Painful Change

Photo: Courtesy

Nuksi  is a Swahili word I've been taking for grunted( yeah, the pig's) until a few minutes ago. Having left home due to Uncle Brat's effect( http://simongichimu.blogspot.co.ke/2016/11/uncle-brat.html?m=1), I bumped unto Auntie Mwitio's den. I should have thought better. Work is the only definition she knows for success. Diligence is a solid practice in her compound. Anyway, I have no problem working, in fact since I entered her compound, two manual labourers have been rendered redundant. And that's the dawn of my tribulations, the only thing left in the name of a worker is looking for all ways to have me die soon.

My little experience in milking can be attributed to be a Natural Cause of Disaster. Since I relieved the rest the noble duty, the quantity (and quality)has improved from ten litres to thirteen per milking session. Nine litres each day! It's either there was a crazy conduit, a cartel network for smuggling, the cow was under fed or both. This has made us a good family, a poor human resource relationship. The Matiang'i or is it the Ayiro feeling is popular among the masses but a shortcut to assassination. Fruit production has also rose,but milk is the main,heart, direct nerve that has made the farm hostility and happiness shoot.

Today's schedule saw me in the field. My reputation to curb loopholes is spreading like bushfire. I have been receiving funny calls from the neighbours' daughters, a bunch of form four leavers whose intention is to confirm how well I can lose a sweat on them.( Ouch off the topic again!). I was monitoring the potato bags, selecting, directing and acting as a catalyst, speeding up the rate of energy production. The looks I got,sneers and sly laughs made me uneasy.

#######

So I was to milk,I did. What was done to cow, what they fed, what it inhaled and what it imbibed; I'm yet to know. All I I can confirm is that the conspiracy goal was passed to my instant fame animal.

It all began the way the cow breathed as I escorted it to the parlour. So loud and inconsistent. It relaxed a bit as I milked. As I was winding up, it threw the first kick. It missed the bucket and my face. I should have left. The the next kick followed, double kick,I dodged. Landing was the best twist, one leg was in the bucket, the next one on my toe. A dilemma to save my shapeless toe or the milk wasn't easily solved. I shrieked, the doomed servant was watching, with no hurry to save anyone. Smiling like a demon confusing a good soul. The toe was left much worse than it was. I have managed to salvage milk, half the amount, brown in colour.

On my way to buy the Elastoplast, I have heard whispers. The cow hates cats, allergic and super phobic. Then I remember seeing the idiot encouraging the cat to ask for milk from me. I'm leaving him too. But vengeance must be featured, from all possible corners. I'm having a cold, Aunty is listening and she's on my side. Change is a challenge.

#Nomys_Madness

UNCLE BRAT

A long holiday calls for interaction with all sans selection. In the name of family ties and society dictations, Uncle Brat is at our home, his late brother's den. This is the zone where the poverty store used to be, until the owner, our sly lazy dad departed with the hated state. Recently, our mother has been so busy in the land and women group savings. This has made our lives better as we have been left to our own devices. Uncle Brat and Dad were extreme contrasts, heaven and hell.


While Dad was a relentless unconcerned deadbeat, Uncle Brat is responsible and enduringly concerned with the particulate details on any deed or idea. Doubtless, we are used to a do as you wish parenting scene. Uncle Brat is therefore our worst nightmare, our greatest pain and worry.


Uncle Brat landed on Saturday. It is unthinkable, even,  to imagine that he is here for a month. The night he landed, armed with a 'diiriga mucii' ( 1.5 kg bread) marked his triumphant entry. His main business is to install fatherly roots and he asserted his position as soon as he finished the precious dinner of green mukimo served with the stupid jogoo that has been misleading us on the time to wake. He knows what it means to be a dad,a great uncle. He took my bed and we began quarrels immediately. He can't fathom how a man uses white sheets and full of feminine scents. It took my brother's swearing that no lady tours our cubicle to get him off my back. I have tried to save my sheets by changing and washing them daily, not a good joke. He insists mother should do it as he's a husband by virtue of being Daddy's brother.


