TEARS TO THE GRAVE

TEARS TO THE GRAVE

by Mwaura Karagu

When Karugu entered his boss’ office in the second floor, his mind was back where he had come from. His home. His mind was jumpstarted by the booming voice of his boss giving him orders.

‘’Karugu, take these reports and make me presentable data for submission to the board. I have a meeting with them in the afternoon.”

‘’Yes sir,’’ he said while leaving the office carrying a sheaf of papers.

He went and sat behind his computer and went down to work. After two hours of nonstop keying, he knocked at his boss’ door and submitted his work. He waited to be told it is okay so that he could leave. His boss looked at the papers before him then looked at Karugu then back to the papers. His fist came down thundering on the table.

‘’Is this the data I told you to prepare?’’ he demanded.

‘’Yes sir,’’ Karugu said meekly. He was stuttering. His boss had a reputation of a mad bull. He could easily knock down your career for a small mishap.

‘’This is a different report man! I am not going to entertain mediocrity here. I want my report in the next five minutes or you are sacked! Get out of my office!’’ He threw the papers at Karugu who was about to cry. He picked them then dashed to his office.

Behind his desk, he checked the papers and checked the documents on his computer. They were different. He had printed the wrong ones for his boss. He hurriedly printed them then took them to him.

‘’I am sorry sir; I printed the wrong document for you. Here they are,’’ he said.

The boss took the papers looked at Karugu and dismissed him with a gesture. He went and sat behind his desk wondering about what future held for him. That day he made more mistakes at work more than any other day. He had even accidentally hit a table with tea and splashing it on one his colleagues who screamed obscenities to him. He said a mumbled sorry and went for his chores.

Karugu had joined Kamata Data Networks (KDN) six years before. He had scored a distinction in the university. He was paid a six figure salary. He had been given a car grant. He had taken a loan and built himself a bungalow at the outskirts of Nairobi City. His future was bright. Then he married.

Nyakairu was beautiful. They had met in a party at one of his colleague’s house. He was thunder bolted. She had all. She had long dark hair that glided down to the small of her back. Her teeth were so well arranged and her smile would send shivers down to his loins. He was hyptonised by her curved stature. Her chest was firm under her white blouse. He started imagining things. They exchanged contacts and a relationship was born. She found him informed and witty. One thing led to another and before their friends, family and religious leaders, they exchanged vows.  

Their honeymoon was not in Honolulu but it felt so. They had gone to Egypt then to Malaysia. Their first year was dedicated for fun. The following year they got a baby. A girl. When she was two, Nyakairu felt that she needed a job to help Karugu fend for the family. With his connections, she got a job with one of fast growing insurance companies in Kenya. Within a year, she had gone three grades up to being a regional manager. She started earning more than him. At first it was cool then traces of disrespect started getting between them.

One day he arrived home only for his wife to tell him to serve his own food something she had dutifully done every day since they got married. She was on her phone checking her social media pages. He was hungry and hence decided to sort himself out. He went to the kitchen, warmed his food and ate in silence. When they went to bed that, he tried to enquire about the reason why she had decided to behave differently that day. She shouted at him.

‘’Good night Mr. Man!’’ she screamed.

He was shocked beyond repair. He apologized then left for the sitting room. He put on the television, took some old aged scotch and swallowed three gulps undiluted. He was bewildered. Many questions were running through his system. What could he have done? How would he apologise to his wife? His head suddenly became heavy like a loaded pot and he slept on the coach. When he came to, it was around 3.00am. He took a bath, dressed and left for his office after writing an apology note which he left next to their matrimonial bed.

That was one and a half years ago. Things had grown from bad to worse. Nyakairu had become something else. She would scream at him for any slightest provocation. This was not the woman he had married. She had become a tigress. Angry and remote. His world was now revolving between him and his daughter. He could only get intimate with his wife wherever she wanted-which was rare. He was starved. She would intentionally hurt him with no apologies. Every fault in his life was met with her full wrath. Nothing he did was met with a word thank you.

He tried sorting out the mess in her marriage in vain. He had tried reaching out to her through the best couple during their wedding and it was futile. He tried elders and that too turned out to be a mirage. He had found a pack of condoms accidentally in her pouch when she directed her to find her car keys. Two were missing from the pack. His heart was hurt. He felt tortured, tattered, torn and alone. His only source of consolation came from his brown bottle. He slept drunk and woke up staggering.

