An encounter with Nairobi

It's November 2001, a year when Christmas unexpectedly came early to
us. It was not normal for my father to break the family news, that was
a reserve for my mum. But this day, the tables had been turned,
perhaps owing to the magnitude of the news at hand. Yes! We were
moving to Nairobi, permanently. This had to be the news of the
century. Wait, I forgot I hadn't lived for a century. Anyway they
were the news of our lives.
Nairobi was a city I only visited during my school holidays, a beautiful place. My father only took us to
Nairobi if you were among the top three in your class, and he would
keep his word. Now I proved more of a nuisance than a blessing! I
never tired of the numerous trips to Nairobi as I came out tops in my
class in consecutive terms. I remember counting all the oncoming
vehicles and keeping a record of all the overpasses along the way. And
dad never forgot to take us for lunch at Riverside Hotel, then a 'five
star' hotel just next to the Nairobi river bridge as you approach OTC
from Kariorkor. It was a darling to me. No, my stomach. I loved their
ugali, shaped in a bowl to form a unique shape that delighted my
stomach day in day out.
So yes, I couldn't help but imagine a new life
in Nairobi, the promised land! My mother, sister and I usually
gathered at the fire place singing children songs from the golden
bells. And we would sing till late in the night. This day was
different. We just sat and imagined how life would be in Nairobi.
True to dad's word, we moved to Nairobi, Mlango Kubwa to be specific.
I still have photos of our first Christmas in Nairobi, then in class
four. We would spend our evening learning Swahili, and men, weren't we
poor in it. To add salt to the injury, dad imposed rules to the effect
that Swahili was a mandatory language in our house. No more Kikuyu,
not in Nairobi. One night we were fighting over a blanket and then
Steve my brother introduced the term 'mlingoti' as the Swahili word
for blanket perhaps inspired by the Kikuyu word 'muringiti'. The next
year, we all enrolled at Park road Primary School to the surprise of
finding Indians, Arabs and Somali classmates. And we became the
laughing stock owing to our frequent lingual shrubbing or what was
better known as 'kung'oa'. I remember reading a story in a Kiswahili
class and ended up sending the wrong signals. To me, mukurima and
mkulima sounded the same. Rori was similar to lorry. It came with a
blessing though, I got a new nickname in 'mukurima'. Incognizant of
this fact, that I barely knew, I still insisted on reading literature
to the class. My hand always up and feeling disappointed on not being
selected to read out stories in class. I guess I confused the laughing
and mockery for applause.
With time we got used to Nairobi life and became 'wajanja' but not for
long as you'll get to learn shortly. My father run a small retail shop
and we would help during our free time. I remember stealing a slice on
each half bread to balance the equation. At times I would end up
eating the whole bread to cover up. One evening Steve and I were at
the shop as the rest were watching TV when hell broke loose. We were
both hanging onto a lollipop each when my sister spotted us. Excited
to have caught the thieves, she ran away shouting to my dad's
suspecting ears. The shop had to be closed there and then. Man, not
even a dog deserves the beating that we got.
Back in school, my dad made a laughing stock one more time when he decided to buy me new
school shoes. I decided to 'test' them on a monday morning, a day I
got to school late. Now I found a noisy class and as I approached it,
the noise faded away to a deaf silence. Apparently the classmates
confused the 'kong kong' sound from my new shoes for the
Headmistress'. The pupils broke into laughter as I gracefully walked
in. You can't imagine the embarrassment I endured that day. I actually
  regrettedasking for a new shoe and reverted to the old one. Well, my
first days in Nairobi were nothing short of dramatic

Living life

Countless times I take it upon myself
And condemn that which I know nothing of
Out of rage I curse my offenders
And rebuke those that go against my wish
Well, am only learning how to live my life.