Playing low has been mechanically installed. For instance, Jamie called yesterday and Uncle Brat picked. To his utter dismay, he learnt of my nickname, nugu. How could a good old uncle-cum-dad understand how youths have no issue calling each other craziest names?


My phone was not free from creating mountains out of mole hills. Uncle Brat sought an explanation as to why I was holding a girl so close to my body and yet to inform 'them' of plans to wife her. Jenny, my college mate visited this morning and you know ours are not handshakes but firm,tight embrace and a soft peck. Uncle Brat has been sweating and swearing to leave. He wonders how mum has allowed us to wander in the maze of foreign traits.


Uncle Brat is uncomfortable with the boys doing kitchen work. What he's not aware is that mum rarely visit the cooking chamber. He is so disappointed that food he's expected to take is prepared by his nephews.


The greatest pain he has suffered is attempting to unravel the content of my mini library,he has made a call to the pastor and the chairman Nyumba Kumi for a special counsel to the 'lost sheep'. The covers are scary, titles embarrassing,content disgusting. I am set to be buried alive or cremated before resting. How on earth can one be reading a series of texts whose content is only vulgarity, penetration and revolution?


 Uncle Brat is not too keen on media and technology.Our gadgets are demons. His keenness and discipleship are accorded to prayers before meals and bedtime.


It's the third day since he landed, and the imagination that he has twenty seven more days is the best motivation. If he doesn't speed up his departure, I just may die prematurely.


#Nomys_Madness

JN THE MILLIONAIRE

He's selling like a bag of IDP flour. His ego has got a real nice massage. His stammering tongue is silencing the chatterbox machines. And well, girls are choking each other for him. JN, Josphat Ndundu is the new millionaire in the bushy village, thanks to Kamuti Prisoners Tomfoolery Department.

Ndundu has received a jackpot message this morning that a one Mr. Abdul Hussain, a director of a shipping company in UAE has lost a contact lady. He has however decided to be an asset to the clientele in East Africa and couldn't risk to stop business. That's when lady luck dangled her alternate competitive protrusions for his sucking. Abdul picked his number, sent him Ksh. 100 million as the initial amount to keep the business running.

The only little setback to the maturation of the aforementioned amount, is the activation fee, Ksh. 60 000. Luckily, JN has a good savings account with fifty thousand which he withdrew as soon as he could. The remaining amount he has promised to give 10% to whoever contributes it. Kicks are flying, noses bleeding and insults hurled as the scramble for the jackpot continues.

The given number is impatient. The transaction is bound to bounce if JN doesn't speed up. Or alternatively, the fruit to be dangled to a person with stronger muscles to chew it.

I bump into the village with pomp and noise. The newest Igo motorcycle is my newest ride and I have to part with a massive Ksh.25 per ride. As I climb down, the self appointed communications officer Manua, is already briefing me on how lady luck has landed in our bushy village. My trial to explain what it means to be victims of a SCAM, achieves nothing but division, heated arguments and the brand JEALOUS BRAT. The firm supporters gift me a few kicks and as I type this, my left index finger is getting a nice bandage as my right eye strains to see after a tour by handful of soil. Thanks to my Igo Ride chauffeur, I would be hugging Abraham's broad chest.

I hear that immediately after my departure,JN has led the village to Canaan of prosperity by sending the little fee to activate millions, wait, a HUNDRED MILLION! I must be a misleading crook who deserves death for scaring jackpot for his own. If what my friend, he who was on my side and partially defended me is anything to go by,the account will be activated in five days time. In the meantime, the contacting number has toured UNREACHABLE world.

Tomorrow,no, after five days, I'll be making a public apology to JN and Co at least to get a million bob loan to publish nonsensical satires.

#Nomys_Madness

REPERCUSSIONS...

It's exactly seventy two hours since the head of state pardon to petty offenders. Jigo is back. The rapist is out. The paedophile is free. The sodomized bro is trembling. Daniela's nightmares have resumed.

There's something funny,peculiar about the way he stares and smiles; slyly. His confidence is absolutely so high. How he assumes all is well,sharing his reform strategies and salvation to everyone. The pastor has recently detailed on the sermons of forgiveness and acceptance. He doesn't know how the families are uneasy.