His production rate at work went down. He had made the company lose two prime clients. His fate was sealed. One morning he found a letter on his desk. He knew what it was. He did not even open it. He took it and went out of the door. He did not pick anything from his office. He did not pick his car keys even. He walked along the office corridor up to where the stairs were. His office was on third floor. He did not go down the steps. He decided to go up. A force within him told him to go up to the sixth floor. The force pulled him. The power in him was so overwhelming. In that power he saw redemption. He saw his pains like chaff disappear with the wind. He saw salvation. He felt his heart lighten. He smiled because it was over.

He was now standing at the balcony on the sixth floor of the building where he worked. Down there he saw people of all walks going to different directions. They were not like him. They were fine. They had jobs. They had great families. They were not like him. He thought. His problems were now coming to an end. He moved closer to the rails. He touched the letter in his breast pocket. Intact. He held the rails then closed his eyes. He released the rails. He knew it was over. It will take a few seconds. He was now free. He let go. He then felt a grip on his left hand. He knew he had reached heaven and an angel was holding him. He opened his eyes to see the angel. It was his boss.

‘’I don’t like stupid people Karugu!’’ open the letter I gave you.

He did without talking. It was an empathetic passionate leave letter with a fully paid counseling session letter by the best psychiatrist in the city. He had also been given another house where he would go and stay.

‘’We knew what you are going through. We arranged for this as colleagues,’’ he said while his arm rested on his shoulder. Karugu looked at his boss then at the letter. Only tears could speak for him.

WASTED YEARS by M. Karagu

WASTED YEARS 

by MWAURA KARAGU

It is good news that the government through the TSC has come to its senses and decided to evacuate and transfer teachers from North Eastern of Kenya. I know that some of you will come here on this wall to castigate me about my support for the move but you won’t understand. This post is not made for you. It has taken me a lot of courage to write this so keep your feelings to yourself. Most of you do not know that I was a teacher in the north. During my short stay there, I almost hated being a teacher.

Let me tell you a story. In 2014, I was taken to supervise KCSE exam in another school near where I was teaching. I obliged. The next day after the first exam, three strangers (I can’t tell how they knew where I was staying) knocked on my door. They had with them 50k for me to allow the class I was supervising to cheat in the exam. I blatantly refused. They told me the other invigilators had accepted their share and I should take mine and look the other side as the boys cheated/copied. They told me that children in ‘’down Kenya’’ also cheat and that I should not dare refuse their children a chance to excel in the exams. I called my supervisor and he sounded disinterested. I decided to play it cool and send the guys away with a promise that I would look into it. The following day I discovered that everyone had taken his share. (We were all gentlemen). During the invigilation in the class, some students openly cheated in the exam. I tried to stop it in vain. I told the supervisor but nothing happened. It was the longest day of my supervision.

The following morning as I rode my bike to my station, I met the three guys who had come to visit me two days earlier. They stopped me and gave me a thorough warning that if I continue to interfere with what their ‘boys’ were doing ‘’tutakupiga risasi ya matako wewe nywele ngumu.’’ I was shaking as I rode my bike to school. I had heard stories of teachers being killed and life moving on as if nothing had happened. I had heard a story of a drama teacher who had been killed at the gate of the institution I was working at. I will withhold his name and the school. A teacher had been killed near where I stayed at around 6pm when he was coming from buying vegetables for supper. Rumour had it that he had been killed by the Al Shabaab but I didn’t believe it because from a reliable source, he had been killed for having a relationship with a local girl. These cases had not been resolved and I doubt they were. That afternoon after the exam, I reported to the TSC office and the police station about the threats I had received. I was told that they would investigate. That evening my house was pelted with stones by unknown people and I was scared. I called a friend of mine who works as KDF and was at the time working in a nearby base. He came with his, took me away and I slept with them at the base. The following day they took me to a certain small town near Ukambani where I boarded  a truck to Thika. That was the last day I was seen in the North.  That was long before the Garissa massacre and the Mandera bus massacre where 147 students and teachers were killed respectively.

The truth is, you don’t enjoy your work as a teacher there. Sometimes you even imagine that you are a slave. Nywele ngumu as we were referred to, were treated a bit different from the locals. Even punishment for errant teachers was administered differently. If a nywele ngumu teacher missed school for a day, his casualty was written the same day and sent to the TSC which effected salary deduction for that day. This was common during opening of schools since nywele ngumus traveled from far flung areas of the country. The tone of that female MP about the teachers from down Kenya was the song everywhere. She called them inhuman, conmen and other unmentionables. Life in the North was difficult for some of us. I remember my landlord closing our toilet until we stop ‘’kukojoa kama tumesimama kama ng’ombe.

