LETTER TO THE WOMAN I LOVE.......

THE WOMAN

Dear my future wife

It is long since I wrote you a letter. The emergence of whatsapp and facebook messengers has driven the last nail in the coffin of the art of letter writing. I hope this missive finds you in peace and tranquility that you deserve. I am quite sure that THE WOMAN in you is still alive and that your strength and my prayers have kept you going. I am looking forward to the moments we will be together everyday laughing and crying when we don’t feel like laughing.

Sometimes it is difficult to find the right words to express the depth of feelings that I have for you. You have given me strength to face life with confidence. You make me believe that all my dreams shall come true. I love you princess. I love you tenderly because you are wonderful. I just want to pour all my love and kisses upon you. I could never express the happiness your love brings to me. I will always hold you with utmost tenderness all through my life. I love you sweetheart. You are wonderful

I want to make this promise through this missive. I will never love anyone but you. Whenever you need me beside you to caress your tender heart; and to hold your loving hands; to capture your beautiful smile and to breath words of love in your ears, I will always be there for you. I love you forever. Darling, thank you for sharing my world. Thank you for warming my life with your thoughtfulness and brightening it with your laughter. Thanks for always listening with patience and somehow understanding what I can’t find words to say. Thank you for always listening with a heart ready to help and to bear with my agony. Thank you for reaching out so often with a tender look or smile and gently touching my heart. I thank you. I am grateful that you are part of my happiest moments and bringing sun to my cloudiest of days. Thanks for encouraging my highest hopes and praising my smallest successes. Thanks for giving me so much of yourself and helping to discover so much about myself. Thanks for being the caring person who makes my world so beautiful.

You are not materialistic. I met you when I had nothing. But you still loved me. There were many who admired you, whose fathers owned the ground and the sky, but you chose me. A normal boy who feels like a prince whenever he is with you. You always appreciate the little gifts I buy for you no matter how little they cost. Thanks for being a WOMAN.

I remember that first day we romanced. Held you close and unbuttoned your blouse. And the twin fowls were there staring at me. I swallowed. But I saw there was no tattoos embossed on them. They were just a beauty to watch – and touch! Your eyes begged me. Your lips meeting in osculation with mine. And then there was zero distance between us. We became one. Got lost into each other. And never wanted to be found. Every time you sleep in my arms, I don’t sleep a wink as I watch you sleep in my chest. I watch you breath warmth on my chest, heaving with pleasure. Then you open your eyes. They meet with mine. They kiss. And you hold me close as if you are scared of vultures stealing and tearing me apart. You are MY JOY………..

Sweetheart, I want to come to the end of this letter with another promise. I will marry you. Yes. I will. I want to live with you. Get children with you. And wake up every morning and the first person I see is you. I really do love you. Marry you soon.

Yours in love

Hubby to be

Mwaura wa Waceke

FATUMA AND THE JINI by Hussein Muchiri

FATUMA AND THE JINI

Hussein Muchiri

Finally, our guy from christian background and chaste history have joined us fornicators. The only difference is that his was a bit involuntary and impromptu, but karma is never questioned.

So last Friday  at around 8.00pm my guy was seated on his Bob-mill sofa from Bush Furniture when his  iPhone rang. He picked and a feminine voice came. "Where are you?" She asked. After confirming he was in his house, the girl said she would be there in a few minutes. He couldn't remember her well, but after arrival he recalled she was a girl they sat on the same seat in a Lopha Bus when headed to town.

As social as always, he welcomed her and gave her fruits as he continued cooking ugali beef for their supper. His assumption was it was a brief visit then the lady would leave as they had no plans for the visit whatsoever. At 10.00pm they had their supper. The lady finished first, and stretched her huge trunk on the sofa to rest. Her name was Naliaka. They had a lot of stories together for the better part of that evening. Shocker was at 11.20pm when the lady asked for something she could sleep in. Rober realized his goose was cooked. His knees got weak; his spine had chills. But after three Hail Marys and two signs of the  cross, he was strong again. So he passed to her his favorite saggy pants for her to try, but she saw no need as she was twice as big as the pants. He gave her a Lesso that was left behind by her ex girlfriend. She was content. She made his always untidy bed and they headed to slumber-land.

After switching off the lights, and getting tuck in between the sheets, some warmth started encroaching. That is normal enough. Trouble was when the lady put her hand on Rober's chest. With newly grown hair in that region, he wouldn't take chances with illegal entrants who might decide to do some deforestation there. So he threw off the hand, which astonished the lady. She tried  again with similar results. But she did not give up...after several trials she succeeded.  Getting into details got Fatuma into Jini's hands and her nose got pulled. So ignore the details a little bit.

Rober the innocent, was taken through a step by step  guide on how to hit it till the devil changes his religion center from hell to heaven. Round one was a struggle but quite a success. Round two was better. Round three and four will soon occupy your Guinness book of records in 2017. The house was smoking hot than Jeff Koinange Live(JKL). My guy was all smiles despite being totally worn out,he was feeling like he  had won the Olympics. Unknown  to him, he was not halfway through.