Let him hover all over but not near Durume's property. He swore to be good to him but not to ever see him. His daughter's misery dawned after the reformist messed her. The doctor's confirmation that she can't be a mother was worst. He's yet to tell her. He wonders how to. The class performance deteriorated. Social isolation rose. It has taken three years in psychological and motivation to help her stabilise. Evidence lacked and he was only charged with rape of his wife. And now he's out as a petty offender!

Elsewhere, Justin the innocent soul who was fixed by the village bourgeoisie is out. The daughter he didn't want touched joined her ancestors last April having doped and contracted the deadly virus. Justice at last!

#Nomys_Madness.

THE SERMON

The man of the church was in charge. The shepherd of the flock is a talented preacher. His actions can only be defined by vigour and valour.
His mastery of the Word is wild. He is not only convincing,confusing but also excellent in quoting and interpreting the word. He knows how to manipulate it for all his desires.

Last Wednesday, after great mourning and burial of my brother's wife,the weather and time were my opponents. I couldn't make it to Kangui village. A good conversationalist,the shepherd imbibed my fears and offered to host me in his makeshift home. My brother was happy since his two bedroom house was already crowded.

Having eaten at my brother's, the business in the shepherd's den was simple sleep. Fatigue and the immense crying during the day created a good motivation to sleep,soundly,so soon.

I thought I was dreaming, then my attention stole the sleep. My pyjama was moving. There was a funny protrusion on my back. I turned, the shepherd was snoring. Unaware that I wasn't asleep, he turned me and he was hard,super excited. I jumped off the bed,clenched the fists and shouted, 'What the hell are you doing?'

He sprung,faster,on birth suit. Before I could act he was all over me,hands so strong. I couldn't shout,I was shocked and choked. Luckily as a man, I knew where the balls were. I believe the left one had its shell broken as he shrieked and coiled cursing...

Today, a new shepherd was leading the flock,the other one got defrocked.

#Nomys_Madness 

TIME TO ACT

"Relax," she ordered him. His anger was updating like an application. How could she?

She was only too silly to be silent that long. His duty was simple; pay bills. She had her specified features for her lineage and sadly,his input was phenotypic.

### #### ###

"So I'm a mere foster, without my knowledge," he asked passively in a statement more in a monologue than to an existing soul.

She shook her head. Stared at her daughters in a quizzical look of are-you-blind-big-boy. He realised that the only similarity with the pretty dolls was a mere bunch of mannerisms. Only a fool would waste time and resources on DNA tests.

He was the father, foster. Blood was blurred,actually non-existent...

### ### ###

Mwathi and Muthoni got married as soon as they left college. They hardly waited for the graduation list to be released. On the last night after sitting for the last paper, they resolved to start life together. That night, Mwathi swam in the deepest swamp amid the lilies. He was the luckiest boy,he thought so.

### ### ###

Girl talk. The rules were simple,no man,no boy, not even a male flea was allowed in the room. The discussion was exclusively feminine or most appropriately, feminist. The ideas got jumbled up. Laughter. Challenge. Aggression. Agreement. All that mattered were the ideas to curb the chauvinism that was eminent in the society. Such talks usually took place in girls' hostels. That's where Muthoni got her lesson -you-are-the-determinant-of-father. The debate was hot, just like the speakers. The ideological backing was not only mean but also shrewdly weird.

How they fancied some men,their brilliance but not their arrogance. They did research. They narrowed down to genetic and acquired characteristics. The solution was reached, fix a dude when ovulating,time well accurately, get what you need,look for a rearing fool, let him believe you. Getting a preferred offspring is that easy!

### ### ###

Models, feminists,fashionistas and activists unfortunately dropped the terms and fantasies next to the college gate. They dressed in reality and settled with what they got. Accepted kids to be heavenly gifts, irrespective of the conditions aspired. For Muthoni, the case was different. She was a go getter and couldn't settle for less. She pursued her dreams,achieved her desires, enjoyed life until...