I have not talked about Al Shabaab anywhere in this story. The Al Shabaab targets were directed by SOME locals. They fed them, prayed with them, gave them shelter and showed them easy targets. After the Garissa massacre, the NSIS released a list of areas that had been targeted. It was roaming in the media. My working station was a target. I shivered. Sometimes I used to wonder, why would someone shoot people in broad daylight and disappear in thin air? This is because the crimes were either committed by Al Shabaab aided by locals or locals themselves. Almost a hundred percent of those crimes were never resolved. I refused to live with fear. I died every day in the North. My Mama Mboga was hit with a grenade by ‘’Al Shabaab.’’ My local joint ‘’Club Locust’’ was also hit by the (in)famous ‘’Al Shabaab.’’

Somali Based Al Shabaab

I will never forget that night. Any time I think about it, I get traumatized. It was shortly after Mpeketoni massacre. Actually, it was the next night. We had left work and passed by one of our friend’s joint. i am a teetotaler but my two friends took one for the road as I waited for them. We bought meat to go and cook in the house as we watched news. Our meat was boiling when we had the first gun shot.  It was at our gate. Our estate had all Nywele ngumus who were teachers, one doctor, some accountant and other government workers. I knew we were done. We closed our door with everything including sufuria. I took a kitchen knife and jumped under the bed. My two friends were already there. I heard JK praying and Maish crying. JK was praying for his baby in Meru. He was asking God not to let him die and leave his daughter fatherless. They were already sober. I think I had peed a little on myself. The gunshots continued for about an hour then silence. We stayed under the bed until the following morning. It was the night I made up my mind that my stay in the North was not tenable! I left in third term when my life was threatened. My two wasted years in the North!!

WRITTEN WORD; MY STORY: LAUGHTER IN THE SLAVERY by Mwaura Karagu

WRITTEN WORD; MY STORY: LAUGHTER IN THE SLAVERY by Mwaura Karagu: I will never forget my experience in that cell LAUGHTER IN THE SLAVERY There is a reason I do not like Hussein yet at the same tim...

LAUGHTER IN THE SLAVERY by Mwaura Karagu

I will never forget my experience in that cell

LAUGHTER IN THE SLAVERY

There is a reason I do not like Hussein yet at the same time you cannot afford to avoid him and his friendship. One time he is busy cracking your ribs with escapades he went through while growing up and the next moment he is putting you in trouble with almost everyone. With your boss. With his boss.With police. With your girlfriend and even skunks. The idiot is made to attract trouble even when you are not expecting it. You go with him to a club and he abuses those miraba minne bouncers then points at you and tells them, “Don’t try to be stupid or my bodyguard will slap your bare behinds and throw you out.” How many times have we left those joints with blackened eyes and humps protruding on our heads from a clean beating we get from bouncers? I do not like Hussein. He is not my friend. He is just that malady you cannot avoid.

You cannot avoid him because sometimes you must visit his homeland with him. While there, his lovely mother will feed you as if she has been sent to kill you with food. The starters will range from nuts to oranges to bananas and sometimes even sugarcane. Chickens will be assassinated in your honor and your plate, nay, tray will be stuffed with drumsticks, the gizzard and other chicken parts. The soup will be in a separate bowl. The thug’s mother will have prepared boiled bananas and made some mukimo too. Then the feasting will begin. More will be brought until she sees tears in your eyes! She will apologize for not feeding you enough since she was unprepared for your visit! She will then go to her farm and bring you foodstuffs enough to fill the boot of the car then she would stand there and watch you with satisfaction that as you go to Nairobi, your needs for almost two weeks are covered. Next time I take the fool to Kitale he will wish his mother never tortured me! I will bribe my mother to kill him with food.

There is this one time he abused another fellow whom I understand is from Kitui and his name is Mutiso. He was Hussein’s coworker. I was there and as it is expected, I was on his side. We chided him that he is the fattest man in Kathonzweni yet he is so thin that he can pass through rain without getting wet. Hussein told him that if he becomes fatter than that, he will be bewitched.

