the thighs of the beautiful one are a security threat.
They are the dread al-shabaab. The beautiful one is already born.
By
Oscar Shakespeare Ghitto

Festus Mbuva Midnight Runs by Festus Kasyoka Mbuva

Sometimes the story finds you and such was the case last night when I headed out for my usual night running. I wasn't even a mile from my house when a young lady who seemed to "walking the streets" stopped me and asked if I was related to Shaka Zulu. I was about to explain that Shaka has been dead for a while yadda yadda but swiftly switched tact and asked why after she gave me a warm hug. Shaka was her frequent customer and was late for their session today. I wasn't going to believe such rubbish but this lady seemed apart from your usual Lowell street walker. She was witty and willy and fully engaging in a conversation and perhaps strangest of all to me, she was sober. I tucked him my phone and walked with her to her stairs where she had been seating. I had questions of my own but I first wanted to hear her story which I still found bogus. Shaka was his real name and drove a minivan she adamantly claimed. She didn't know what country he came from but had been her customer for a while and only came to her(no pun intended) after work around midnight. Now her story was starting to make sense and I found myself sitting down between to street ladies. She told me of her story from a small town in New Hampshire where she had a baby early and a failed marriage. She talked of her childhood dreams of being a lawyer and how she hit rock bottom at around 25. I didn't ask how and why but I adjusted her estimated age to now around 28.
When faced with a new situation which draws or demands my interest, I tend to go mute and listen while absorbing words and the environment. Her conversation was frequently interrupted by her peer who seemed more interested in the date Shaka was bringing later on. She was less articulate and least intriguing so Id politely reverse the conversation to Shaka`s lady. Surely nobody would drive into this dark side street and park their car I presumed . But I was dead wrong as soon this minivan pulled up and a gentleman my new friend ran towards it. It seemed these two had a deeper connection that john/commercial worker kind. As soon as both gentlemen alighted and we came face to face, I realized I knew both very well and for what felt like a minute or two we just starred at each other. I quickly broke the silence off with a hug and a smile and joked of how I was hoping to get a massage for my swollen ankle today but they were getting a better massage for their bulging organs.
After sharing a quick and uneasy laugh, it was time for me to bolt but not before my new friend offered to drive me home with "Shaka`s" ( Now I knew his real name) minivan since I was visibly limping. I declined but asked her to walk me a few meters. I had one more question...." besides the obvious, what else do you guys do coz it seems like you know each other well?".... " Oh he just cries about his domestic problems and loneliness. Sometimes I feel like I am his mother even though hes twice my age. " ... Now I knew her real age...shes 31!!!! I bade everyone goodbye and limped home to finish off my Chinese food.
By
Festus Kasyoka Mbuva

KAMBA LAND by Festus Kasyoka Mbuva

So I've talked much about how wives are stolen in Kamba Land,if you cannot afford dowry but very little about returning them if things go south. Well my friends that's a complex story. The girl's family can feel slighted and decide on revenge of some form... Usually involving some brute force so many men opt to stick it out . What happens when one is hell-bend on returning one especially if she's made his life a living hell?
That was the case in the year 2000 when a friend'a girlfriend decided to invite themselves to their house. We had all gone to college after graduating from Kitondo High school together. Nairobi life awaited us and with it came a different kind of women than village life. Diversity was the norm rather than the strange. Many of my friends broke up with their high school sweethearts as their lives evolved and feelings / life philosophies varied and shifted. But one girl wasn't going to take this lying down and decided to do something about it. I'll leave names out since there's quite a lot of people on Facebook who know this story well. She moved into his home while he was in campus hundreds of miles away and essentially became his common law wife. She was good with the in laws, neighbors and everyone else but she was crazy to say the least. She would grill him on his every move and many times things got so awkward he'd stay at my house for days ok end. That got worse when he met a very smart luhya girl at one of the college parties. To be honest, we were all after he but he got there first. True to our pact, we would stay away from that point on and such we did. But now she wanted to meet his parents and he was smitten . As a group, which extended to thousands of village mates, we had a general consensus that he had made a right choice. But how do you get rid of the one at home? That would prove easier said than done.
BY

