Tag Archives: love

I’m Being Stalked! 

Be on the look out!

‘Hey, mambo?’ She said. Hey, how are you?  I didn’t see her coming. She must have sneaked up on me. I had been busy typing a reply to a text message and all my attention had been drawn to it. I was just leaving work, at around half past seven. When I looked up, she had her hands outstretched for a handshake. 

‘Oh, poa.’ I responded reaching for her hand. Oh, fine. Her palm was soft but her fingers tiny inside mine, felt like I was squeezing life out of them and I let go. 

‘Umetoka mapema sana leo,’ she pressed on,’ungetoka saa tatu.’ You closed work early today, you should have left at 9pm.  She seemed determined to extend the conversation to my dislike. 

‘Niko sawa.’ I scowled, trying to ignore her comment. I’m alright . She forced a plain laugh and then started walking away. 

‘Have a goodnight…Tony!’ She said in a raised voice. With the momental pause before saying my name, I’m sure she was trying to recall it. She wanted to let me know that she knew my name. I wasn’t  impressed by that, she was pushing too hard.

 
That was the first conversation we ever had. After that she developed a wont – passing in front of my shop several times a day. Whenever our eyes meet, she waves. When they don’t and there is no buyer, she comes to shake hands. Now, it’s not that I have never seen her, in fact her face for over a year now but she never did take notice of me or looked at me like she does now, we’ve always been strangers and just conducting our affairs like strangers do. She’s charcoal black – that’s the first thing I ever noticed, darker than I thought I was. And she’s one of the few ladies I would say, are proud to be really African, if you know what I mean. She is slightly above five feet tall, keeps her hair cut to almost an inch above her scalp, with the sides of the head trimmed shorter, mohwak kind of. Her face is… somehow… rectangular. Big white eyes, a small nose, and  brief mouth – with thin lips curled upwards at the ends in a sneer. She has a long neck, which isn’t so bad. Her body is lean, and then she walks her bossom is pushed up as if she were carrying a bucket of water on her head from the river, on a steep slope, and she’s supporting it with both her hands. Bottom line is, she’s not my kind of girl, she doesn’t tickle my fancy.

The other day, I confided in a friend of mine about her wierd and sudden friendliness. His answer was; she has a crush on you. I laughed out loud, really loud. That evening she came to my shop to buy some antihistimine tabs, she did the outstretching-hand thing again, and I took her hand reluctantly. I felt some fear grip my heart making it feel like a clenched fist in my chest. I let my hand slip away and then got her the drug. She was smiling and I was tempted to ask what she was smiling at but I couldn’t. She was about to begin a conversation when my phone began ringin, to my relief. She walked away. When I was done with the phone call, I noticed a piece of paper on the counter top, it hadn’t been there earlier, before she came. Out of curiosity, I picked it up and unfolded it -it was folded once,symmetrically. It was some kind of a note, surprisingly, with my name on it. 

Hello Tony, 

Please I am sorry but it’s really very bad to keep quiet with something that pains. You know what? I am almost even having a wound in my heart because of you. Yesterday was not my first time to see. Since the day I came, I saw you but there was no way of talking to you. 

I am Sharon. Originally I’m a Ugandan. 

Please help me, call 0711 949 ***, or I just come back for my reply. 

Note: I don’t have someone to love me or a fiance nor a child. 

I read the note twice, the more I read it the more comical it sounded. It was so full of errors but I got the message.  Then something made me freeze…originally I’m Ugandan. Now, there’s this belief that the land of  matoke has the most potent love potions. What if she had applied some of it on the note? Then I will be under her spell, following her everywhere like her shadow. If she says I bark like a dog, I would do it without second thoughts. If she says walk on fours like the dog, then I would be on it, I’ll be her puppet. That’s horrible. Just that mere thought got me shaking. I had to do something, real fast. The Bible. Yes, I had to undo it using the Holy Book. Neutralize the power of that potion, should there be any. I reached for the Bible that had been gathering dust inside a box of books. I held it on my palms, not knowing what I should do. The first impulse was to place the note inside the Bible, that’s where it had to be.

I had to keep her away from me. I wasn’t going to let her come back for her reply. What if she decided to chew some of those potions! I decided to give her some feedback through the number she had provided in the note. In the text message, I told her that I am happily married, with a kid. Her reply was: pliz not for sex. Who even talked of sex? I decided I’m not having a conversation on that. She calls when I don’t reply, then Truecaller app installed on my phone gives me one of the most genius suggestion, Block Spam Calls.  I go for it, sit back and try to relax. 