### ### ###

Diana was a roommate in college. She knew all the radical tendencies that Muthoni harboured. She was her confidante. That day, nine years after school,she bumped unto her friend by sheer coincidence. She could hardly grasp how her naughty roommate could have settled with the meek church boy so well. They agreed to meet at her place in the poshy Milimani Estate. That's when hell broke loose, the church boy heard the worst nightmare. The daughters he had raised so well were not his.

### ### ###

He was thinking fast,faster than a head of an ousted state. How could she?
He needed to act, to take the best step. Nine years in a fake family. Nine years in a lie. Nine years ago, he made a terrible mistake. Nine years of his life wasted.

He looked at her,eyes full of rage. The friend sneaked out. He raised his voice,words failed him. He tried to move, the joints joined his wife in betrayal. However when he...

#Nomys_Madness

Mind Of A Deviant Kid...(Part One)

 

Hiti was lost in his little thoughts. Ten years seemed a century. Missing father,violent uncles,pinching grandma,a mystical mother and a pack of mischievous cousins. An only child, his troubles transcended his age. He couldn't fit in his own pond of thoughts.

 Sometimes,he questioned his curiosity and critical head. He believed he had missing washers and a few loose nuts. Not that he had a problem with it,no. In fact he mesmerized the idea of the perceived uniqueness.

His appetite for knowledge and a curious note dawned as soon as he could speak. The grandma, a traditionalist who missed an excellent opportunity to marry the richest tycoon -Waithaka-was always bitter with her generation. She took too short a time to suggest their names(her descendants). She hated and couldn't understand how her late husband could die at a tender age of forty. She wept over his death. She wailed on his coffin. She lamented on his grave. She hated her soul for falling for a nice voiced man, a poetic,romantic brat with negligible skills of making money. Hiti asked why he was named Hiti (hyena,a gluttonous,slanting ugly creature). She compared him to the granddaddy.

"Your gluttonous grandfather tricked my sorry youthfulness to his worthless art. He talked,sang and composed of heavens, only to land me in an empire of lack and poverty. And what a rabbit are you to question my intelligence?"this was followed by coloration of inner thighs by the blackened fingers. He didn't expect less,the price of knowledge. At least he knew more than his cousins.

His head was clear,he was suffering an ancestral wrath of his no making. His mother's spirituality wasn't making anything better. Her attempts to exorcise him made him keep off her paths. She could act weirdly,she needed exorcism than he did. She once shared a story of his father. Then, Hiti was at ease with her. She appeared composed,normal, realistic and for the first time he noted her beauty. She glowed. She cared. She smiled.

" The day I met your father, a gentleman of no comparison,I was on my way from the river. At that time, the boys knew no meaning of underpants. To say the least, fathers were lucky to have two. He stood by the roadside. A stranger in his homeland, he had left the village as a boy to study in Nyaikuru. He only reappeared during circumcision and left as soon as the ceremony was over. His studies in secondary school was a prove of his enormous brain. On that day, he ensured I got his attention by helping carry my pot. A good orator,he explained school for me. A real school, not our muddy skeleton on the hill. A school that had electricity! Brick classes, glass windows,painted and cemented! That school, had big shelved office for books,very many,plenty he said." She had a nostalgic pause. She spat a huge foam,coughed slightly staring in the sky as if clicking on the restore memory button.

"He talked of watered pitches. Very flat,worked on by big earth shaking machines he called...graders. They had leather balls and jerseys as those I once saw on the newspaper that wrapped the meat I brought from uncle when I was thirteen years old. Then he stopped the narrative. He carefully placed the pot by the road.He looked into my eyes, held my hand gently. He breathed heavily and said that he wanted me. He would have me. I had no choice. That day, by the roadside,I carried his seed."

The following segment had nothing much interesting. He had heard from the elder uncle. How their sister was duped,denied and how they vowed to avenge.

 Unfortunately, the man's influence and affluence grew unexpectedly. He despised and dismissed to have ever slept with an illiterate village girl. If anything, he couldn't mind sending a few upkeep bucks for the 'alleged' bastard. The deal was silently sealed. Save for the grandma, no one else had an idea. Was it not rumoured that the mother 'jumped' her head on realisation that the gentleman turned crook?