At this point, she was becoming more insecure and that only served to worsen her grip on his movements. They call that in America stalking.... Not to the extend of medusa but pretty close. We got together for our friend. Not many choices were on the table and we anticipated retribution from her side of Kamba Land if they found our action reprehensible . We almost certainly pay up a few cows but most worrisome was the real chance of a physical confrontation.
We decided to send our crazy neighbor Muema , a living modern Tarzan to do our dirty job for a small fee. Intimidating , well over 6.6 feet tall and powerful, he was a force to reckon with when u add a few unhinged screws. His loyalty to our group made this a safe option but also brought upon heavy risks if she rebelled and fought the "aided" trip.
This had to happen at night when parents are usually asleep as it also brings it's own set of problems..... But that's a story for another day. This was problematic and impractical.
Just when we felt completely helpless and almost urged our neighbor to suck it up and settle, an idea spring up from Mbeke, one of the most athletic and intuitive village boy. The girl was highly superstitious so why not essentially cover ourselves in white sheets then in the dead of the night carry her off after convincing her that we were "aimu" which means ancestors spirits . Almost everyone agreed that this would be risky and dumb but so far it was the most of ingenious plans available. She wouldn't return if she thought ancestors spirits didn't want her there. She most likely wouldn't resist much either but that was debatable .
That night, our friend left the door open and at exactly midnight, about 20 "aimus" showed up. She woke up shaken , tried to wake him up in vain and in low baritone, Muema explained that this was her ancestors and that her bf couldn't hear or see us to assist but she would go with us as this place was very bad for her. She squirmed but not much else from that. The dog was barking so we had to trek on as soon as possible . She walked slow and almost got unconvinced by the gate at which point Muema put her on his shoulders and got into a brisk walk. 12 miles or no talking, we were by her fathers compound where we let her wall herself in before we dissipated into the savannah grasslands only to meet up half a mile downstream near waani river. I was still laughing at how easy this was. We walked to mbumbuni to get a beer where bars were still open but also to return the sheets from the local lodge where we had rented them. We also were careful to wear print less shoes as elders can track your feet or shoe print with stunning accuracy. Somehow, we had followed through with a stupid idea successfully. It wouldn't be our last .... Or the last time we depended on luck in our escapades .
By

Festus Kasyoka Mbuva

HUNGER FOR LIGHT BY Sen Keli

I lie in my lonely bed,
eyes fixed on the ceiling,
one that i cant see,
bcoz darkness sorrounds me,
loudly mocking,
daring me to see through it

I slowly give in; unsure at first,
but as my hunger grows,
the hunger for light,
the one thing that can brighten not only the room,
but also my heart, my life..

And my old resolve is renewed,
as i slowly drift to the land where dreams rule,
i vow to find my light,
even if it will take every ounce of my strength,
to make my heart glow like a shining star
to make my life be bright again

So help me Lord
By
Sen Keli

WOE'S ME BY #‎SymonThePoet‬

Among the fools,i was a fool
A fool to be played around like a swimming pool
I was wrong,maybe a provoking song
A song titled no place,i have no place
I have no home,no home,life like dome.
I talk the real talk,that made love real mock
I have no doubt,i shouldn't be soft
vowed like no life without love,endless love
Giving in fully i guess, i never knew it will be a mess
Love for real love i thought it's chess,a game of mess.
Woe's, am stupid i bent on my knee
I thought she was the key to me
Like mirrors i kept coming back for more,may be i didn't know
Like it seem,it was only just a dream
It was meant to be love of pain,took me insane.
Tormenting my feeling,when it was up the ceiling
Taking liquor,beer maybe would be my seer
Depression took my way,i still love you took my say
Thinking like never before,stress fatigued me more
But i bet one day,she will realize the way.
By
#‎SymonThePoet‬

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

THE EXPLORATIONS OF LIFE

Let us explore life as it is
Let us not expect too much that it can offer
Often are times that we wish that our lives were like this or like that
I do not say that it is wrong, but when we are busy doing this, the best
part of our lives goes unnoticed and we are broken hearted all over again
Life is but a big dream. A big dream that comes into life when you open your eyes.
We can only live for the day, hoping that our good Lord will grant us one more day
It is not wise to hold onto the past, it is already gone. We can only learn from it.
It is not wise to dream of the future, it is uncertain. It is a mystery.
When we are overcome by life's troubles, it is not good to panic,
It only flares the problem rather than solving it. So what should we do?
We should keep calm, we should believe in ourselves and tackle the hurdles head-on

Tears are sacred, therefore, they should not be shed anyhow
They are kind that is meant to cleanse our hearts after a breakdown
But often of times, we shed tears of trivial details of life that do not matter.
If only we realized how frugality would help us in tackling our life's problem,
We would engulf it with our open heart.
Keeping this in mind, let then make sure that each tear is shed for a reason;
For a gone son, for a gone daughter, for a gone parent, for gone family, for our pathetic sins, for joy
An never for greed, for individualism, for fornication, for the pleasures of adultery, no the thrill of paedophilia
God knows our hearts, for nothing is ever hidden from him. Keeping this in mind, let us live in harmony with each other, and in harmony with ourselves

For those who have faith in God, let us make our faith count
It is a blessing to cling onto your faith, believing that rewards shall follow later, or to believe and expect nothing in return
We often are practical atheists, the kind that believe in God but do not act as if there is none
It is this act that is but a betrayal of ourselves
There is nothing that darkens the face like when the words conflict with the actions
It is a fracture that induces itself on our personality, our true selves
What then is it to be done? To believe or not to believe?
To follow our hearts is best of the options. It would not kill us if we followed our hearts,
But those which are guided by reason, which having subdued to the will of God, has firm boundaries and roots
Let us understand that it is the our actions that matter, that shall be judged, that shall determine our happiness

