If I were a girl, I am sure I would be alone. I would not mind it. I would have friends, and perhaps a boyfriend or a husband, but I would still be alone. I would prefer to be lonely but with people around. That way, I would be like a linesman on a soccer … Continue reading If I were a Girl
I was nineteen when I began writing her as my next of kin when opening bank accounts and creating Chama Accounts. It came naturally and in a way that I cannot even explain. The registration form would ask the relationship between her and me and I would write Fiancée. The bank attendant would look at … Continue reading Harriet
She pants a step ahead. You follow closely behind as a dog does to a master. Her pace is slow, too slow and you secretly hope she was faster. You cannot outdo her speed for two reasons; one, you do not want to be an overly competitive moron and two, you like how her ass bubbles up and down before you as she jogs. She is exhausted. She signals you for a break, and you oblige. She places her palms heavily on her knees and breathes fast and heavily. You are scared she could pass out. You stop a distance away from her and observes her with eyes full of pity, like a sympathiser in a slaughterhouse. Unsaid, you quietly envy her determination. Running three kilometres has never been a problem to you but today is her first day. She is not accustomed to such kind of resilience. You want to be helpful; you do not want to look like a self-gratified arrogant buffoon. You do not want to be the guy who sneers at her effort. You ask her to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. She squints at you from the corner of her eyes as if what you are saying is Calculus. Regardless, you persist, breathe in using your nose and then breathe out using your mouth. Nice and easy. The look she gives you makes you sure that that gibberish is not going to cut it.
On most days they are four of them. The two masculine figure are not residents here, who I am supposed to stop but I no longer interest myself in the dedication of arguing with drunk people. So I let them pass, I actually think they like me for that. They walk with footsteps slowed to a jarring and unmistakable cadence like zombie footsteps. Past me and into the hostel lobby and later to their rooms and minutes later after the laughing and indistinct loud statements die down, I can hear heavy breathing and low moans. Sex. I always try to create a mental picture of what goes on in that room but over and over, my imagination fails me.
Mother, today I would like you to listen to a story that happened many years ago. I would like to suggest that you lose that judgmental temperament you are always carrying around the house, at least until I am done. What was that mother? You promise? Okay. Now, it was five thirty … Continue reading Dear Mother. Part One. By Mukiri Gitiri
The greenness in the grass of Nyandarua highlands should be the ninth wonder of the world after the wildebeests of Mara and the ego of Jeff Koinange. I say this with utmost sincerity and honesty to those that have never set foot in Nyandarua. I was born and brought up there, my parents’ marriage was … Continue reading Grass Ain’t Greener
Eventually, little Ciku and her friend arrived to the destination of the survivors. The number had reduced significantly but the cold had multiplied in hundreds. The destination was a police station where they were received by the men and women in blue handing each of them a blanket. They were then led to a shed … Continue reading Little Ciku. Part Two.
Tell her I am a mummy, living in the depths of my desolate tomb, numb from love, astounded by beauty and terrified by darkness and emptiness. Tell her that her eyes are my conviction, her smile is my bondage and her words are music from a harp, playing smoothly close but beyond reach. Let her … Continue reading Little Bird
Getting back with Daisy was a mistake but in my defense it was an idea propelled more by nostalgia and guilt than on love and friendship. We had both done so many mistake such that getting them out and trusting each other was a distant impossibility. We laughed and had fun but deep down … Continue reading Beginning of an Era. Part Three.
I remember vividly one day we were having an argument about what we were would be doing during the weekend. She wanted to hang out with her friends while I felt that she was abandoning me. I did not tell her how I felt however. Males hate expressing their feelings particularly when the issue … Continue reading Beginning of an Era. Part Two.