“Do you know that I can curse both of you by invoking my ancestors?” threatened Mutiso. Hussein laughed as if he had seen a hyena with lipstick.

“Fool, do you know that my grandfather would milk an elephant while seated on a porcupine? I will just scratch my naval and your organs will start falling one after the other. I come from a clan that just looks at an eagle from above and it just falls.” Hussein ranted a threat.

“And as for me, do you know that I was circumcised by my drunk grandmother under the midday sun using a mature sisal fibre? Look here coward, no form of witchcraft beats that,” I added. Mutiso cursed us more and left us chewing our herb without a care.

That evening while going to our habitat, Hussein and I met a group of police officers who stopped us. I knew if we ran away, we would be shot and the police with help of the media will call us armed thugs. The only thing we were armed with was a bunch of twigs and groundnuts. We were going to have a gang meeting together with the other members of the crew Mutheki, the owner of the illegal River Mbane Bar which doubled up as a brothel, Winnie the mad woman of the group, Daisy the skunk, Eddy the meek fool and Ken, Hussein’s brother whose love for the weed was second to none. The police officers were on our back.

“Who are you?” one of them demanded.

“Kenyans,” Hussein answered before I said anything. I was the sober one so I thought I would talk nicely to them.

“Kenyans, mnatoka wapi na mnaenda wapi usiku?” another one asked. Before I opened the hole on my face to reply, the idiot had already answered.

“Kwani apo mko ni mchana tukuje. Mtuachishe sisi twaenda kuchana. “The next thing we realized, we had been thrown in a black Mariamu which had been packed nearby. We were taken to the central police station and thrown into a cell.

I will never forget my experience in that cell. We were met by mean thugs with bloodshot eyes from years of torture by life and smoking bhang. One of them held Hussein by the scruff of his shirt and lifted him up. His feet left the ground and only toes touched the ground. He was shivering. Sweating. Sober already. Begging. I almost laughed when I remembered the moment early in the day with Mutiso of Kathonzweni. The idiot had told Mutiso that he was the first person to snatch a prey from a tiger (yet there are no tigers in Kenya). Here, the thug was wetting his pants. They finally let us be after we lied to them that the reason we were incarcerated was because we had hit a police officer with a car and he was battling with death in a hospital. We became instant heroes. The food here tasted like soil. I did not even touch it the second time. I gave to one of the long “serving’’ inmate. The room smelt a mixture of cigarette smoke, piss, sweat and poop. What a nauseating environment! The jerry can we used to pee in was in a corner and as it was the rule, it was always the turn of a new “inmate” to go and empty it in the morning. I was made to do it because Hussein had already made friends there and was considered a trustee. I couldn’t wait to leave that place.

Before we were bundled into the cell, we had left Mutheki’s contacts with the officer in charge just to inform him and the other fools that we were guests of the state. The following morning the whole crew was there. They had a huge task of convincing the police that we were law abiding citizens and that we are honest earners in the streets of Nairobi. In the OB, our crime was listed as ‘’trafficking bhang.’’ I had never touched nor seen that thing until recently when I had found Ken smoking it. They paid a ‘’fine’’ of 3000 shillings to secure our release. I left the cells cursing Hussein. When we told Mutiso what had happened to us, he laughed and told us that next time we tell him that if he is rained on he will smell soup because he is bony, we will see worse. 

That is why I don’t like this unavoidable son of the soils born and brought up in a village in Muranga. My revenge mission is on track. I must put him in trouble. Deep trouble.

THE BELLS by Mwaura Karagu

THE BELLS

As I watched her leave and disappear behind the doors, I thought that I would never see her again. These are the moments that makes any man emotional. I wanted to cry. Weep. Just get lost in tears. How could I stand there and watch the woman I love walk away? I was in a dilemma. I was fixed. I had no choice. I had to let her go.

She had come to me a week earlier and from the look on her radiant face, she had good news for me. I looked into her eyes. Eyes that communicated with mine. Eyes that recited serenades into each other’s heart. She was the most beautiful human being I had ever known in my life. Her hair flowed gracefully on her back like a heap of wheat. Her eyes sat on her face like a pair of njahi floating in milk. Her lips were placed on her mouth which oozed juicy adoration words. She was just a drop dead gorgeous princess customized specifically for me.