It's not once that I've broken girls' hearts
Not even twice that I've hurled insults at others
More than thrice I've fought fights that I knew nothing of
Many times I've been an enemy of mankind
Well, I'm only learning how to live my life

But soon I'll play a better niche as a human
And forgive those that have wronged me
I'll learn to give others a chance to talk
And learn to listen to what others have to say
Then I'll have learnt how to live this life

Insults will be a thing of the past in me
And fights a difficult vocabulary to me
I won't have to worry about my daughter's heart
Nor scoldings from my neighbours
Then I'll have learnt how to live this life

Tomorrow I'll stop caring!

I hate that my writing makes me lie
That my life is all smooth and happy
And that my heart is always in love and fulfilled
Truth is that I cry so much in secret
And I live in a world of fantasy faraway from reality
But no matter how long I keep postponing this,
Tomorrow I'll stop caring!

I can see yu that you're not shaken
That's how they all act when they find 'greener pastures'
But sooner than later, you'll realize that they weren't into you
And you'll start saying all men are the same,
Then you'll cry coz i had warned yu about it
No matter how long I keep postponing this,
Tomorrow I'll stop caring!

Soon I'll give in to my ego and my attitude
And stop texting you first just like you did
Then I'll keep off all those phonecalls at night
It's time I did away with the feelings
And cut the only bond we have
And no matter how long I keep postponing this,
Tomorrow I'll stop caring!

A date with grandma

I have a crazy grandma. Pardon my manners! Let's not call her that,
awesome fits the bill. She has a way of making me laugh no matter the
situation. Today I got a chance to spend time with her and although
she wasn't at her best, I still enjoyed it. She's been sick for the
last couple of days. Actually I had gone to see her on my mama's
prescription. Upon my diagnosis, I found out that she was twice sick,
Medically and sick as in crazy. Sick because she prescribed her own
medication and ended up taking an overdose. I still haven't come to
terms with the fact that she had two sets of the same drug that she
took concurrently. I can imagine her at the pharmacy section of
Muriranjas Hospital pleading to be given more drugs. That's the only
probable reason that comes to mind, at least for now. My grandma can
be stubborn at times, and cheeky too. And did I say she's generous,
perhaps a reason as to why she expects the same of others. In this
case more drugs, the casualty being the hospital pharmacist. FYI my
grandma is civilised, with an 's' because it's British, Not f***ing
American. She's not the type that eats raw grass and believes they'll
get healed, by God. Divine grass? Not in Kenya! Maybe in South
Africa.hehe. So yes, she ended up with two sets of the same drug,
Blood Pressure drugs with their high potassium ions. She looked dull,
not dull as in she was about to die. No, she doesn't just give  in
without a fight, not just like that. I believe some of that ended up
in her brain judging from the account I got of her behavior the
previous night. I remember greeting her and then she re-closed her
eyes, sleep taking the best of her. I was told that grandpa was in
trouble trying to contain her. She was not herself and felt like she
wasn't at her normal home, like she was granny-napped, as in kidnapped
but now for grannies. She was fighting everyone that she didn't
recognize including grandpa. So here I was seated with someone, No, my
grandma, half asleep. Then suddenly she got all excited and started
praying for me. Powerful prayers I tell you. Don't I just love my
mother's mother.

My Mirror!

You'll all (and especially ladies) agree with me that looking at the mirror can be quite fulfilling. Especially when you're deeply contented with yourself. It's the best feeling that you can ever instill in your inner self. The great feeling you get from seeing yourself from another perspective, your own eyes. The conviction that you're wonderfully made or that you're the most beautiful/ handsome being. Uhm! at least by your own standards. However, it can equally be an awful experience. I mean, how many times have you stared at a mirror and ended up feeling worse than you initially felt. Like you're not good enough. Well, this story is not about all these. It's about the mirror, my mirror!