A Letter To My Brother Overseas.

Letter To My Brother Overseas

Dear Otis, 

It is with deep sorrow, mixed with enthusiasm, that I write you this letter from your village, Mlaha – do you even remember that name, your village’s name? Sorrow because I miss you so much my brother, and enthusiasm because this is the first letter I have written to you  and because I believe it will reconnect us. OK, how are you doing over there? It’s been 25 years since you left home for loka (overseas ), 25 long dreary years. I was your favorite… remember?… and you had promised to come back for me, I was only five then. Do you even remember me, Onyango?  I pray you still do, because just a mere thought that you might have forgotten my name, brings me down to tears. 

When you left for the white man’s land, mother told us( me and our two sisters) that you were going to become pastor, preaching the message to the whites. We got very proud and bragged all over the village about it, about how great you were going to become. Anytime an aeroplane flew over the village, I told my friends that it was carrying you, and they believed it, because I believed so, too. Mom became the envy of the village, her son had flown on a plane, to the land yonder. You instantly became an inspiration. I remember the letters you sent home occasionally, mom kept them under her mattress because they meant so much  to her. Once, I did still a letter to go and show it off to my friends, mom found out and I received a dog’s beating, but I didn’t mind, because you promised to come for me and the beating will be no more. 

When I clocked Seven years and began attending school, your letters reduced to one in a year, we couldn’t understand why, but mom always told us that you must be busy preaching the word of God. That consoled me but still I looked forward to the letters. Eventually, the letters abated. What ever made you stop? Still, my childish heart trusted and hoped and waited. The planes flew above occasionally, but they brought us no news of you. Were there no pens and papers? 

One day I found mom praying to God to take care of you, she begged God to tell her why you had stopped sending letters. I listened outside her bedroom hoping to hear what God would tell her, but no answer came. I heard her sobbing and I got scared, I found myself too letting down a free flow of tears wash my tender face. I was only ten years. From then, mom stopped talking about you. I took care not to broach the subject anytime she was around. Another day, our younger sister, Akech, mentioned your name and I could see nothing but marked dread in mama’s eyes. I could tell she was hurting inside, she just didn’t want us to know, or get worried. That day she went to bed early and when she woke up next day morning, she was sick. I retreated to that bush next to our home and cried my heart out, I cried for myself, and I cried for mama too. I prayed to God in those tears, those young tears. I begged Him to answer mama’s prayers, I implored him to, at least, send a message to you. I shouted to planes flying over the village to bring you back home, to let you know that we miss you terribly. 

By the way, when grandma passed away, why didn’t you come? Did she not send you dreams of her demise? We waited for you and even extended the burial date, just in case your flight had been delayed, but nothing. We were really optimistic that you wouldn’t miss grandma’s burial. You had promised to buy her a car, and even take her to Nairobi before she dies, what happened to that pledge? I’m sure she is so sad in her grave, she did fight death, a gruesome battle it had been. She lived every second holding tight to those promises, they kept her alive. Like mama, she was haunted by your silence. She lived in despair till her dying day. In her eyes she still clung to a thin thread of hope, that one day, someday you would show up at the gate. And all the silense would be like a mirage. Some kind of a weird dream she had been having. She grew frail each passing day, until finally death wrestled breathe out of her withered lungs. 

My brother, mum almost died that moment, when you didn’t show up for the burial. She got so depressed. It’s like she was trying to burry you with grandma, to ease her pain. She had a nervous breakdown, wish you had seen the anguish in her eyes. The agony of losing her eldest son. What pulled her out of it, was Okong’os return from… um… the U.K. He had gone there only five years earlier ,and drove back to the village receiving a king’s welcome. He had come home and gave mama some cash, saying  he saw you and you sent him with the money, and that you promised to come home soon. And that you apologised for the silence. He brought no letter though. Was it true? That you sent him? We began the wait with renewed energy. We pictured you coming home, driving your own car. Probably, with a white wife. Mom was alive again. 

Otis, do you have a heart?  Did we, your family members, wrong you in any way? You know that you had been like a father to us after dad’s death, we all looked up to you, even mama. Why did you have to desert us? Was it a sin so heavy that you can’t forgive us? Mama died four years ago. She collapsed one afternoon and that was the end of her. The doctors said she died of a heart attack. Mama missed you to death. Thinking of you is what did her in. If only you had written a letter to her, it might have made a difference. Maybe she still would have been alive. We buried her and I tried to burry you with her like she tried to do with grandma, but I couldn’t. I almost lost my mind, but I had to remain sane for our lastborn. 