“David, I have gotten the scholarship,” she sweetly said but sadly added, “but I am not going anywhere without you.” This she said with a finality that almost scared me out of my senses. It was going to be difficult for both of us. We were having a sweet conflict. Do we separate and she goes to pursue her dream course in journalism and mass communication in Oxford or get stuck in Kenya with difficult opportunities coming by? At this moment, we needed the counsel of an experienced hand. I suggested we go to my mother. They adored each other and I knew that our solution was nigh. We presented our case to her.

“My son, my daughter, listen to your hearts,” she said. “I did not raise up a coward. Go to school dear girl and when you come back after two and a half years, you will find a husband here waiting for you,” my mother said calmly. “When David’s father was incarcerated for standing against a despotic regime that was oppressing people, I kept calm and waited until he was released to freedom. At first, it was difficult but with time, I was able to cope. I raised my five children for six years alone. Toiling for them so that they could eat and go to school. My son must have the spirit of his mother and the energy of his father,” she concluded her speech. Julia and I were both in tears. We huddled next to our Mother and sobbed then agreed it was possible.

So, when I was seeing her at the airport, just like any other man, I had my fears. I remembered the Stella song. The story of a girl who left to go study medicine in Japan and when he came back, she had a baby and a Japanese husband. I did not want to go through such a pain. I watched her as she disappeared behind the door leading to the waiting lounge then turned back to the parking lot. I took a cab and went to the City Park to cogitate. I was going to miss Julia.

I made a few decisions while leaning on a tree. I made up my mind that I will ensure that I was too busy to stop thinking too much about Julia. This was going to be a herculean task but I was positive that I would make it. I also decided that I was going to focus on my studies and clear my academic project in Theatre Arts and Film Technology. It was not until two weeks later that I received a mail from Julia.

Dear delicious David,

I miss you. I arrived well and I am now settled. I have attended lectures and they are very interesting. I am looking forward to do investigative journalism. Wait for me. I will never stop loving you. I will come back to you. I love you King David.

Julia.

Yes. I waited. It was difficult. There were temptations to move on with many willing girls who thought I had a bright future. I was sure she was going through the same problems. What kept us together was the constant communication that we did. Once in a while, we exchanged letters but the most effective one was mailing and phone text messages.

The day for her arrival from the UK had arrived. I made arrangements to meet her at the airport together with her mother and the little brother. We waited at the arrivals lounge. People from different parts of the world were passing by as they went to their awaiting chauffeurs and taxis. We saw her. She was as tall as ever. More beautiful.  Beside her was a child of about two years who looked like a half cast of an African and a mzungu. They were holding hands. Behind her was a burly man of about six feet tall walking briskly pushing a cart with bags. When they reached where we were standing, they stopped. She hugged her mother and brother. Tears rolled down their cheeks freely. I did not interfere. The mzungu and the baby were like me. When the family embrace was finished, Julia looked at me and gave me a dry smile. She stretched her hand. No hug! My heart sunk! I felt my stomach churn. It was made worse by her next words.

“Meet my other family people,” she said while looking at me. A well of tears was starting to build up in my eyes. It was beyond me. I could not stand it anymore.  I started walking away. I was sure they were all staring at my back as I went away with my hands in the pockets. Then I heard her voice.

“King David!” Then they all burst out with their laughter. “Come back here coward,” I walked back to where they were all standing. She embraced me and we wept! “Do you in your right mind think that I can stop loving you? This is my friend John and his son Mike. They are here on holiday because I told them about magical Kenya. When is our wedding?” I ran to the car and came back with the ring my mother had given me that morning.

“Can you first agree to this? Will you marry me?”

“Yes I do King David.” And there was a cheering squad around us!

LOVE MADE IN HELL

LOVE MADE IN HELL

I had decided to surprise her. I knew she was suffering everyday while cooking her meals in that single cube she had rented in Muchatha shopping center. For those who know, using kerosene stove to cook your meals is one hell of a job especially if you are an ugali lover like yours truly. It was end month and therefore, I was loaded. I went to a gas dealer at Kamukunji market and bought a cylinder and a cooker for her. I boarded the mat at Koja Round About and once it was full, we embarked on our journey. I could not wait to see her face when she sees the cylinder. I alighted at the shopping center and took a motorbike.

