PAPA SAYS

Here’s a book, son

Read, son, read more

Until the herds are here with dusk

Learn, son, learn

Until the dews dance with welcoming tunes of dawn

Run, son, run

Run from the shackles of indolence

Let a father see education take you farther

Here’s a leso, sweet little one

Stride in your mother’s footpath

Learn cuisines, learn, my sweet little one

For man seeks potency from the belly

Eat, sweet little one, eat

Fatten those buttocks for vigor

Grow, sweet little one, grow

Grow and give hope to future cohorts

Make papa proud with more herds.

CLOAKED IN LOVE

We don’t talk about the day I told her I love her

We chose to forget it and continue living in denial

We don’t talk about the day she said, “I like you Allan, I might date you for a little while, then maybe not after that’’

We just let Adele write about us, song after song

We don’t even meet anymore

We just bump into each other, give smiles hovered with wishes and carry on with our lives

As if we know where we’re headed

We’re like strangers who’ve known the other for eternity

Fantasies warped my expectations and I forgot how it’s like not to love

How it’s like not to love what you only have

Shadows from her past tightened their grip on her every time she thought of love

I saw her fall, dust herself up and tread on to be searched

I’ve seen her wipe old smiles and wear new faces

I’ve seen her enjoy being miserable alone, I’ve stretched out my hands and touched her soul with my fingertips

We’ve gone over her memories when dawn seemed far, and silently wished we’d make ours at every welcoming of dusk

I’ve seen her collect her memories and squeeze them into one single tear

She never loved her chest, she said it was too small but that didn’t matter to me as I was closer to her heart

She wanted someone to grow old with, but no, that’s too much responsibility to me, I mean, why not remain young forever together? Or spend time trying out different personas in our love stories

Sometimes it’s losing what you never had

Sometimes it’s saying no to something you haven’t found

Sometimes it’s never thinking about some-times you spend alone

Sometimes it’s wishing that you meet several decades later, when you’ve both learned to love the hurt away

Sometimes, this sometimes changes into every-time and there’s no escape

To give chances, to acknowledge that even the most broken of men walk amongst us

That even men with flaws expect kindness and love in return

That not every prince is charming

We don’t even text each other, I mean, why should we?

We never moved on, we just got accustomed to the pain

Everything beautiful reminds us of each other, and then our minds leave our bodies

We were halfway in

We see each other in every verse in a poem, every chapter in a book, in every character of some reel we’re watching

Ours is an untold story, lacking nothing but life, as a part of me dies upon the mention of her name

I even bought a new perfume to replace the scent of fresh fruits in a rainy season that always followed her soul

We’ve learnt to sing alone in the dark, and replace tears with new tears

We believe that moving on will happen when we learn not to love again

We even changed our diets, who wants to remember of a recipe that has memories for flavors?

We didn’t even leave each other escape routes to find each other; we just slept, and woke up to empty beds next to each other

We just took each other’s heart and left

We don’t even think it hurts that we miss each other while we’re just mere dreams

At every break of dawn, I thank her for loving me, because I then know what true love is, and she wasn’t it.

Chit chat with God

If I ever met God, or Quentin Tarantino for that matter, I can bet my left nut my first question will be “What was in that briefcase in Pulp Fiction”?

But come to think, if I ever had a sitdown with the big man up above, the following would ensue.

Me: So, God, how’s it hanging? I have loads of questions dude, now, what is the question to the answer of life, sin, the cosmos and all sundry?

God: 69

Me: That’s the answer, Mr God, I’m asking what’s the question.

God: Oh, that, okay smartass, well, your question about the question and the answer cannot coexist in the same cosmos. A parallel universe has the question, you see, after establishing some hegemony in a parallel universe, I then…..

Me: I’m losing you God, are you sure you gave me the right ears?

God: Hey! I’m trying to answer your goddamn questions. Zip it! So now….

Me: Gosh! Ni hivo buda, usicatch..   so now, Mr. God, I have a feeling you tell dad jokes, how many times a day?

God: 69

Me: How many roads must a man walk down in life?

God: 69

Me: Are you sure?

God: Of course I am, I’m God!

Me: Aha..okay big man, so, what’s 23 x 3?

