A Replay Of A Sorry Tale.

 It has been long. Yes, so long a silence that the memory of my last chat is blurred. So long that the young birds have developed crushing teeth!

Sigh. Here's my balderdash...

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Listening to an orator is an exciting experience, listening to an exaggerated experience by an orator is even better. My neighbour, the young man whose paternity is linked to a veteran politician is such a fellow. His mother sang so well and the politician got impressed to the extent of singing for her too, only that his was a lull that saw the melodious bird silenced by the bulging tummy. The father of the girl, grandfather to our orator was silenced too. A nylon paper bag full of cash for total silence over the daughter's 'little mess'. This led the man astray, drinking dens that saw the grandson inherit nothing but the laudable prowess in both lovable and laughable oratory skills.

Too much narration? Here we are! We are around the three-stoned kitchen, (its ages since we met here, thanks to cold and KPLC) Janie, my shy teeny sister, Andre and Dan, the cheeky twins we faced the knife the same day but I'm their senior, I got the cut first. Also in attendance is Grace, the queen cousin whom the naysayers and gossips claim we share more than blood. And how do I forget the man of the day? Jack, the politician's bastard, who also deserves the b name for his unapologetic crude utterances.

Of course this is not our kitchen.PHOTO/COURTESY

It's a bit smoky and sooty too. Jane is whining over low battery and the constant power outages. She's wishful, a little nostalgic of the good old days.

“You dunderheads worked so hard to make me scream on my way to the river. Only cowardly boys of your caliber had fun in making a girl shriek then, sadly none of you is hooked yet, so it appears you're still cowards."

That sounds fun. We laughingly tell her off. And the captain gets the topic of the day out of it.

“Wow and you are too scared and reserved for us. Otherwise, all girls of your age are mothers of not less than three tots. Keep a year longer and depreciation will be sipping coffee, enjoying the scene of your 'baby less' at forty. You'll have to beg me for just one." He rants, like a chant, apologist to none. We love the sadistic jeer.

He twists the story, making fun of my sister's low battery and the power outage in relation to the 'technological revolution' in our village. That sends shivers across the smoky kitchen especially to us, boys in the house. The twins revolt. They can't stand the torture the memories harbour. Sadly, the politician's son is in control, like his father, he's a real piece of work. He thrives in negativity, probably that makes him feel so happy that he forgets his weather struck den, a symbol of political neglect and personal negligence to duty.

He takes the little podium in style, like a well exposed traveller,

“Not so long ago, the village of Muchene only heard of the radio, TV and solar through the old newspapers that the shopkeeper wrapped the precious items such as half bread with. The great news of having such town's treasures in the village were received with open arms ,and a series of thanksgiving prayers in the church the following weeks. Thanks to the first man to sire twins, despite their loose nuts and shared height, he was outstanding not only for ownership of notoriety, but also in having the privilege of having the possession of the first ever radio, TV and solar panel !" We listen keenly, sheepishly rather like townsfolk listening to an ancient tale from a historian.

Jack enjoys the attention and the occasional blast, correction and 'nonsense' from his all-knowing audience.

The shape was funny but then,sounds mattered more. PHOTO/COURTESY.

His recollections on how we stole the radio on adventurous mission to find out where the singers and the anchors hid. That calls for a moment of silence. Not that the discovery was such important, never. The aftermath was. We were beaten and bitten too. Our action was more than a modern day treason. We were a disgrace to the whole village. The elders meeting was immediately convened and our parents had to pay and apologise profusely for our lack of manners. Were we cut by then, we would have been ostracised, thanks to our age and delayed studies.

The tale continues as Grace, my precious controversial cousin serves us tea. She takes charge for a while, retelling how I almost cried as she strained to explain to me how a piece of black striped glass 'brought power' to the battery through some wires. She enjoys my stare to the blackened roof, aware that she's got me, not off guard though. It had took the Thomas in me to see, so that I believed.

