I SPEAK FROM THE STREETS

It’s been two months! Two solid months of living in denial. I was angry at first; angry at whatever was responsible for her death. I bargained with God for letting the entire cosmos conspire against me and let myself wallow in my sorrows. It is now that I am accepting this finality-coming to terms with fate.

It is within the cold stomach of Kericho town that this woman spent the better part of her life. She was Maria to many; Maria Wa Mungu but Lidya to me. Such an embodiment of wit, brainpower and secrecy. Her trademark happy socks and signature deadlocked hair always meted with dirt completed her appearance. Renowned for her knowledge of the streets in its rippling cloak of many colours.

“Till we meet again Maria Wa Mungu”, I heard somebody mumble as her casket was being lowered six feet into the ground. I felt a lump lodge up at the back of my throat. For the first time since I left what used to be home for this place, it downed on me how wretched I was and I sobbed uncontrollably.Printed at the back of my mind was a very indelible picture of her on the first day we met. Then so young and clueless; when my normal life had sped off the rails. On this first day, I had woken up in the small hours of the morning. Something, a slight unusualness in the air had awakened me. Sure enough I woke up to a slight drizzle. The frigging cold nibbling away at my limbs.

Futher down the corridor I saw a figure stir before sitting up with the immediate instinct of an urchin, developed over a lifetime of exposure to man, beast and nature. From under the pile of rags rose a middle aged woman. I watched her stand with the agility and stealth of someone half her age. She then gathered her meagre belongings before approaching me, concern written all over her face, stories printed on her skin, labours lived out on her hands and most importantly love laced on her lips.

Maria had then placed a hand on me before regarding me cautiously. She didn’t have to ask, she already saw it in my eyes. It’s not like I wanted prodding from anyone, not any soon maybe not ever. I preferred to keep my past stashed away in envelopes and hopefully forgotten someday. Right then I only needed the willpower to survive those streets.

“…Maria would have grown into an intelligent kid”, I came to when Maria was in the middle of a narration. I had so many questions but then I held the urge to ask them all at once. I must have zoned out the moment she started talking. “I had named her Maria after my mother but she didn’t survive a day in these streets. Maria died on me and that’s the day I took up her name and dropped Lidya”, she went on. “She was beautiful; she had to be because she resembled me”, Maria completed her narration while patting my back. She smiled and I held back the urge to laugh despite myself because Lidya was exactly not a film star. There was so much of my mother in this woman.

Lidya alias Maria also remains to be the person who initiated me into the other side of the streets. Life beyond the apparent innocence plastered on street children’s faces; drug peddling. One very necessary evil here hoping we’ll get out of it alive while living by one of Maria’s golden rules ‘Never get high on your own supply‘.

EFFEMINATE DEEP WITHIN

The wee hours of February 14th. The passenger service vehicle I was travelling in ground viciously on the gravel underneath before it came to a screeching halt. I squinted into the grainy dawn before hoping off the vehicle. I felt a wave of nausea work it’s way up my system-a mixture of nervous energy and motion sickness. I waved at Marto then walked up the towering hospital building with such a sure gait. Martin, a short sturdily built lad had been a tout since forever. His height is one of those qualities about a person that you notice right off the batt and fall in love with and you can’t put a finger onto why you like it so much, and you can’t for the life of you put it into words. Maybe, just maybe it’s because he so resembled my father. Either that or he actually was my half-brother as rumour had it.

I noticed it just after stepping off the elevator on the third floor; partially obscured by a half-wall at the exit of the elevator. Pushing my long dark hair from my face, I squared my shoulders before knocking softly on the door. For a fleeting moment, there ensued some silence. My sense of direction coupled with my poor eyesight is known to be poor at the best of times. Maybe I had still managed to arrive at the wrong apartment. I shifted my eyes to the numbered door; ROOM 16. I couldn’t be lost.

Tiny hairs rose all over my body when I heard a sound from behind the door-footsteps puncturing the quiet. I heard the unmistakable soft click of the latch before the door creaked open. Someone exhaled a ragged breath and when they spoke, their voice was mangled. “We’ve been waiting”, he spoke in a near whisper. I lifted my eyes and there he was, Johnny. My mind drifted to nearly half a decade before when fresh out of high school John had received that scholarship that had changed everything. I couldn’t come to terms with his leaving. When I’d eventually had to say goodbye to him at the airport, time had drifted to a standstill. It had downed on me with a terrifying clarity how alone I was now, and I’d had to squelch the very real plummeting grief. Johnny had implored me to understand that travelling and finding himself was something he needed to do. ” Travelling is therepeautic. I need to find myself, my sexuality”, I so vividly remember him tell me. ‘Sexuality?’ I’d had to chuckle thinking he must have found a new twisted sense of humour and never gave it another thought.

He hugged me, I didn’t return it. At least not immediately. For some split second, I was gawking. Then, I hugged him back fiercely. It was then that I turned to the other occupants of the room. My mum sat in a chair at the corner looking so forlorn and off-kilter. The silent routine was never a good sign. I could tell that she was doing some kind of internal warfare within herself. Not a single flicker of emotion was etched in her blank expression. Sure, she was always pretty impassive but I had a sinking suspicion that whatever thoughts plagued her were truckloads of bad. I could see through the situation and could tell that it was not solely because her husband was down with pneumonia. There was more to it. Unable to keep my concern in check, I walked over to her and murmured softly,” whatever’s going on, I’m here.”