I knocked her door. She was not expecting me so she was not in her usual lingerie that used to 'awaken the demon'. She was happy to see me and the gift I had brought her.
She did not have a seat so I went to sit on her bed and unfortunately, i sat on the sheet that separated her ''sitting room'' from the ''bedroom'' . The sheet came down. I stood up to fix it but before I did it, my woman gave me a slap on my face. It caught me by surprise. I sat down to nurse my then burning face.

''How dare you remove that curtain?'' thundered Wanjera.
''I am sorry, it was not intentional.'' I murmured while anger was burning in my intestines.
I had promised myself that I was never going to physically attack any descendant of biblical Sara and I was determined to keep it that way.

''Sorry my stinking armpits!'' It was difficult to be sorry to her. That was just the beginning of my tumultuous journey into the canyon of pain, suffering and bitterness. She never said thank you for the little gift I had bought for her.
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I had met Wanjira years back while still in campus. She did not like me then but after we were done with schooling, she found me on social media and we hit it. She was a cool girl. She was the type of a woman any man would wish to take to his mother. I thought I was lucky. I think I was until she started having irreducible minimums with my life.

One night she dropped into my bedsitter cubicle unannounced and started searching all over while throwing tantrums. It was late in the night and I was preparing to rest for the day. After she was done with her unwarranted search, she came to where I was standing watching her.

''I am looking for whores which you bring here while I am away,'' she announced. I had a long day at work and I wanted to sleep. The last thing I wanted was a confrontation with Wanjera. I therefore brushed it off and went to bed. 

''I am talking to you fool. Where are they?'' she hissed at me. 

''Under the bed sweetheart.'' I calmly told her. The slap I got from her sent chills down my spine. It made my head spin like the turbines of an electricity producing dynamo. I stood up but she was fast. She darted for my kitchen knife and faced me.

‘’Just you dare move towards me! I will chop of that little piece of chalk you carry between your ugly legs!’’ Wanjira was now fuming. I was helpless. I picked the sofa cushion just in case she charged at me. I was right. She did. I was anticipating that and therefore, I put the cushion on the way of the knife and it tore across it and into the bicep of my left arm. I held the hand that was holding the knife with my right hand and took away the knife with my bleeding arm. I used a lot of energy to get away the knife and hence, I bruised her hands.

‘’Kill me you maggot,’’ she was now shouting, ‘’No man will ever treat me the way my mother was treated by my father. I will kill you tonight!’’

‘’What have I done? Calm down,’’ I said while trying to control bleeding on my arm. 

‘’Calm down my foot! I will not allow you to bring any whore in this house!’’ At this point, I was almost slapping her. I had given her no reason as to why she should suspect that I was cheating on her. She had access to my house any time of the day and also had full access to my mobile phone. I had put her in all my plans for the present and the future. 

The neighbours had heard our commotion and they came. One of them, a certain pervert we used to call Kababa, saw my hand and gave me first aid. He then took me to the dispensary where my wound was dressed. We left Wanjera screaming at the top of her voice that I should not go back to that house because she would chop off my tiny manhood. Actually, I overheard her saying that it is tinier than a filter of the cigarette.

That night I slept at Kababa’s cubicle. He had brought a woman there and I ‘’slept’’ on the sofa. How do you get real sleep while you know that your ‘’village’’ will be chopped off the following day and your neighbour is using his next to you and the woman would not take it silently? I woke up early and went to my door. To my dismay, the door was unlocked and there was no one inside. I checked all corners just to ensure that I was safe for the moment. I rushed to the door then locked it from inside and started to cogitate about the next course of action. I sent a text message to my boss and told him that I would be late for work then laid on bed facing the ceiling.

One hour passed and I had a knock on the door. I peeped through the window and saw Wanjera with two gigantic fellows one of whom had blood shot eyes. They looked drunk. I knew instantly that she had brought them to pulverize me into pulp by finishing what she had started. I had heard stories of women who hired men to beat up their boyfriends or husbands. They knocked again.

I played innocent. ‘’Who are you and what do you want?’’ I inquired.

‘’We are police officers. You are under arrest for assault,’’ one of the burly fellows said. I opened the door to meet my fate. Wanjira was smiling at me with those disarming teeth showing the gap between her teeth. I knew my goose was cooked.

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I was accused of something close to attempted murder. When I was taken to court the following day, my charge sheet read like a thriller. The story had changed that I was the one who wanted to stab her and ended up bruising her hands instead. I had another crime. Attempted rape. It was laughable but serious. I looked back and didn't know why she was treating me like this.