Jack has taken three big sips, his big lips are already dancing, re-energised.

"The way we filled your sitting room on Sundays made you feel like demigods. Your dad's instructions were clear, 'no lights while watching the TV', otherwise we were bound to get blind."

He gives us time, to let the village tycoon's wisdom.

If the greatwall was this size maybe we would be in the Guinness book.PHOTO/COURTESY

Nothing excites than the memory of the black TV promotion to a coloured TV, a in the name of a funny transparent rainbow like plastic piece that made eyes feel some funny itchiness.

"You were admired by girls oh stupid twins, but you were too naive to take the advantage. Now that everyone owns a flat screen, coloured and classic gadgets, you're doomed. We'll have fun scrubbing ashes into your ridges now that we have GMO maize cobs." That's deep, and cruel too.

Lights 'return', our story ends.

#Nomys_Madness.

Careful

Enjoy,

Toy,

Have fun,

It is worth,

But,

Let caution cushion you,

For surprises rest not,

And the heart hides a lot,

Be ready.

 

 

SHADES OF SIN

 Listening to the anointed man of the service, he's an exciting fellow full of comic utterances. Watching him enjoying the pulpit like a stage makes everyone envious of his position. I'm following him dramatise the hidden light of Mathew chapter five and sadly, it arouses the demons of a questioning Thomas in my pumpkin head.

The Anointed One:He makes everyone envious of his position. PHOTO COURTESY.

“You can't light a lamp and put it under a bowl." He quotes the verse fifteen. What if the bowl gets on fire? Why didn't the speaker explore that possibility? Still on the same logic, salt is used that we should be the salt of the world. Why didn't he talk of the effects of excess salt?

My line of thought makes me miss the next joke as the congregation bursts out. I ask for forgiveness immediately, not that I have sinned but because the devil's deviation led me to miss the message of the Anointed. He insists that he's not the one speaking, he's a mere loudspeaker, a magnifier of the Good News. To some extent, that's believable, until he touches on the concept of becoming a real light to the lazy neighbour.

“Do not be mean to the lazy neighbour. If his children knock your gate hungrily, feed them. Pray that the neighbour who refuses to till his land gets the urge and reason to. "

All faces get busy elsewhere. Guilt is painful than itchy skin rashes. No one is ready to tolerate laziness as a temptation to test discipleship. Contradicting the teaching on ' the lazy should not eat' subjects queries to the good man's motives. Is he paid? Is he a lazy bloody neighbour?

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It's offertory hour. Toa ndugu toa dada hits the air. I can't find my sadaka, a fifty bob note. The line is moving faster as people hum the common song. 'Bwana anakuona mpaka moyoni mwako.' That line stings as I give up on the small note. The only other note in the pocket is four times the other, two hundred! My Sunday budget is altered. No movies, no soda madiaba, no samosa and no mutura. Why did I or how did I misplace sadaka?

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I forgot to mention my placement. I mean, my sitting position is betwixt two ladies. I am literally sandwiched in temptations. On my left, probably the hand of the Sin one since the Son is said to be on the right hand, sits a restless lass likely to be suffering from a hormonal imbalance. She’s scratching her thigh that’s barely covered, the one on my side. She lifts her hand unnecessarily, probably to confirm to me that she shares my cologne brand, Nivea for Men. She’s in her late teens likely a form four leaver. It's an injustice to fail recognising her endowment, especially the external region of the heart. Her top must be a remnant of another clothe. The furrow between the ridges is narrow telling much about the semi-nude twins. The luscious lips, all juicy and glossy in the company of the black and white big begging eyes, drives one's urge to look at the crucifix and promise to rush to the confession box once the service is done. 

Shades of sin:i am am betwixt two ladies. PHOTO COURTESY.

The one on the right hand is a right one. The missal is open, following all the prayers and readings. Her voice while reciting the prayers sends shivers in the blood vessels. The imagination of an ideal mother of well-bred tots can't leave the thoughts. Unlike her left hand Madonna whose impact between my legs is checked by the tight khaki pants, hers is a great deal that I harbour even after the service.