My gaze shifted to the man that was my father in bed. Eyes closed, you would have thought that he was drooling in slumber land. His eyebrows, however, spoke otherwise. He had fallen into a troubled sleep! Gone was my bubbly dad with an uncanny ability to put a positive spin on literally anything. We had never been in good terms all thanks to his promiscuity. Johnny on the other side of the room shuffled his feet rather impatiently. I watched as my mum gave him a once over with an intimidation so powerful that it radiated to the other occupants of the room and could give you cancer. Then she spoke. “Your father is bound to succumb to this pestilence that he brought on us. Yes, we are living with the virus that causes AIDS!” She said dreamily. “No, wait…”, I blurted out before I went dead silent. This couldn’t be true. Johnny on the other hand just batted his eyelids like an epileptic and maintained his cool. ” And”, she went on, ” your brother here has chosen his own path; I can’t be mother to an homosexual.” Cue my homophobia. I felt an acrid taste crawl into my mouth.

Why I never had seen through this before, I couldn’t tell. How Johnny would dwell on Essex Hemphill’s works for days on end. And, I had been there pegging it on his love for poetry. Then with a little too much vehemence, Johnny spoke. “If you will never accept me and Gregory being together then fine, I don’t need your blessing.” His devil-may-care attitude was a new development, most likely as a result of reaching the end of the rope. “We are all a little weird, and life is a little weird”, he continued in sing-song. ” And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours we fall into mutually satisfying weirdness and call it love-true love.” He then walked out the door banging it behind him. Well, after all the drama and emotional bitch slaps this day had dealt me, my life as well may have been a scene straight out of those trashy reality TV shows which I had the tendency to binge-watch.

Dear Football Maniac

I am not normally this creepy.In fact,keeping this to myself is the most prudent decision I’ll ever make.But no,this is more than I can stand.I may stand all sorts of debris but not anymore of this.Not anymore of people dragging me down with them so I can worship their god of football.

Yes,I am a man!One with a zero social life at that.You’d say that I need to get a life. Could be true but there’s some sort of contentment that I find behind closed doors.’Dear football maniac’,just so you know, nothing beats a good read.Read that  erotica that sets your adrenaline on a rush and gets your heart to do some somersault.Read that fiction thriller that keeps you on edge.Read that fictitious paranormal and get all hyped up!I would never for the life of me give up on these just for your football. What is football again?

So on this particular afternoon,I give in to my friend’s nagging and join him down at the stadium.There’s a match between our local Zoo FC and Gor Mahia FC.That my friend should assume that we are all some robot zombies programmed to like football is one thing I can’t seem to fathom.He goes on and on rambling about his deity; football.I hardly pay any attention to him!Only raising an eyebrow once in a while so he can be assured of my involvement or rather apparent involvement in his monologue.

I just sit there and watch as they cheer wildly.They look like some little girls on a frenzy.There is this particular guy seated beside me.Apparently of Somali origin.He has a dreamy look about him.His hair is gelled and I wonder who still does that.That’s not what strikes me though.He seems to be chatting up someone. Whatever their topic,it makes him go rigid and forget all about football.

It is now first half or is it halftime.Whatever it is!I never seem to get a hold of these football jargon. ‘My Somali guy’ decides make a call.Where nothing else seems to be interesting then you can’t resist the urge to eavesdrop. So this is it.His sister across the boarder is on her way to Nairobi. She’s running away from her abusive husband.

Trust the pyromaniac in me to come alive. I think of how if I were her sister I would have set their homestead on fire then disguised my appearance before running away. Yes,I would have done that just to make the bastard believe that I’d perished in the fire.There is too much of a female in me after all…

What If?

The place that is home. That one place that I have come to love and hate in equal measure. It is here that I first learnt the subtle art of not giving a fuck, seeing through situations and studying humanity. That is,if at all there is such a thing as studying humanity. Why does that even matter? Hold on.

Fast-forward. Why the love-hate relationship with the one place that I grew up in?I love the people here with their iron backs.Yes,I mean exactly that. You should see them bent over their tea plantations for hours on end.I love the land’s ragged terrain and the evergreen perfectly manicured tea estates.But then,there are the rains. I hate the rains! They never once give me a chance to watch the sunset.I always hope that somehow, somehow the rains may disappear but the place still remains green through some magic spell.Crazy,you’d say.

 Now you know. No,wait.”You really like tea”,people keep telling me.I hold back an eyeroll at that.Like who wouldn’t.I never say that though.In response, I just bat my eyelids like an epileptic then go for a second,third,fourth and fifth helping.Yes, that’s my favourite beverage!And,before you go ahead and lecture me about how much caffeine is in tea,I would just narrow my eyes into slits.Woe unto you if you don’t get the warning in them.That could be one of their many theories for all I care.It’s like if I stopped taking tea today the world would plunge into some ethereal moment of good health!