Why do I call her my mirror, the mirror and not just a mirror? I don't see any other adjective as befitting as 'mirror' to describe my mama. She is reflection of my persona. No, Its the other way round. Make me the subject. Everything good I do is as a result of her hard-work and desire to make me a better me. I actually dedicate every success that I achieve in life to her. Well, assuming I am as successful in reality as I brag to be. I always try and aspire to be like her, in my spiritual life and the way I relate with others. You should by now be wondering why am such a friendly guy and why I laugh so much. It's all down to mama's efforts.

  My sister with mama

Many of you would find it awfully absurd to spend 3 minutes on a phone call laughing all the way to that annoying beep from Safaricom. The one that says your airtime is below 2 shillings and literally dictates such concluding statements as, 'aki naskia kulala, ntakucall kesho.' Well, that's what happens when am talking to mama over the phone and Ive never considered it insane. Many times guys will be on my case asking me, 'unacheka nini?' and it kills me so bad. I mean, is my laughter so irritating or do you mistake it for exasperation.

Another reason for the mirror tag is that she acts as a moderator in keeping me in check. I look up to her to legitimize me when I go wrong. She is literally the Richter scale in my life, dealing with all checks and balances. She is always the first person to whisper to me that, 'hey son, you got it all wrong here. How about you do it this way?' And she is not afraid to say that to me twice, or thrice. I can write about her over and over again but for now, I hope you find yourself someone to call the mirror.

My soft spot

This story is a manifestation that men can fall in love with one woman, not once but over time. It's a story informed by deep love and spurred by regret. It's a narration of the only one person that would qualify to be my soul mate.
I first met her at the halls of residence in Kenyatta University. Nyayo 5 to be specific. Those chiqs you meet through a friend's friend's friend. Mixing, right? I had gone to take a friend of mine to see a friend of his, one Esther Musili. It thus happened that she had a Halle Berry for a roommate. 'Muthaka ta ngoma'. Boy, wasn't she winsome, the type that you'd draw the map of the world with your leg for. I remember smiling sheepishly at her. Mind you I didn't even know theirs name, leave alone that of Esther, our host that day. I had found a refuge. The first thing I noticed was her rich shade of ebony-black hair. Yes, I said hair you perverts! It tumbled over her shoulders to adorn her dazzling porcelain-like skin. Her eyes, framed by long lashes, twinkled and seemed to brighten the world. Her straight nose, full lips completed the seemingly picture of perfection. Actually, had she smiled, the world would sigh with contentment. That's not what impressed me most, it's actually not what made me fall for her. No! am lying. It was a concoction of both her beauty and character. We struck a bond easily and in a couple of days we hit the ground running. Most notable were
those viazi karai moments at KM. Yes, we have our own Kenyatta Market at KU. We found all manner of excuses to spend time together. We got used to each other and I soon started taking her shopping at Ngara. Good thing she was the one paying for her shopping otherwise the story would have been different. We had ice cream in town and went out at night. It was a blissful experience. She was my first love.
But it doesn't get all beautiful till it gets ugly. I spoilt the fun before it had even started and didn't treat her as I should have. I started acting immature and wouldn't pick up her calls anymore. I am a strange person, you don't have to mention it. Out of the blues, I started avoiding her for no apparent reason. All this time she wept in silence, not to betray her suffering. But now she had shed the last tear. She gave up on me and I lost a love just like that. Now the tears are all mine for the offing. I always cry when I remember this story. I just can't believe I could act as dumb as I did. No way, that wasn't me. It couldn't have been me. Not when I was so much in love with her. But again, it happens when it's your first time, when you're inexperienced in the ways of love. Albeit all that she endured from me her strong character proved she's not just a queen but the queen. She did give me a listening ear even when I didn't have no excuse to defend my actions. I would dance naked at the top of KICC if it were the only way to make her smile. Take a trip to the sun and the moon and back just to be with her. Yes! I would do anything for her! Except, obviously, making her cry again. Not even the tears of happiness!
Now, this narrative is not to make her feel remorseful nor to make her shed a tear again. No! It's a lesson to anyone who has found true love never to let it go. Not even to take a break. Hold on to the one you love! You never know, You might just never have the chance to genuinely love again.

