Hey, I thought you would be excited when I told you I had moved houses. I thought you would come visit my humble abode. It never hit me how that would put you off. I mean, I thought you always wanted the best for me. But guess I was wrong, you loved a butterfly, and now you have to let it go, lest you break her wings. The broken butterfly wonders where it will fly to……..
It has been about a week now. Since I moved in into my new bachelor pad. Having had to forego my passion for months, the chicken must come home to roost. Look, I will not trouble you with the intricacies of my absence for the last six months or so. The important thing is that I am here again. Here to complain about the author of Jephte’s daughter and virgin births. I am here for sole expression, to talk to you and smell the feeling of cozy bedside aromas of your stenched hangovers. I cut my goatee, but I never had one to start with. So you can tell my age. I am still young.
I think I have successfully convinced you not to ask me where I have been or what shenanigans have been keeping me from penning shit. It’s called life, and we handle it as it comes to us. So a few days ago, I was minding my business in town, trying to imagine all these people in the streets checking their messages if they have won any Stawisha na M-Shwari bonuses. I thought of how unlucky they must feel every evening when the only messages they received was for points accumulation. On TV however, were happy maligned faces of the zealots who have circumvented the paths that luck follows and their beaming pride in such misunderstood maneuvers bewitched the very beings of my random thoughts. Do you get the gist of what I am trying to pass across? Anyways, be that as it may, there I was on the stairs going to my favorite coffee shop (read liquor store) at that goddamned hour and guess what happens; yes the stupid phone rings. Let me tell you one thing about me, I don’t trust in these phones we carry in our pockets. It may have been that the girl I pulled a stunt on sometime back in my other life had just caught up with my gimmicks and she was here to show me psycho. Like that girl in Immortal Technique’s obnoxious. I stand for a second, unplug my powerful earphones and look blankly at the screen.
072 blah blah blah blah, that’s my mother’s number. I had forgotten, she told me she would always pray for me to avoid bad company and coffee shops. To avoid girls who frequented such hell spots. Girls with pretty names like Happy and Melody, girls with natural names like Anita. I answer the phone. Hallo mum, I was just thinking of calling you right after I finish up something small, I lie in my head. My mouth has yet to flip. My son, when are you coming home for prayers? You know I have been having weird dreams about you and places with red lights. Only God can tell us what is waiting to happen. But mum, your eyes have been red since the last time the school board wanted to expel me in high school. I think it is part of your recovery psychology; whatever that means. Oh!, I never thought, anyway, stop all you are doing and go pray. I turn back. It’s like mum is always watching my steps even from the furthest corner of her bedroom in the village. I shudder and turn back. In my head, Anita shouts “ Fuck You!”
Hello there friends,
It has been quite some time since I posted something serious. well, I have been writing but the internet over the past week has been plainly horrible. That and some shit in this life, maybe I will share as we go on. I finally moved house though and I must admit its relaxing having your own space. With my key in my pockets I can go out and decide to go hang out in Kisumu. Eat some fresh fish and ogle at the finesse display of serious behinds. There was this one time I happened to go clubbing over at Club Signature. Coming from a place with deficiency in matters derreire, my eyes would pop out every time those jabers would go to the washrooms. As the night weared off and brains became lose following the imbibing of the unholly froths, one came to the realization that Kim Kardashian is a joke. In fact, I think her twerks are painful. The lasses in Dala would side step and their behinds would ramble. Some confessed pervert who later took me to octopuss filled me in with tales of some North Rift ninja cumming in his pants. Ninja had harvested Wheat and maize and decided to turn up in Kisumu. The lasses made o good one out of him. Back to the point though, I am now living on my own after a failed relationship. I tried my best but as they say, you plan and God laughs.
After I am done putting everything in order, I should be in Kampala. I am going to see my relations and someone special as well. We actually met over the internet but don’t judge me. I am human like that. With emotion and shit like that. Women make me cringe though. It is not that I am not open to them, they tend to have this thing with surprises I don’t know about. A lonesome life is better. Coupled with a few platonic friendships, life will make do. As I said, my cup of tea has been very full of late. I have to go back to school in January. This time round, it is different as I will be paying fee for yours trully. I have to work hard. It should be my hobby and I am turning it into that. I am honestly psyched up. I can’t wait for the aroma of chemical ink from a felt pen and the concoction of weired cologne from different souls. The laughter from a lame joke. The knowledge after every lecture. School should be fun.
As I type this away, I am pushed to stop. My new neighbor is on my door. She has offered to make breakfast. Maybe that should be a code for something but I don’t know. Let me freshen up and get going.
I’ll see you later.