There was a time I was broke and she had demanded to see me. I had to look for money since in her house you would never go empty handed. This is despite the fact that she never even came with a packet of milk while visiting me. When she send me a message while at work one Friday telling me to go to her house lest she gave out my honey pot to her ex-boyfriend. I could not imagine filthy hands next to my Wanjera. I left work early that day to go and find a way in which i would facilitate my voyage to her humble hacienda. I tried to call my debtors but I hit the wall there. I went to a friend who was an electronic repairer and sold my DVD Player to him. I do not know how he discovered I was desperate for cash because he told me to take two thousands shillings or go back with my DVD. I had no more hope. I had to go to see my woman.

That and many other instances went through my mind as my charge sheet was read and i made a conclusion that if that woman would not kill me, ulcers or hypertension will. I made a decision that when all this is over, i would call it quits. I was bonded from the police custody by the court and I went to my house.

One week later, Wanjera through her sister called me asking if we can finish the whole mess out of court. I agreed and paid her ''damages'' and we officially ''divorced''

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When Wanjera left my life, it was both a relief and pain. Relief because I was done with drama and pain because I knew I loved her deep. I remember there was a time I had no cash and had to walk from Kahawa Sukari where I had shifted to all the way to Nairobi Arboretum to meet her. With me, I had Ksh 70 which I bought her yoghurt and a cheap single rose flower we found at the gate. That would not be enough today, would it? The drama began when I could not explain why I could not give her fare back to Umoja Estate. Thirty shillings. She knew I was not working but she insisted I must have the cash whether she had it or not. When she threw the single flower to me, picked her handbag and swung her buttocks off, it was clearly embedded in my subconscious that I was dealing with a dangerous animal.

All that drama was in my past. I had gone through a kind of therapy and Wanjera was no longer an issue to my life. I was happy. I had a job, a bigger house, great friends and many things that matter in life. My life was on the right direction according to me. Days turned into months and two years later, I got a call. I was driving along the highway and therefore could not pick the call. It is always my habit that I don’t pick calls while driving or eating. I return the calls later. When I reached the house, I called back that number and to my horror, the voice on the other end was way too familiar. I could not believe I was hearing it again.

‘’I am sorry to disturb you but I need your help.’’
What kind of trouble was she in?

 ‘’I am listening’’

She told me that she was in Malaba. She had been locked out by the landlord and she had nowhere to go or what to eat. I thought very first and decided to help. I had no cash with me but I was hosting my younger brother so I asked him to give me Ksh 2000 which I promptly sent to her and told her to catch the next bus to Nairobi.

When she arrived the next day, I could not believe what I saw. She had thinned, her skin had started peeling off and she was pale. The beautiful eyes that once sat on her face were now a shadow of former self. She was also heavy with a baby. I did not ask her anything. I made her rest then left for work. It was not easy to concentrate on my work that day. When I arrived back to the house that evening, I found her still sleeping. I woke her up, made some fruit salad for her and made supper. As I washed dishes in the sink after supper, I asked her what happened to her.

‘’I really don’t know what came over me. I frustrated you so that you can dump me. When that didn’t take place, I decided to push you to the wall. At that time I had another boyfriend who had everything I wanted. He promised to marry me only if I would go to live with him to Malaba. I quit my job and went to stay with him. When I told him that I was pregnant, he disappeared in thin air. His phone never went through. He never came for his things. I went to his place of work and was told that he had requested to be transferred to Trans Mara to be close to his wife and child. I was stranded. I knew no one there. I was doing menial jobs to fend for myself. There was no rent any more. I couldn’t call home because when I left home my mother and my brothers disowned me. When I reached the end, I remembered you. ‘’ she said with sobs.

The following day I took her to hospital and bought all the food stuffs she required to regain her best self. I started taking her to clinics and when the time to give birth came, I was there. My brother had since gone back to stay in the hostels in college. It was a beautiful baby girl. We called her Bahati. At this time, I was so much in love again but I did not tell her. I kept it to myself hoping that it would go. I told myself that I was helping someone get back to her feet and that was all.