Happy New Year

Today is 30th, two days shy of 2014, but am already wishing 2013 away. Not in bad faith though, as you would with a cat that helped itself right in the sitting room, with you hosting your friends. It has to be the aspirations I harbour for the forthcoming year. The desire to change positively and perform better. However much the disappointments though, this year could have been worse were it not for God.
Lord am grateful for 2013 and all you accorded me, all the success and the ups and down, I thank you Abba Father. In fact my prayer for the coming year is that God will not punish me by giving me everything I ask for. Amen! You'll all agree with me that some of the things we pray for are a manifestation of utter stupidity. And I know it breaks God's heart, to know that the men he created can display this level of stupidity. Like praying for the death of our enemies et al. There's however one wise prayer I made at the beginning of 2013 and am happy that it was granted. I wanted to get to know me. If there is one single person am proud to have shared 2013 with it has to be 'me'. Yes, getting to know myself made my year a beautiful journey. Infact I think the beauty of life is at it's climax when we get to know and accept ourselves. The sooner we experience ourselves, the easier and straightforward our lives will unfold.
I am not the kind of guy who makes new year resolutions, not when am sure to break them by the 2nd of January. The quit social media type of resolutions. That reminds me, today I was in church and there is a 40-day fast and pray program in January. The idea is to give up something and anything that we're really attached to, like watching TV or playing games. Am cautious enough not to give up something am not ready to. I mean, show me one Kikuyu guy who'll give up on alcohol even for 2 weeks and I'll be sure to confirm to you he's not from Muranga. I am from Muranga for the record, a county ironically under the governorship of Mwangi wa Iria (milk). I don't even know how he was voted in, perhaps because there was not a Wa-njohi (alcohol) to run against him. NKT. Where was I now? Forget the story, Happy New Year friends!

And now that I can write...

I always wonder how I reacted to the birth of my younger sister. At barely two years at the time of her birth, I must have cursed her. Someone who was going to spend the next five years suckling, something i was not ready to give up, had to be labeled my enemy. An enemy of the status quo. I am actually told that the reason I sweat on my nose is due to over-suckling. That must have been a solid foundation and one of the reasons for my big body. My mum had to rub pepper on her breasts for me to quit suckling. How clever of her. In no way was a 6-year old going to drain all her strength. Not when he was attending school. I have a way of talking about me when the subject was not I. I'll stop here.
This piece is about one Egrah Njoki, my younger sister. This might sound familiar though, my number one (fan), as I refer to her in my pieces. Forget the childishness of a two-year old, my childhood with her was one of the best moments of my life. Cut me the siamese twins crap, we were inseperable. And our househelp took advantage of this to squeeze an overflow of tears from any of us, at will. I remember she once hid her on the roof and told those stories of my sister being stolen. I cried my heart out! I loved crying. No! I enjoyed it. I would cry till my mum came back if my brothers dared 'touch' me. The kind of cry that increases with her arrival. They'd beg me to stop in futility. And they'd have a rough evening. My sister loved me too, I was a hero and a soulmate in her eyes. She wouldn't let me go to school. Not without her. And I used to reward her. I'd take 3 packs of the maziwa ya nyayo milk, one for her, one for my mum and the other one for I. And I wouldn't drink them till I got home. I once googled the meaning of her name, Egrah, and it was like a revelation of what I already knew. It's like someone else knew her and shared her with me. And it made me mad! As a brother though. Google says she is responsible, expressive, inspirational and friendly. I am hard to impress so I search on, 'self confidence has made it easy for you to meet people and you're well liked for your spontaneous happy ways.' The 'you' here is her. I stumble upon another line describing her, 'you sincerely like people and do not often experience lonileness, your work and home life are filled with association.' I pity the guy who'll marry her for one reason, insecurity! Men, you'll have to be on your level best self confidence!
If there's one person who'll automatically have a longer life out of happiness, it has to be Egrah. My sister is the only other person I know who spends a majority of her time laughing (of course the other one is I, and mum). You should have the privelege of hearing us on phone. Actually, if you need a good laugh, just call her and you'll be sure to laugh throughout the conversation. But not without a sweat, you have to be funny (like me). Sorry to burst your bubble guys but that's just it, you have to put in a little effort. No free things! Did I just say things! Okay, No free stuff!