God: 69

Me: You really love that number, don’t you? I know I do..

God: Stop pushing it! But really, there’s something fundamentally wrong if you turned out this way. See, I’ve been reading this guide by Stephen Hawkings and he says..

Me: Hold up Mr. God, you read that too? That’s so cool, up top (Hi 5)

God: You’re really not funny, you know that right?

Me: I’ll ignore that for security purposes. Now, how can entropy be resolved? Yes, you can use a diagram.

God: Insufficient data to give a meaningful answer..I repeat..insuffici…

Me: Do you think women really know what they want?

God: I honestly don't have an answer to that!

Me: why do people say ‘irregardless” and ‘oftenly’?

God: I knowww, right? Makes me want to punch them in the throat..or kill them you know?

Me: Well well, hello there Mr. inappropriate? Onto the next.. can I get a definitive answer on this whole gay thing? What do you want to do to them? Okay, that sounds wrong.

God: Ha ha..I saw what you did there. Oh well, they outdid themselves, so there’s that.

Me: I have a huge feeling that there’s a Gspot for men up in the ass, whaddya think?

God: I think I should have given you a tumor or something.

Me: Talking of gspots, is it really there? Or is this a women folklore to belittle men?

God: (laughs quietly to himself)

Me: Did you really create us in 7 days or that’s just something the papers say?

God: Like magic, the mistake was fixed.

Me: Okay, but why?

God: Because.

Me: Because why?

God: Just because, Goddamnit!

Me: lol, so, did you really create evil?

God: Naah… that was a prank on kina Eve and Adam but it went viral and a tad bit too far.

Me: Why can’t you rescind it then?

God: Because it’s fun to watch humans conflict and shit…

Me: You sadistic bastard…

God: watch it you! Lest I kick the bejesus out of you!

Me: Okay..Gosh.. moving on, where did you really come from?

God: I’m the legend! (chest thumps).

Me: Okay big man, so, what’s the deal with tooth decay?

God: Too much candy..you fool!

Her: Final three now. First, was the duck billed platypus created for it’s sole comedic value ooor?

God: It’s edible..it’s also edible.

Me: Whooa..okay..okay. so, do you play call of duty? FIFA 15? Do you smoke pot?

God: Pass..pass. lol, Aalso, my favourite game is hide and seek, you should know by now.

Me: I could ask between the egg and the chicken who came first but…so, are you proud of what you’ve done? Like reeeeally?

God: What is it with you humans and accountability? Wait, that’s ironical, ain’t it?

Me: (nods) Okay, now why did you create the friendzone? I know I could just google the answers but I figured, heck, why not go straight to the top?

God: Because some people like Cabu gah need to be taught a lesson.

Me: Ha..that’s a good one. Now I have a confession, I bet you didn’t see that coming.

God: Hurry up then..I have to go and tweet about this, or even blog it.

Me: Meh…  so, here it goes, I’m not really a believer, I’m a cross breed between an atheist and an agnostic. No hard feelings, yeah?

God: Yeah yeah, LOL, Do I look like I care? We good bruv (whispers “just kidding”).

Me: ooookay Mr God, we do this again later?

God: proably not.

PS.

Notable mentions. (questions for our follow up meeting)

1.       So, what if I didn’t delete my browsing history that one time, do you think we’d still be together?

2.       Dude, where’s my car?

3.       So, how much trouble am I in?

4.       You created constipation just for kicks, didn’t ya?

5.       Why do women hate each other?

6.       When will Justin Beiber be ready for harvesting?

WHEN CAT MEETS FISH.

The closest I ever came to seeing a “nude” in high school was through one of my dorm mates back in high school. This fella (whom we’re gonna call matey) had received a photo (we called it a snap back then, sigh) with two girls in it and as you’d have guessed it, a dark skin and a “yellow yellow”. Matey had received a “through pass” from a certain chick friend of his who had her girls do the old penpal invite on us boys. 

It was no secret that matey treasured this photo and given its raunchy nature, with creamy thighs and blossoming funbags(read boobs) on display, it never left his wallet.