A Work In Progress (part two)

His fitting attire strikes her attention too,not to mention the broad chest;a security assurance.

" I'm Patience,a beginner in the medical school. I wouldn't mind having you for a patient in more than one-way."
The chemistry seems headed to biological future. Bun cuts short their flattery. The-Girl-is-Mine is the expression on his hug. So possessive. He winks to bid his boy goodbye lest they're caught at the dawn. Bun can't afford to leave without a contact. A satisfied womanizer, it took too short for him to do it.
The dispatcher and Bin are all smiles,the kick off is excellent. Bin has to bump in to be an active element;a friend to the protagonist.

##########

The Girl is made a visitor. The shower, touts, meals, friends are revised. The relationship is founded firmly. A few hours later, the goodbyes are made.

#########

The bonds are strengthened.
Both. The Girl is enjoying a double love. The friends are happy. Their plan is beyond their expectations. And their road is so nice,they're doubting it.

"Let's burst. Let's bust her. Let's open the Pandora's Box."

Bond is a bit reluctant. He's humane. He however recalls the start was rotten,there's no business of a happy ending. At least on her part. How stupid can she be to trust a relationship originating from a social media platform?

"Six chapters,72 pages the novella is a masterpiece! We can't delay the climax anymore."reports Ban excitedly.

Bun has been planning to taste the juice. She's enjoying resistance as if waiting for a new day. He's bitter and nods comfortably, she needs busting.

##########

She arrives earlier than expected. She seems uneasy. "I have a confession dear.
 hope you'll understand."she seems to read his mind. He buys more time. His boys are next door, rehearsing the final episode.

"Hold on. You'll do it,let's eat first."
There's a knock. Bond is seen for the first time. Like a movie producer, he's the brain behind the scene and Patience stares at him. Bin follows,he hugs her, enjoying the massive flesh on her front. They eat but not long much, before the villain enters grinning;Bun.

She smiles and concentrates on her fish,her confession is made easier...

#########

The team manager leads the confession. She seems composed. They're confused. Is she real? Why is she enjoying the adventure?

He gives details of the little mission. How they wanted to help their friend write a book. How they promised to make it up to him. That they work as a pack and this was their best task. A love story, from social media platform, a stupid girl who is exploited,manipulated unknowingly. How sorry they are.

Still unmoved,Patience smiles. She takes a long siphon of her ' Sprite madiaba'.She takes a massive amount of oxygen. She enjoys the attention,suspense and power of a woman. Four men, scholars awaiting her bomb.

##########

" I apologize for playing buddies. I'm sorry to have been naive to fall you two and playing your script. I didn't know I was such a dummy."
She takes a nice malicious break. They relax but they're sensing a dragon spit. Their undivided composure pester her to proceed. Bin gets a reminisce flash surrounding his granny with his cousins in a smoky kitchen awaiting the endless long story to end unexpectedly. This is not fictitious granny's narrative. He's a real victim. He wonders as his mind wanders what's the moral of this story.

"It has been a work in progress. I am a major in psychology. I have a nice assignment;a project funded by a multinational centre of excellence; Modern Psychology. The centre uses ALL MEANS POSSIBLE to get information. The task on my table was to establish on the Reality of Social Media Relationships: A case study of varsity students.The entry of your friend on my mission to study you gave me an added advantage. But I regret that you were all faking innocence. I can't risk to admit that to my financiers though."

Bond sweats profusely. He affords to smile over her regret but still grants over her out do.

A Work In Progress (part one)

He's been reading through the pages, rewriting the script and fixing new thoughts. It's an hour since her last call.

"I'll cook you the best recipe my grandma confided to me. I'm seated next to a stinky tout so boil and disinfect my bathing water. I'm coming darling."

This is their first meeting. The real one for that matter. Online, virtually as the lecturer insists to term it, they've met a million times. She threw the bait,he swallowed it tactically,for a writer's naughtiness and nuttiness of course!

He hasn't given much thought to her quest. His brain is running, tickling and reorganizing to complete the script. He is yet to declare the coveted, cursed and ridiculed writer's block. However, his creative rivers have never got so low. She's a godsend, a stitch in time.