Our other sister, Auma, got married, married to a man who is married to alcohol. She endures beatings and insults, and no matter how much I try to talk her out of the marriage, she remains adamant. All she says is: You don’t understand.  Maybe she is right, I don’t understand. I managed to send our lastborn to a Teachers Training College and she’s graduating next year. I don’t have a formal job here at home and that has made it a living hell for us. I have cut down most of the trees on our land, for sale and others I used to burn charcoal, just to make sure Akech completes her training. Recently, I started making mud building bricks behind grandma’s house. From it I hope to raise capital to start a business. I had to leave school in Form Three because mama couldn’t raise the money for school fees, I don’t blame her though. It wasn’t easy being a mother and a father, but she did her best. 

This letter, though stained with my tears and bloated in other parts, is all I could come up with. I couldn’t contain the emotions and I hope you’ll understand. Even if you won’t come back home, please try and write back. Just tell me that you hate me, even if you don’t explain why, I promise to understand. I won’t push any further. I do believe you are still alive, I can feel it. You don’t have to fulfill any promises, because I’m no longer a kid anymore, mama is dead and grandma is no more. I’m hurt because I love you. I’m hurt because I care. 

Yours sincerely, 

Onyango. 

I’m Smitten!

It’s thirteen hours since I landed in Mombasa (I used a bus though.)…

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Love struck

I woke up at around 6:30am in my hotel room despite having slept quite late. I couldn’t understand why I was awake that early yet I was supposed to be enjoying my weekend at the coast, and dragging my ass as ‘coastarians‘ do. I had a feeling something good was about to happen, but I couldn’t figure out what exactly! I got out of bed and did a quick cold shower, got dressed up and sat back on the bed flipping through channels on the 32inch ultra slim Toshiba tv set that the room boasted of. Still I couldn’t settle. A room attendant informs me that my breakfast is ready and I rush for it in the dinning area, ready to hit the town.

An hour later I drive into Likoni Ferry roundabout a in tuk tuk. I’m busy chatting the tuk tuk driver who had ferried me as I  ransacked my backpack trying to get a hundred shilling note out of the wads of notes I had stashed there ( Luo will kill me, haha). Opposite me another tuk tuk pulls over, the right door opens and a white doll shoe steps out, then a whole right leg in blue jeans pants. Later an arm with a black bag and finally she wholly stepped out clad in pink blazers. She pulled out two more bags, and then I saw it. That smile. It was familiar, like I had seen her in a past life. No, in my dreams I suppose. She was pretty, prettier than a goddess, and that I was sure.

“Vipi kaka?”(Hey bro!) I’m interrupted by the drivers voice.

I get back to my senses and realise I had pulled out a thousand shilling note instead of a hundred. A quick search and I fish out the right note and hand it over then walk out, my eyes trained on the disappearing beauty. I catch up with her as she put her three bags on the scanner rack at the entrance to the ferry terminal.

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“Si uniachie begi moja?”(Let me have one bag) I tease in her in a fake Swahili accent that I acquired when I arrived in Mombasa, as I pick up one of her bags at the other end of the scanner. She looks at me with that sweet familiar smile and I feel weak for a second then get my zeal back.

“Niko sawa!”(I’m good) She protests but later lets me have my way. She’s so charming, I decide.

I walk beside her feeling so homely. Feeling like a married man.

“Si tuketi upande wa juu!”(Let’s sit on the upper deck.) she suggests as we get onboard the ferry.

“Oh, yea!” I agree with her without any second thoughts, how could I not agree. And who in his right senses wouldn’t! I follow her up the stairs and sit beside her, facing the ocean – on a bench she picked. I gave her surreptitious looks and imagined her with a protruding belly carrying my unborn child. I pictured us seated somewhere on a sandy beach watching our kids play. I saw us going out on hikes and karaoke nights. I travelled in to the future, the virgin future ahead.

I’m interrupted by the hooting of the ferry. It’s like I had been lost in my own world for ages, hadn’t noticed the ferry had been slithering across the ocean and it was now time to disembark. She’s ahead of me as we get off and I keep my eyes on her as we find our way through the crowd. Not saying a word. Out through the exit gate the crowd eases and I rush beside her.