One night though, during a scouting trip, we were discussing the chics in that photo going all descriptive on the nasty things we’d do to the light skin that we all liked, his “chic”, so to speak, lauding him for that score. About thirty minutes after the last words were said, I heard some moaning and groaning sound emanating from the back and with the help of a flashlight, I looked over and saw matey seated there, fapping! I gave him a “WTF DUDE” only for him to quip, “I thought you guys were asleep”. 

A month later, after the short holidays I bump on him in the bathroom humping a chapatti, yes, a chapatti with no photo this time. I was livid, I mean, of all the things he could have used, he settled for a chapatti and lotion, I mean he could have molested a doughnut like a decent human being but no, he had to use a chapatti. Turned out that he was duped and the chick he was sending letters to had all along been the not so appealing dark skin. Needless to say, he lost his trust for chics after that encounter. He was a weird one, that one.

Fast forward to a few years later when a testosterone charged me discovered the existence of 2go dating site. Chatrooms were always full and your fate depended on how witty you are. So, I log in one day, scan through the creative minds and as usual, start darting one of the broads in there. The chat shifts to private and as expected, we exchange photos, only for her to send me a photo of my friend claiming to be her. I played along asking her where the photo was taken, she goes on to say at their backyard, which was all a lie since I’m the one who had taken that photo. I call my hot friend and she tells me that her boyfriend disliked the idea of her being on that site, which automatically means that I’m dealing with a phony, or a catfish if you may. I call out on her but the daft her still insists its her on the photo. She blubbered on for a moment more before giving in, and admitting that she had lifted the photo off Facebook. This was a bit sad as I could imagine all the fellas who had fallen prey to her scam.

Which brings me to the now infamous Wanja Kavengi. An account that had all the men (read team mafisi) wagging and wanting. I knew Wanja through a close friend,Shoba Gatimu Harrison . He had shared her profile for all and sundry to feel bad about their lives for not being that stunning. She, rather, the photos she posted were so gorgeous that you could sense a boner from a heartbeat away. Fate would later confirm that she had lifted the photos from a certain Florida fashion blogger namely Pankypops, much to our dismay.

Our first attempt at flirting came after we inboxed, poetry being the initial subject, or an ice breaker to some of you. Her impeccable command of the Queen’s language was enough to cause an intellectual stimulation, which is all that matters to me. However, there was this little matter of distance that made me keep my checks in order and become content that friendship was merely enough, though I did enjoy some photos, ahem. Someone sneeze.

Wanja and I (and a few other fellas, albeit incognito as I came to learn) had grown fond of each other. I don’t know of her ties with Safaricom but boy! That woman could call! I can’t quantify the many hours she made the calls and as you’d have guessed, she always left you begging for more.

She had a boober, Max, who always threw baby tantrums every time mummy was on the phone with me, I don’t know if Magunga Williams stance was any different. 

I remember her coming out of the closet and admitting her love for Givens Mideva (who by the way was also a close friend, I knew her from Twitter), her initial attempt was to see my reaction, which was receptive since, let’s face it, she was too hot to handle, and in as much as guys like me are born loving such women, they’re equally bad news, and self-awareness is key here.  

I have since tried to make contact but Givens’ number was active two days ago, though, for reasons only she knows, my calls went unanswered. Wanja’s number has been inactive for as long as I can recall. Max, oh well.

I can’t disclose some classified information we exchanged, for the fear of incriminating myself but that surely was a nice ride. As I said earlier in my update, While all and sundry are busy uttering jibes to Wanja, I highly advise the lot who camped in her inbox with gory descriptions of what they'd do to "her" to never consider running for a government office. If malice was in her nature, I know some of us will close accounts and relocate to Timbuktu. 

The phobia of self acceptance and the insatiable hunger for validation from strangers online is what drives even the wittiest of them all to adopt disparaging antics like using fake photos. While she had a buttload of wits, knowledge and humor, for a smart person, that surely was a dumb move by Miss Kavengi.

And that I don't agree with her choice of photos, that doesn't in any way undermine the respect I have, yes, have for her as a writer and a friend. Her raw brand or writing had many glued and while I went a mile ahead and got personal with her, and her friend Givens, I won't judge her (just a little)she was good people (Yes, that’s an entendre), just not entirely honest, but then again, who is? But all in all, I can now firmly say I’ve ascertained why I can’t be a fisherman, we all know the type of fish I’d catch.