Author: cjgicheru

Seven Heavens

Seven Heavens

Perhaps the bible erred in telling us Heaven is a place with streets lined with gold. Maybe instead there’s free wine, music and we can hang out with friends and family for eternity. Every Saturday we will meet at Bonnie’s mansion for a welcome party. For the newbies who’ve been admitted in. There is no lust here. No sin. Where once I would have described ladies thighs as heavenly. They are now meeeeh! Often, at the party, you will find me at the corner. Sipping something, talking to Cindy while staring at the door. Hoping maybe, today is the day you come.

In Remembrance

In Remembrance

We buried a friend today. Somewhere in Othaya. Where you need to turn left off the C70 and drive until you can smell the Aberdares. I couldn't make it. Work. I asked another friend to say goodbye for me. I know. How does one say goodbye to the dead? Forgive me. It felt right to … Continue reading In Remembrance

Where the children are buried

Where the children are buried

He looks disappointed, he probably thinks only bad people are born in Nairobi. I assure him only the politicians are bad. He waves me in smiling. He thinks I am funny. If I were a lady, I'd probably get a, "naweza kununulia soda baadaye madam?" Instead, I bear the burdens of masculinity. Making brothers laugh and getting a nod, only.

The man who loved me

The man who loved me

With that, the conversation turns to fatherhood. What fatherhood means for each of us. How our fathers color who we are as men, husbands and human beings. They asked me to swear not to write about it. Of course I refused. It's like asking a Nairobi man not to hit on his girlfriend's busty friend. It is impossible.

Water: How we show love in the city

Water: How we show love in the city

I wake up. Footsteps. Coming quickly up the stairs. Keys jingling, one is inserted into the keyhole. It is turned. The door opens, it screeches, the hinges really need to be oiled. Footsteps coming closer. A click and bright light fills the room. Footsteps. I turn towards the sound.

Chapatis: and memories of Mama.

Chapatis: and memories of Mama.

The chapatis were quite flexible I confess. They were willing to make love to any type of stew in my mouth. The chapatis however, had a romantic attachment to beef stew. Thus, if mum made beef stew. It was not uncommon for suspicious sounds bordering on the sexual to emanate from my being. I literally had no control over myself when eating mama’s chapatis.