Peace. Shaking hands, sending and selling peace to each other is a noble opportunity to steal glances. I hold each of them, the lasses slightly longer than permitted, to send signals of 'interested'.

As we listen to the announcements, the cheeky, pretty and bold left hand Madonna hands me a piece of paper and a pen. She carelessly whispers,

"Your digits please."

The one on the right stares, smiles and focuses on the husky announcer, my spiritual dad.

A quick thought runs, I hands her the paper, the pen and the message,

"Your digits please." She obliges. A great handwriting and a name that befits her stature, Purity.

Tearing the paper into two, I retain the Right One's number, writes mine and hands it over to the Left One, coconut and mango all at my disposal. Naturally, mango ripens faster and only available for a season. For the coconut, Purity will  tell the story to our bouncing babies. (Dreaming hurts no one, does it?)

No one gets hurt by dreaming. PHOTO : COURTESY

#Nomys_Madness

LAST RANT: TIME TO PART

I never thought we would ever part. Now, it is inevitable. PHOTO :COURTESY

Sometimes, yes sometime after what happened, I can't be at peace with my soul. You're all over my record, all over my timeline, all over my mind. I don't understand why I had to drag you so deep in my system. Perhaps, I had been so naive to think that all was well with us. Like sugar, I dissolved in you, my water, unknowing that you're a universal solvent. Now that the heat has risen the temperature, you've vaporised, leaving me in my initial form, crystals.

We blended so well, I made you tasty, you dissolved me. We had no boundaries, no discrepancies, no fears but just affection. We posed and paused together. I felt safe in your presence, I boasted to have no problems as far as relationships were concerned. Unfortunately, the heart harbours darkest secrets, yours was a bushy forest that had foxes and hyaenas.

We blended so well. I had no idea you haboured wild thoughts. PHOTO ; COURTESY.

How did you manage a double life? My blindness must've done you a great favour. The fact that you knew I had fallen for, your antics, jokes, romance and well that smile that solved all my problems. You tools were perfect. My first love, you toyed with my feelings like a doll. I believed in stars, the moon and the sun. I trusted the best, the best liar, the principal masquerade. I never questioned you, I tolerated your flaws. I banked in a future, a future that only I believed in. I now understand your choice of words; may, might, hopefully, ideally, maybe...not even once were you ever affirmative. For you, we were supposed to celebrate the present, the moment, for that's what defined fun. And I was a good fan, cooling you down with all I had, giving you the freshness you needed.

I believed in the moon and the stars as the guardians to our love; I was a fool.PHOTO: COURTESY

All the parties, the photo shoots, the hikes and movies, your motto; ‘Enjoy the present’ worked excellently. One and a quarter calendar year, your presence in my life became a past, your presence was needed elsewhere. Probably where the pool was warmer, and the meat was plenty. And with all the courage of a cock, you claimed to have been torn between your current and I your former.

It wasn't easy I admit to even imagine there was another one. I was shocked, I was ashamed. I thought it was a joke, a dirty prank to test my reaction. But you went through the memory lane, like a veteran soldier, retelling your infidelity tale, mask and the temptation. Like usual, you expected a warm hug, a promise that all would be well. I disappointed, walked away, called it off.

I am busy, tearing your memories. The malignant reminder of seen you all over the streets and halls isn't making anything better. But I don't mind getting better, I am. I'm not going to undo the moments we shared. I can't spoil that. I have however learned to draft, craft and live a new life. Life without you, life free from lies, life based on lessons that you taught me, of enjoying the present. I know you're funny, I don't deny your (faked) goodness but all I can ask for is a favour, which is you keep off my lanes. I have forgiven you, not in totality though. Allow me to heal don't pester me with the sorry sorrows and promises. Enjoy the meaty catch as I work on my fractured heart.