The fellow fools have heard the story, launched laughter and critique bombs, but have also not slept in making a strategy. The good thing with the baggy mouthed crooks, they won't cry, they help solve the crisis. How they do it is not humanly acceptable; only a fellow fool can enjoy it.

"Nishafika maegeshoni. U wapi?" She enquires in a deeply accented Swahili. The location, dressing are peculiarly enquired. The three boys strategically posted by the dispatcher are alerted of the development. The gigantic crook is assigned the best duty, testing the waters. 'Confuse her, make her feel you're caring enough to help her find her friend.' The boss(dispatcher) was stern on this and the big fool smiled, he was an expert in perversion and faking innocence. He couldn't mess in his maestro.

The trio has no particular expertise. Three brats that can feature in any crazy role. Naughty. Mischievous. Laughter grenades that needed hard to release safety pins, otherwise... A trio of jacks that only required a few tips to fit in any situation. Ban, Bin and Bun. Rhyming, three lettered and peculiar words. The speculations couldn't lead one astray; names and characters were like the aorta and the heart; inseparable.

Ban, a rather weird name. Anyone with good sense of patriotism should keep off his paths. All the DON'TS are his DOS, all the HAVE NOTS are his MUST HAVE. That's is not limited to tangible items, his thoughts are a madhouse. His biggest contrast,like a major gangster is his dress code. Not a single model stands out in his presence. His suits can easily make the Italian designers 'ban' their products in the market. This serves him a good cover for his notoriety.

Bin, is the one who clears the mess. He knows his way to the bin. He sanitises the team. He keeps their face. Thanks to his preaching father, he has a million verses on his fingertips, a knowledge best utilized in masking.

Bun knows all about food and money. He's basically the thinktank. His appetite is best spared for another page, for it extends from the dining table, bedding blondes and brutality for money. His appetite, ensures no one starves. He's the giant of the pack, courtesy to ancestry and tours to the gym.Mention a desire, Bun will avail an item!

The dispatcher, the boss is rarely named. His name is a bit off the three lettered circle,not very far though;Bond. His duty is simply harmonizing the extremism of his fellow fools. His thoughts are sober, his decisions sensible. He is the link to normalcy and that puts him a step above the rest. Don't be mistaken to assume that he's your everyday gentleman;no. He's also nuts, only to a humanly acceptable limit.

##########

Bun is struggling with a confused accent. At least she's cooperative albeit the rotational eye roll. This lass has the big clear teary eyes, which Bun knows will be a stone to the mission. Chances of him falling for the friend's fish are a hundred percent. She has a skin tone that ascertain his betrayal a must.

"I'm Bun. A sophomore majoring in anthropology. A helping hand, a saviour of the lost tourists;especially the pretty ones of your ilk." He hits her soft spot with such ease that she's hardly resistant....

Continued in the next post

My Boy Girl

Her physique is curve-free,
Her voice deep and muscles protruded,
Her name doesn't make it easier,
Jerioth which is shortened Jerry,
With an upside down pot head shape,
And a liking of the barbershop,
She's a boy in a girl.

Jerry and skirts are heat and ice,
Dresses an excellent joke,
Shorts, t-shirts and denim fill her minute wardrobe,
Her footwear canvas and loafers,
Socks an option she drops,
Bras she despises,she likes natural freedom,
Luckily she's yet to sag...

Her company made of dogs and boys,
A fierce fighter and mockery pro,
She loves hunting and boxing for leisure,
Emotionless brat,
Hugs and tears a distant display,
Funny to the core;loves kisses and caresses,
Especially when she's in charge.

Her talk is neither on gossip nor food,
Metaphysics and politics,
Stock market and medicine,
International law and dreams,
Psychiatry and psychology,
An intellectual giant of rare comparison...

Jerry has no room for dependence,
She pays her bills,
Clears her fees,
And sets aside emergency funds,
An investment brute,
She's made more than her father and grandpa in her twenties...

Jerry the boy girl,
Believes in true love,
But despises all violations,
She can't stand oppression,
For she's independent and knows her rights.

Jerry the boy girl,
Jerry the man lady,
Jerry the....

#Nomys_Madness