Monday, 8 August 2016


She sits there, bossily, fondling her computer without actually having a clue of what she’s doing. She caresses them absentmindedly. She is in an office, seated like she belongs there. A dude disinterested in her, types on a computer and sighs with finality. It’s been a tiring day for him and he’s glad to finally get through what he had planned or had been planned for him. He shuts down them computer, fetches his coat. She looks at him with childish bewilderment.

“Mwanaume ka wewe unaenda home mapema ivi?” he tone speaks of entitlement, without remorse for a tired man. He looks at her and motions her out of the office.

Then the door creaks noisily as you check in. it’s a public office. You are seeking a service. You recognize her and her main bitch. They (she and her main bitch) throw some expletives at you. It’s not pleasing as any man out there working hard would be confronted by a bunch of lazy heads, mocking his tiredness. You can’t resist a jibe at her.

“Can that computer even copy and paste?”  You start off.

There are suppressed laughs around. It motivates you to go on. You strike her again and again, though you’d realize later how unmanly that had been. You recall how you’d menacingly hurled sarcasm at her. Her last resort was to seek truce when she realized she couldn’t ever win.

“Do you have a grudge against me?” You want to say yes as she implores you with those imploring eyes of hers. You keep quiet and she goes on. “You’ve been pursuing me relentlessly. Tell me what you are up to or what’s wrong with me.”

Then your mind wanders off to the moments she’d awaken that desire to be alive, love and be loved. 
She was the most beautiful thing then. You obsessed over and over, spent plenty of sleepless nights trying to create a world that would fit just the two of you.  How you did shit for her!!!! Then one day she acts like she’s never known you. Like you are a complete stranger. Something tells you not to take shit no more (she’d become a pain in your ass). And you fly off the handle and she couldn’t handle you anymore.

Truth was she saw herself as one very complete human being. Irreproachable. The only thing that mesmerized her in the absence of money (you later learn) was someone’s fault and unworthiness. She’d judge strangers and expect you to defend them. And some more shit you don’t wanna air, because if you did someone will have a readymade thing he never contributed to its finesse (apply poetry here).

Back to the office. She says something about your computer being so ancient, that you inherited it 
from your granddad. You liken that joke to her mother’s punany, when she castigates it in the presence of her mother.

She joked about your computer-you tell yourself as you move along Baricho Road. You didn’t like any bit of it. It wasn’t actually a joke but rather a fact. It’s really old and how she said sounded like it isn’t.  There are plenty of things she could have joked about. She could have joked about your manhood and you would’ve taken it in stride knowing she has no clue of how it’s shaped or most of all its size.  The computer has lasted more than all her relationships combined. You can count not less than seven, although you have a strong inclination that some were running concurrently.

No one has a right to say you carry around your grandpa’s computer in a disdainful voice as when she did. There are sufficient reasons to back that up. First your grandpa was a respectable man, while he was busy laying down his sons’ futures, hers was busy creating a generation of retards. Second, this computer has made more money (respectable money) than her nether region has made and what it will make in her entire life.

You want to tell her to stick to sponsors. That’s what she’s good at. That’s where she is actually capable of thinking on a perceptible scale. You bet the only scientific thing that graces her deplorable mind is how to spread her legs, the only thing she she’s so exceptionally gifted in. When others are spreading their wings and reaching for the skies. She forages on the ground, skillfully. Her dignity brushes shoulders with VDs.

You sometimes ask God why such a deplorable human being made to earth. Does He know how many people she has rescued from their seemingly unfathomable happiness?
Sometimes I plead with God why He sent such a despicable human being to earth. I mean you have no clue how many people you’ve rescued from happiness. I imagine how useful the air that often lands in your lungs could be made more useful.


Four years are over. Some people have never shed the tag of strangers except you know what they think of same sex relationships. Outside class they’ve led unfathomable lives. Rumour had it that they were watering their flowers.

Four years can really be short. Just short of shaping a man. Few things you’ve leant have ever made sense to you, except doing your CAT exams. Time dripped slowly and now it seems to be gushing out. That wasn’t how you expected to be flung into the world. You expected it to be slow, like when a man wants to make love to a woman who has consented to. You made alliances with people of questionable characters or they just wanted to be aligned to you- nothing to care about.

Shit happens so do shitty people. It doesn’t matter. One chapter closes as another opens, blank and you have to fill your story. What will you fill? You may ask………

Regrets? Like this, huh?


You'd go with the later, if you were me.