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I've been facing quite a number of temptations lately, not the Nyeri type of temptations. C'mon, I can't afford that kind of cruelty towards animals. Let's say I hate dog style, and cow style and chicken style, and...who were the other casualties? I mean the animals. Donkeys? Holy shit!
So yes, key among my temptations has been my mum, to write about her. I call it key because I always fall for the temptation, voluntarily. Not even a single struggle, like the way you'd fall for a cute babe, with big boobs and a round ass. Forgive my manners, I wasn't raised this way. It's actually intentional that am writing this on the internet and not in the Drum magazine. At least she doesn't browse on the internet, so chances of stumbling upon it are -100 percent (if there's anything like that). Not even with a google of her own name, I was clever enough not to put it up here, her name!
It's amazing how she controls me, like a kid playing NFS, all the smacks on the side wall. And I love it! The control part, who would be that stupid to love the smacking part. I actually have a soft spot for her, it's normal for me to wet my eyes when am thinking about her. You see, I consider her a PRIVILEGE, one of the key pillars in our family. I hold the thought that if she conducted herself any different, then our family would have hit rock bottom, it wouldn't qualify to be a family, just a pack of relatives living together. Everytime I imagine what it would be like if my mum had given up on dad and they broke up, I get this crazy idea that the world would be different. I mean it would be deprived of the awesome me (I am the second last born among seven kids).
I wonder what book she read to make her parenting so perfect. I'd actually use it as the engagement tool during my engagement. Who said it must be a ring. Or present it to my wife on her first delivery. I don't think there's any other family that has been raised up as well as ours, even with the many hurdles she faced. Mama is this woman who believes in prayers more than she believes in herself, and I love that and take pride in that. It's not on one occasion that we didn't have food on the table and she led us in prayer only for God to miraculously provide the much needed food. What more gift can a parent give to her sons and daughters than of prayer, the channel of success, the comfort of knowing how to call on God when you need Him...(To be Continued)

A LETTER TO MY UNBORN SON

Dear son, greetings from your dad, only now on a different platform, PUBLIC! First things first, am really proud of you, you see, when I was your age I knew not how to read, at least not in English. I was in those schools that taught early childhood education in Kikuyu, mother tongue. I am writing this letter on Christmas day, the day we celebrate the birth of Christ, our Saviour. I intend to give you this letter in the year 2030 as your birthday present. As Kenyans will be celebrating the immense developments, I'll probably be celebrating 10yrs of your existence. At that age you'll at least be able to comprehend all that am trying to instil in you.
Son, this letter was informed by some thoughts conceived last Saturday as I was at the garage. Those thoughts you have after hours of sleep as you wait for your car to be through and all you can afford to do is think! And thinking I did, at least now the doubting thomases know that I do think, or should I say can. So, I came across a past article that called for appreciation of gay rights. My blood was boiling in my veins, I actually was about to crash my Galaxy S4, in my mind though. I can't afford that kind of a phone and I hate it. The S4! And that fact! or both! I can't stand a phone that does the unnatural, say closing it's 'eyes'. No! that's like competing with me! Back to the topic! So yes! I read that article and the seat I was sitted on turned to be hot, not momentarily! No! twas henceforth. Surprisingly, twasnt hot before. I know you are probably baying for that article. Like you want to learn something.No men! I won't expose you to the evil, at least not as the agent, or when this article is about the vice! By now you must have learnt of gayism or rather homosexuality. I hope the sound of that word disgusts you like it does to me. I don't want you to ever learn of Prof. Makau Mutua and his likes, at least not with his homosexuality campaigns. I wish to see you lead a straight life and have a good family, not one with two men. This letter is more of authoritative than a request. You must be the man and not just a man! I wish to see you date a girl as beautiful as your mum. Your father never dated ugly girls so never should you (pun intended here). Neither did he hold fellow men's in a suggestive way. I'd die if I ever saw you spank another guy's ass, like those English football coaches patting their players. You're African and there're some of those things that you mustn't do, they're only meant for the whites. Like hugging your fellow friends, not when they're of your gender. (To be Continued