“What’s your name Miss. Stranger?” I manage to ask, avoiding conversation in Swahili. She looks rather calm. She looks me in the eyes and giggles.

“Call me Irene. And you? ” She answers and throws back the question just as I hoped.

I tell her my name and after a little chitchat we exchange contacts and go our separate ways. I don’t get that smile out of my mind all the way… 

First Page 2015

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My village just waking up...took it this morning.

As I do away with the previous year’s calendar, I rejoice. Reason being, most of the goals I set out at the beginning of the year were effortlessly accomplished except one – releasing my first song(I write and sing, for your information). It is the only resolution that outflowed to this year.

It’s a very beautiful, calm and sunny morning here in the village. Birds chirping and cocks crowing, albeit with increased enthusiasm. Trees swaying reluctantly, probably prophesying that this year would be more relaxed and promising. How I love it that way!

All this I see standing outside my hut, the sweet rays of the sun caressing my dark skin. Feeling a sense of excitement engulf me. The kind of feeling you get when you are about to be handed your month’s pay check after eking through the month. I feel so alive like never before and my senses so awake.

I received hundreds of New Year wishes as late as 0600hrs E.A.T, mostly from people I last heard from when we were ushering in 2014 😀 , the next time I will hear from them would be end of this year or in between, should they have a problem and need someone to talk to.

Maybe I should have done a course in Counselling, don’t you think so? I never understand why most of my friends come to me for advice or just to pour their hearts out. But I love it, I love talking and I love listening even more. I learn a lot from people I interact with, maybe more than they learn from me. It’s my secret. 😛

Let’s have nothing but fun and more fun this year. Don’t spend time worrying. But if you have to, do some positive or creative worrying, one that will add value to your wellbeing than drain you.

Most people have never learned that the main aims of life is to enjoy it!    … Samuel Butler

Posted by Mr. Jagweng

Airasia

Not long ago, the world was in pain after the disappearance of Malaysian passenger plane, to God knows where. No result has been forwarded even after the world superpowers pulled in resources for its search. How it did an MIA is still unfathomable.

Now, for me to wake up to the odious news of the disappearance of another plane (Airasia) that was Singapore bound, was not the way I hoped to end my year.

I am so bothered that I wouldn’t want to make any noise because families of those aboard the ill-fated plane are deeply hurting. Thankfully, it has been found and I just want to take this moment to send my heartfelt condolences to the bereaved families. May they find peace and strength.

Together we are stronger.

Posted by Mr. Jagweng

Enjoy Every Day Of Your Life.

This morning as I walked towards the main house from my simba ( a house built for a boy who has come of age, in a traditional homestead), I meet my 4yr old niece picking up some toys she had dropped the previous evening. She’s always fond of me. And on seeing me, comes running with her arms open, an indication she wants a lift. As usual, I lift her up and then put her back down. She wants more but I’m running late, so I dodge her. Determined to get it, she starts chasing after me – round in circles … it turns out this is even more fun. Sensing she wasn’t going to let go, I got out a coin and handed it out to her. Thankfully, she finally let go.

As I walked towards the main house, I noticed mom and my younger sister standing by the door smiling at me. From the look on their faces it was obvious they had been watching me all along. To distract them, I started making faces but couldn’t stop. I still couldn’t figure out why they were looking at me…

“Why are you always happy like that? ” my sister asked when I finally got to the door.

“How do you mean?” I enquired, her question was rather plain to me.

“I mean, we watch you every day from work, before you go to bed and when you wake up – you are are always in a jovial mood!” she explained.

Now, this question got me thinking; why should one wake up looking so lugubrious on a beautiful sunlit morning! What is the point of living if you can’t be happy? The happiness we deeply desire lies within us and it is of our own making. I try my best to keep entertained and not worry about things I have no control over. We could always find a way of being greatful for the simple things in life – good health, family, friends and having all our members intact.

I once read a gem of a book, titled ‘Less Stress by Dr. Julian Melgosa’ and I must admit it’s an eye-opener. It’s a book I would recommend any day to any one going through some kind of stress or anyone interested in just getting their emotional and psychologically life in balance.

Live life. Love life and have fun. Being uptight is a waste of the person you are. If you have one reason to be sad, remind yourself that you always have  over ten reasons to smile. So, glide into 2015 a different person full of life.

Posted by Mr. Jagweng