Contrary to popular belief, I do not drown myself in tea;sizzling hot tea to be precise.Instead, I enjoy long romantic walks down tea isles.I derive so much pleasure in finding new brands,tasting them-talking about them to everyone who cares to listen. I obsess about purchasing a whole lot of custom-made teabags, their prices notwithstanding.Call me a freak.But then,what if I don’t give a flying fuck?What if I have studied humans enough to know that they’re just being hypocritical? What if…

HALT!SLAY KING

Talk of the slayers of this era.They wake up to slay and go to bed slaying; they literally live to slay.And no,am not talking about some cannibals from planet Jupiter out to feast on the entire population of the earth!Neither am I talking about some psychos with crude weapons stashed somewhere beneath their beds. I am talking about the radicalized youth of the 21st century who is out to brainwash an entire generation and make them believe that life is a bliss…

Well,I have a little disappointment for that soul that’s waiting on me to talk about the more popular ‘slayer queen’.Behind the scenes is the not so less popular ‘slayer king’.Telling a slay king from their looks is not some rocket science. It’s just too evident!

Run into some random guy in a crowd that has some uniquely coiffed hair; hair that ranges from relaxed,blowdried down to dreadlocks. That one guy who bears the appearance of a gold chain vendor with quite a number of blings about their necks.Ever come across a guy rocking Nike from head to toe?Yes,these are the very ‘slayer kings’who seem to derive so much pleasure from intimidating the world with their so expensive designer outfits.They are the American wannabes who speak with a borrowed accent.You can hardly hear what they speak! The very guy with tens of thousands of people religiously following them on social media.Not forgetting their large collection of headphones and earphones which they change one after the other as they stroll around. Really, slay king?Who in their right mind would want to be enslaved by such a thing as an earphone or rather an headphone!

Hold your horses though ‘ Mr slayer’.Swallow this;you can’t just start off as a ‘slayer‘ on social media with dirty dishes in the kitchen sink,unflushed urine in the toilet and a truck load of dirty underwear in your closet.That’s not how it works.There’s nothing sexier than a guy who wakes up in the morning,changes his bed spread, makes his bed and cleans his house. Oh,boy! That’s sexy on another level.It’s never about the number of relaxers you apply on your hair.I care less about that exorbitantly expensive Cologne that you put on but did you even take a shower before doing that?Stand up,carry that broom.You will neither break your hands nor die.Srub that bathroom!That you have a PhD degree at the age of 25,that’s your own headache but if I visit you can I comfortably drink a glass of water in your house?

#REFORMBEFORESLAYING

Fangirls?

On this particular day,I fall in step with this nerdy introvert girl from our class. She doesn’t spare me a look as she types hastily in her phone before pocketing it. I continue to steal glances at her. A petite frame, rich black straight hair that betrays her origin;African Asian blood. Black plastic rimmed spectacles adorn her small nose and perfectly sculptured face. A true definition of beauty…

‘Hey’,I mouth this having had to muster tons of courage. She turns to look at me, her face straight. This is just enough to scare the shit out of me(literally). ‘Hey’,she responds looking me up. Man, I am regretting ever trying to strike up a conversation already. Trust her to reduce the prince charming in me into a ball of nerves!

Well, wondering why her apparent oblivion of my presence bothers me a great deal?This is it.My name is Wren. The coolest guy around campus. So used to a certain degree of attention attention whenever my presence is involved. What with fan girls around campus worshiping the very ground I walked on.How they wiggle their brows suggestively at the slightest provocation!With 6 feet of foundation plastered on their faces…

‘This is Wren Martin’,I stutter ‘Fahe,right?’She raises a brow at this.‘Yeah,sure’,she responds.‘Your stalking skills are on point’,she adds,pure sarcasm laced in her voice. What? I fervently hoped that I had not heard her right. I turned to look at her. A smirk crossed her face and disappeared as fast as it had appeared.

Well,I guess I am wretched. She sure is a different thing altogether. But then, I manage to pull myself together.’Fahe, you’re such a psycho’,I chuckle.’Says the jerk’,she says casting a glance my way. This was not helping. I had to try a different approach.

‘Hey, I know you’re headed to the library but could we go grab something for lunch at the cafeteria first?’ I offer.’Gee thanks’,she responds and I hold back an eye roll at this.’Fahe,no girl ever resists my charm. You should be jumping at this opportunity for all I know’. She turns to look at me in the eye and my heart seemingly skipped a beat. Her eyes seemed to penetrate through my soul. ‘The ultimate sex god, huh?’ The queen of sarcasm herself! Then,turning on her heel, she heads in the opposite direction. What was that? I had hardly recovered from what she had just said.

That was it! I had just ruined the one chance that I had. I watched her walk away with that sure gait that she  seemed to possess. The hunger that had been gnawing at me seemed to have disappeared in a flash. I headed for the school gate dejected. I couldn’t handle rejection from the one girl who made me think with my brain and not with my dick. Absurd as it is.

However still, I made a promise to self to give it another shot. I was determined to know what she held beneath that silence and bring down those walls that she has built  around herself. But, I could never live through another rejection!