The room’s features emerge, the walls plastered with renderings of cartoons chasing each other. Except for one wall. It’s painted pink. Solid. Only a single portrait, dead center, breaks the flow of color. The portrait has an image of a woman with a child. The woman’s features are barely discernible. Her face is buried in the baby’s stomach.
“Si basi ununue vitunguu basi juu unanimalizia hewa?” She demands. I apologize again, promising to disappear quickly as soon as you show up. I call you again. You have Sauti Sol’s “Intro” as your Skiza tune….”Do what makes you happy, do what makes you smile….” You end the call. Following it up quickly with a, “Sorry, can’t talk right now.”
I laid the great love of my life @WanjiruWaGitau to rest yesterday at her home in Makuyu, Murang'a. I'm breaking apart. Thank you all for your love, prayers and thoughts. Let me breath and rest. I will respond to all of you in time.
It is drizzling outside, the type of rain that falls unwillingly. A few steady drops every 3 seconds. As if the raindrops would rather be anywhere but here, maybe in the ocean in Malindi. Waiting for a short girl with perky breasts to come into it instead of raining down into the dirtier side of Nairobi.
Karimi goes quickly into her bedroom, pulls out the red dress mum bought for her for special occasions and wears it. She pairs it with a dainty little handbag that her aunty Ciku bought last Christmas. Caps her ensemble with a pair of shoes that goes Ka Ka Ka when she walks. Only then, can we go!
A love story, gone horribly wrong. A corpse, an older lover and the threat of jail.
She is on my bed. Her left leg is over mine and she is telling me she loves me. Yes, she has a boyfriend but it is me she loves. She will leave him. She just hasn't figured out how to do it. He is working in the big city. He sends her money every now and then. He doesn't ask for much. He only wants to see her once every month. I never ask what happens when she goes there. It is always the last Sunday of the month. He always sends her fare and some spare change in case she needs to buy something while traveling. Sometimes he calls her at night, when she is sleeping over at my place. He says her voice makes him sleep a little better. Just before he ends every call, he asks her.
For now though, he feels a new dialogue happening in his pants. One he particularly enjoys. She will feel it too. She will reach out to grab it. Gently at first then....
She will grab the back of his neck. His breathing will quicken. His ears will grow just a little bit hotter. She will stop kissing him. She will draw back. Look him straight in the eye, and say happily, I like you. She will kiss him again. And again. And again. A really small part of him will want to lift one leg up and lean into the kiss. Just a small part.....
When I leave for work, she walks me to the car. I ask her, "nikuletee nini?" She says, "kitu yoyote mzuyii." This is the reason the house is filled with silly trinkets. She's always happy with whatever I get her. A habit I'm hoping her mother will pick up.
I have erectile dysfunction. It hit me like a brick the first time. I had finally managed to get Achieng' to come over to my place. She was a difficult one Achieng'. She took a lot of convincing. Achieng', was and still is very easy on the eyes, with an ass that felt like Whitney … Continue reading Men who limp
We grew up watching the TV series Suits, Boston Legal and White Collar. So forgive us, if we thought our first jobs would be in swanky offices that smelt of new currency. Earning a salary north of Ksh. 50,000 which came with a girlfriend who called me every morning to tell me she loved me.
Instead, I found myself in industrial area. Getting intimate with sacks of relief food at the UNICEF Warehouses.
I have always loved girls with smoky eyes. Not thick thighs, just the eyes. I never quite understood why. Perhaps its because my best friends ex had those sort of eyes. And I always wanted to bed her.
He increases the tempo a bit. The moan escapes her lips without warning. She asks him to stop, he does not. Instead, he moves from one foot to the other. She thinks that of all the things this man can do well....
She tells me she misses him. Especially when she sees how much I resemble him. I ask her if she thinks I am as handsome as he was. She laughs, and heads out to call the doctor. Women….always avoiding questions. At the door she pauses, looks at me and says “If he was here, he would want you to fight to get well.” She runs out before I can say anything. It is her way of telling me to stay with her.