That's Steve for you!

If there's anything that sparks deep emotions in me, it has to be one Stephen Mbiri, my 'twin' brother. In quotes because it's wishful thinking. I'd have loved to have him for a twin, identical, so we could play with girl's mind. I would give up anything in this world just to see him happy. The brother you'd give up your helb loan just to be of little help. This piece is about my experiences with him from childhood to maturity. Readers be warned, this is quite a long one!
Stubbornness best describes him in many aspects. He was not the type to say sorry at the stroke of a cane. Mama would beat him up and end up exhausted, never to get an answer. Steve was the child you'd conspire to commit a crime with and be sure it remained a secret. We love him like that. I remember we used to sleep in a room next to our kitchen, some meters from the main house. Now, at night the wind would blow the iron sheets hard thus producing some dreadful noise. This scared the hell out of us! The dogs would join in on the fun and rub the iron sheets to double our fear. I guess that's the reason we wet our beds daily! We were organized in our response however. At the count of three, we would all, but him, scream out for help. He remained as quite as if nothing was happening. Stubbornness made in Muranga. No! In his heart!
But it gets him in trouble at times. Many times! I remember one day we had gone to fetch fodder at a nearby farm that dad had rented. Now, we decided to be clever. After loading our wheelbarrows, we thought out a plan, on how to steal sugarcane from a distant farm. Kim, our 3rd born had done a shoddy research on the perceived owner of the farm. It turned out that the farm didn't belong to the Mr. Kimuhi we actually thought. After our sugarcane raid, we heard shouts from the neighbourhood calling us thieves.Rightly! Chege, my brother, and I were headed for a take off. No looking back! You should have seen us navigate up the hills, perfect mountain climbers. My two other brothers (Kim and Steve) were confident enough to back down. After all they thought it was Mr. Kimuhu's farm and they'd lie he was our uncle. Shock on them! The beating they got still haunts me to date. The lashes were loud enough to be heard by us from our safe landing zone. They were eventually released and were lucky not to be torched by the angry mob. But the luck was short-lived as we would find out. We got home but without a panga, it was left at the farm we had 'invaded'. Somehow, our parents got to know about the incident. We were lined up to receive each one's share of a dog's beating. The type of beatings that you line up and get in turns. A cycle that stops not.
The story doesn't stop there either! Not without the good side of him. I am more lucky to have him than he is to have me. Yes! I actually consider myself privileged to have two dad's. He is a father figure in my life, the type that leaves you feeling loved and pampered. I remember him giving me all his daily earnings to count for him. I think he trusted me alot. He didn't even know how much he earned. And the next day he'd leave me with enough to spend and save. He'd always ask if I had fare whenever I said I wanted to go somewhere. And he'd provide it. You know the type that makes you feel like a tick, over-dependent and parasitic. I always thank God for him. Last christmas, he called me so we can go shopping for our clothes, at his own peril and cost. Now, what can one do to repay such acts of kindness? I honestly don't know, but somehow I know I'll be of great help to him some time in future. I'll never watch and see you fall bro, this you can be sure. And now to the part that I love most, Beaty, his daughter. 2013 was a successful year for him and his family. What can best describe success than to sire a child that looks just like you. Uhm, No! She looks likes me, just like me. How I love to lie that she's mine, because I wish she truly was! Cheers to the best brother one could ever ask for!