Mutie Oscar Ghitto

THE SAD STORY

The waves of cool music reaches my ears, it is so wonderful a music. Classic I would say. Am in my room actually, chilling out because I like being a loner. Its like a gift to me but then I should not be so sure of that. Several moments pass, the music continues to play its magic on me. Then I can feel my spirits rising, my fingers itching. It occurs to me that something must be done so I dish out my laptop from its bag. A click on the power button and it is already roaring into life. Am on high spirits, so I open on of my poem folders to peruse a little. I read a little of robert frost, pablo neruda, John keats, only to realise that mine heart is not interested in the poems. It wants something else. Am a bit devastated because it is a general thought of mine that poetry is the kind that eases mine heart, but in this case it does not. So I shut mine eyes and reflect for a minute or so. Facebook it is!

The notifications are kind of beseeching me to take a look, with fancy pictorials and art. It is by this reason only that I agree to peruse them. It is indeed a wide spectrum of nonsense. Lot
of crap I should say, ranging from horny girls with their provocative, desperate , sick texts, to texts that have no any regard at all to either the content or the grammar. It is the trace of a few English words that convince me that the fellow had attempted to communicate in the language. He must be the kind that flouts the class....anyway, am sick with all of that rubbish littered in my notification folder. A tear escapes my eyes. It is very sad that we are loosing the value of our education if what I have seen has not been squiggled by a robot of a sort. Am about to close the folder when a certain notification decides to arrest mine eyes. It is a picture of a gym goer with his shirt of. An overt show off attempt, however it is the tag below that captures my eyes. A sort of a letter to an imaginary husband. It looks juicy, so I click it and wait for about a second before I can read it. It is indeed juicy, written in the kind of English that makes me fall in love with the article. The author must surely be an experienced writer. Her use of the very hard words is simply amazing. She uses them in the way that they capture your attention. Am so captivated with the structure of the article that I do not regard the under lying message. Taking not of this, I take a look. The message is plain sick. I realize that it is the kind of sick fantasies that women spend the rest of their lives on. The kind of dreams that can never become true even if God himself gave the go ahead. I have no words to describe it. Was it not foe the structure of the article, I would have shut the machine, only that my eyes could not stop admiring the neatly and carefully arranged work.

I will never understand women when it comes to courtship and marriage. Period! For God's sake, some of this kind of ideas women have in their heads are plainly sickening. If one day I would find that I have mistakenly swiped my head with that of a woman, then it would be the end of the world for me. I would simply cease to exist. It is a wonder that women can spend some considerable moment of their lives, actually the rest of their lives thinking about marriage. I don't know, the perfect husband, the perfect cubes, perfect laughter, perfect sense of humor, perfect eyes, perfect nose, perfect leg, perfect kidney, perfect lungs, perfect cerebelum, perfect nervous system. Surely, I do not have any idea where this will end. It is so sickening. Surely, who does that? (except women of course)

Women have to be made to understand that life is but a fleeting thing. You cannot spend the rest of your days thinking about one thing, especially those tiny vague details. There is more to life than marriage and shear stupid holiness. By God, how do you expect men to remain faithful, and the good humble husbands whilst you women are always flirting, breaking people's hearts and crushing people's dreams? That one surely has got to stop. It is not holy and will never be holy. Men are not objects, they are not jewelry so stop looking for perfection. Men are not angles so stop daydreaming of those men who will spend their lives waiting for a girl that they do not know whether she even exists. The best way to enjoy life is to live for the day. To thank God of what he has given you. Do not dare step on the other side of the boundary, surely that is where you get hurt, then you are yapping all over the place that men are dogs. That is so abusive. Who says that? Do not even answer me. So ladies, it is time to live for the day like normal human beings do. Drop that perfection nonsense and you will realize how life can be fun. Nice time guys

Mutie Oscar Ghitto

HILARIOUS LETTER TO FUTURE KENYAN HUSBAND

Dear Future Kenyan Husband

I had vowed never to write you a letter but after the signing of the marriage bill,I could not hold on to my pledge.Kenyan men have proved to be polygamous in nature and are very proud of letting the world know.I know my man is not among them,he does not go with the crowd,he deeply cherish to have one woman till he dies.I won’t ask where you are or what you’ve been doing,(Hoping you ain’t flirting with chicks online,or having someone coming over your place for the holiday to be chipsfungwad or planing to go and pick a random chick from the club) because your answer would be the same as mine. Preparing your experiences, your stories, your quirks and flaws, to fall neatly in place with mine to make something beautiful.