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!
Friday, 3 January 2014
NO TITLE
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)
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
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!
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!
Thursday, 2 January 2014
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!
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!
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!
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