Lamentations, 2014

It's the first day of 2014 but am already being judgemental. I don't harbour any reservations for it. I have mixed feelings about 2014 having experienced as much negatives today. It's a cunt! No, an asshole! Huddah's tits! What better adjectives could describe a year that starts with you twice as broke as you were the last year. My net worth is 600/- only, 100 hundred in cash and 500/- as savings in a chama account. Mind you I can only access 80% of the savings equating to 400/- so that makes my opening balance 500/-. I am surely a rich guy, only now in a different aspect- at heart. That's the only richness I can afford now. The brokeness actually helped me find a new route today, I walked from town to my place. And it was awesome, it helped me keep fit and I got to eat healthy- boiled maize! To add onto the negatives, I spent last night alone, like someone whose freedom of association has been infringed on. My phone was actually offline. There is a number we key in such that people find you mteja. We call it the code- *21*0722122#. It was not time for pals or girlfriends. Not when I was that broke! Having manoeuvred my girls I sure started the year in a complicated status. Not single, I wasn't in a relationship in the first place. To cap the negatives I didn't collect my passport because someone at Nyayo House decided I hadn't waited long enough. Talk of your patience being tested on the 1st day of the year. It seems that one month is not quite long enough for the Jubilee government, the digital administration, to process my passport. Anyway it wasn't urgent so I'll keep waiting. Which flight would cost 500/- shillings anyway, my networth as at 1st January, 2014. It can't even process a South Sudan visa.
Albeit all the negatives I had a positive. No it was a negative. A fail! I couldn't manage to pass the only test I had today and it turned out I was HIV negative. That's not debatable! As if I would have told you if it was positive! All these experiences made my New Year a beautiful episode and helped me do what I enjoy most, writing! And that makes me happy! Hope you find that which makes you happy in 2014. Cheers!

The Challenge!

I was having a chat with Edith today and she gave me a challenge. After exchanging the usual nitty gritties I told her that I was bored, at an 'idle state of mind.' Her response was both a challenge and a motivation. To 'write something' was her prescription for my boredom. It confirmed what I knew all along, that I can write well, at least someone thinks so! Taking on the challenge, allow me to write about me, who doesn't love selfies anyway. How about my obsession with writing.
My love for literature hasn't developed over the last fortnight. It has been there for as long as I can remember. Back in primary school my English teacher, Mrs. Nderitu (also my Headteacher) was critical in my development. A tough lady, she made us write compositions daily and the same would be marked early the next morning. By the students themselves! And the best would be read to the class as an example. Mine made it to the list almost daily. And she liked it. No, she liked me! Sure enough, my coast trip was fully sponsored by her. Or rather by the school, through her. Those August trips you make when in class 8 as a retreat prior to the KCPE. I didn't pay a penny! Not when I was a constant number one. Talking of numbers, there's a time I was toppled from my usual spot. Despite being position three, I was awarded the best price. A binoculars, best by my own standards. This is because others (positions 1&2) got exercise books and pens. She said a binoculars would help me to look at how far behind I had been left by the others and to thus worker harder. I did work hard yes! I read more.
I used to read all manner of books. Ben Carson's bestseller, Think Big, was my inspiration, a darling to me. It made me someone's darling, my dad's darling! This was however shortlived until I started reading books that seemed wierd to him, at least at my age. I remember being obsessed with John Kiriamiti's 'My life in crime'. One day  I came home reading Sinister Trophy, his other publication, to the dismay of my dad. 'Whose book is that?' He retorted. I knew what that meant. My dad was angry and one of those lightning slaps could follow any time. I could only manage to fumble words to the sound of, 'Nelson.' Nelson was my bestfriend, the owner of the book. My dad wasn't impressed as evidenced by his next question. 'Kaî endaga gûtuîka mûici?' That's French for, 'does he intend to be a thief?' Well, I can't remember finishing that book. True story by the way!