She couldn’t still go to her people. She therefore continued to stay at my place. At this time, I realized that I was very much attached to the little Bahati and could not let her go anywhere. I wanted to her too. After a few months, I took her out for dinner and proposed. I was in love again

I realized that i was very much attached to the little Bahati

It was not easy to convince myself that Wanjera will not pull out on me again. It was a risk. The risk people make when they think they were in love. I also banked on the fact that when she was in deep crap, I was there for her and therefore thought she had learnt her lesson. It was worth trying it again. I took Wanjera to my parents back in the village and she was an instant hit. A very beautiful girl who could cook using firewood? You know nowadays the women men are putting themselves to, are a different breed altogether. They smoke anything but can’t cook in a smoky kitchen. They all liked her. For once, I knew Wanjera was going to be a good mother and wife. My coastline was clear. I felt rejuvenated. I had captured my future. How many people are lucky out there to marry their first loves? I was walking in the air. Actually, I was gliding in the air.

The wedding was posh. I wanted to give her the best so I put a lot of efforts and resources which included reconciling her with her family. It was very difficult especially with her brothers. When we were able to appease her mother and her uncles, the road was clear for us. The wedding went on as planned. After the honeymoon, we started looking for a job for her. It was not easy. She attended several interviews but all turned into a mirage. I gave up on them.

At that time, my brother had already finished his schooling and was running an electronic shop in town. He had recently gotten a job in Mandera and was looking to sell the shop. I bought it. Finally Wanjera was doing something. I let her make all the decisions pertaining the shop and the money that came from it. At first, it was a small shop but as time went by, it became bigger and bigger. She got connections on how to import her own merchandise. I was happy for her. Every evening she would narrate to me how she was doing well and how rich we would be. It was always funny listening to her. Bahati my girl was very charming. Her first words were ‘’Papi’’. I was elated. She grew very fast and the pressure to take her to school was overwhelming.

‘’Papi, me want school’’

‘’Come on Princess, you are still my baby. I don’t want to share you with teachers and your friends.’’

‘’Papi please!’’

‘’You have no choice. Take your princess to school.’’ Wanjera said while laughing. They had won. The following week I took her to a nearby school. It was in the middle of the term but they accepted her after a heavy bribe.

Time passed. I wanted us to have another baby. Wanjera was not ready yet. I played along since I couldn’t have a baby on my own.

Wanjera was now getting more money than I was getting. It did not bother me at all. All I wanted was to see her happy. I was only concerned when she started arriving home late. Sometimes she would not come home until wee hours of the morning with a little excuse that she was out with her girls. She started neglecting me and the baby. When at home with us, she would spend most of her time on the phone chatting with her friends. Most weekends she would leave us alone. We would go out with the little Bahati and have fun. We would go all the way to Nyeri to see her maternal grandmother sometimes and it was during one of these visits that we arrived at our place and got the shock of our lives. My house was empty except for my clothes, Bahati’s clothes and her playthings. On addition, there was a note.

F,
You are a good father. I give you Bahati. You are too reserved and too MAN. I need a life. Sorry about the little things I have taken. I know you can replace in one hour. Do not bother to look for me. I am done with both of you. Bahati reminds me of my cursed life. You can have her. Thank you for all the good things and moments.
W.

I don’t want to continue with this story any more despite the fact that I have left so much unsaid. It is seven years since these events took place. It is in the middle of the night. Bahati is in her room sleeping. She got tired of asking when her mummy would be back. From far, I can hear the sound of occasional vehicles on the road. I walk to the balcony. I look at the stars. They are in millions. Like my past dreams. I hear footsteps behind me. I don’t turn. I know them too well. Then a hand on my shoulder.

‘’Papi, it is your time to sleep,’’ she says sweetly.

My Circle by Hussein Muchiri

MY CIRCLE

My Circle is Large.
It's that time again,
The sun rays hit strong,
Dim but determined to complete its duties,
It's evening once more,
The sun has now disappeared, yonder 
Quicker than it came,

Darkness calls in,
My heart races,
My eyes struggle,
My mouth is agape with awe,
My conscience is critically troubled,
I feel like darkness has gone,
To my world alone.

Slowly, I strut home,
I think of what is awaiting me,
Just a cold room,
Wordless clothes, and utensils,
A colder bed, for my warm skin,
I live in solace, my company is a promise.

My best  friend; the padlock,
For he alone, guards my all,
As cold as it is, am happy,
For if it had warmth, then,
I would rest assured, of having some!

Everyone who sees me alone,
Think  am a lonely soul in bone
But I know deeply, I ain't,
For this big  circle, though small to you,
Has taught me an elephant thing,
Best of the best being,
To appreciate all.

©️ Hussein Muchiri