He turned over to catch some sleep. The lady shook him so hard that he vibrated like a Tecno smartphone. He woke up startled and asked what the problem was. The lady, quite shocked, asked "tunne tu?"(only four rounds?). Rober never saw that coming. He quickly composed himself and answered " that's enough for today. There is always a next time." The lady screamed a big no, like she had met the guys featured in Wrong Turn 5. The neighbours were now woken up by that scream.  The girl saw that Rober had no intentions to "get on top". She tasked  herself with the leader's role. I hear them(#Thuglife) calling it BJ (whatever it is). Rober told us that the last time anything was sucked that hard was when their only cousin had developed respiratory problems. He got twitchy and pooooof! He busted. The process was repeated thrice amid screams and moans of the poor guy. The neighbours in the spirit of Nyumba Kumi Initiative were now gathering and preparing weapons for a rescue mission for our guy. Before they could strike, the moans died and deep snores ensued.

The next morning, Nalias requested Rober to go for breakfast. Robert came back with a packet of milk to cook tea and half a loaf of bread. The girl, looking shocked asked "kwani Rober haukulangi mkate?" Just like that,Robert was out of the bread's budget. So the lady squarely and fairly dealt with the half loaf alone. That startled my guy but with previous night experience he did not mind. Afterwards they showered and headed to the bus stage to see off Naliaka.


*********
On coming back, all neighbours were at his door seeking answers to the noise at night. Some wanted to know whether the lady was from Nyeri county. A trusted source intimated that Rober had not gone to work since then and his joints are extremely dry he cannot even bend his knees. And he is looking for a vacant house elsewhere because he cannot withstand the nosy neighbours. Contact him if your plot have a vacant house to let.

Of Antoh's "Wide Load" Love from the Lakeside byHussein Muchiri

OF ANTOH'S ''WIDE LOAD'' LOVE FROM THE LAKE SIDE

by Hussein Muchiri

Due to differing public opinion alias haters, I have given up chewing  roasted groundnuts (njugu karanga) as a pass-time activity. In fact, it's a sad demise of an old habit I picked up when I realized the use of my third, youngest and the shortest leg that my Creator placed on me, and doesn't help me in walking like the rest. You see, groundnuts will help you cover miles Yana tires cannot. If you want to last longer than Duracell batteries, groundnuts must be your pet twice daily. I speak out of experience. But as you know, every market has a mad man and every champion has that one person who won't relent from going from one witch doctor to another seeking their downfall.

So there is this girl who was our classmate back then. The girl was not exactly a Rihanna reincarnate, but she wasn't all that "bad" , especially if your ancestors have decided to punish your thuglife with a dryspell. Being from the lakeside, she had a similarity with Churchill Ndambuki, but i will say none since i do not wish to be enjoined to moses kuria in pangani cells. Her nose was wider than her chest, but do not mind; honeypot is the key. With buttocks larger than her dreams, who had time to look at noses anyway? Her signature was her 6months old wig, which had overstayed its welcome in her head. Rumours had it that if she shook her head, bees, wasps and cockroaches would come out  of it real quick. But let her wig be. As always said, truly, love is blind. Akinyi, as was the girls name, had a suicidal crush on Antoh. She would not shy declaring her sentiments at any chance available. For instance, if you asked her the way from point A to C, she would explain "you see that bench over there, the one that handsome antoh our classmate likes,just past it is the diversion to C".

According to access to all members of #Thuglife, she was qualified to warm antoh's bed, even if for the meantime before relocating to better pastures. Her only advantage was the backyard, while her shortcomings were several. Right from wearing  a shoe No.10 to eating a whole loaf of bread alone, to squeezing ugali dry with her hands. But we all know that love knows no distance. So one plus one plus another one, the two become an item.

Finals were that sunday when the premiere of their dating got official. Despite her black self, she had a sense of colours. Bright was her thing. So we scrubbed those dull walls of our hostel cubicle until they shone bright like diamonds in a jewel shop. Time consciously,  she arrived at 1.00pm, antoh welcomed her and we all pretended to busy and left one by one. 15minutes later, a sweet smell of coffee was hitting all neighbours' nostrils. Aroma of fried eggs followed. Salivation got the better of us and we moved closer to the celebrant, with a wish to just taste the delicacies.

We sat on tree trunks  10mtrs  away from the hostels. From the small cubicles came shreaks and male moans(nduru za mwanaume). We could have gone to rescue our guy, but on deliberation we agreed that one  carries their burden as per the rating of their muscles. We could all picture her lying on him, poor soul. After some moment of silence,they came out holding hands. The lady was all smiles. Antoh had his eyes sinking in the sockets like a malnourished kid, and in his other hand he had a walking stick. Unlike previous time, he was now walking with a limp and his spine was bent like an old man. We could not help but pity the lad walking the lady energylessly to the bus station. Truly, they looked like a mother and her sick son.
That evening, Antoh Murage's face-book post was "You leave me breathless." Robert Nderitu insisted it was a silent message, but who are we to judge?

                *****************

Whatever happened in the dark room 10, its only we who witnessed can tell. But to have it from the horse mouth is better.  Antoh will have to write what happened or i will be oblidged to write part 2

MY FATHER'S WAY by Mwaura Karagu

MY FATHER'S WAY

My father only visited my school once. The day I was admitted in high school. I vividly remember how he walked to the principal’s office (they knew each other) to confirm if there were canes in that school. St Anthony’s Boys High School otherwise known as KD was run by a small man whom you could ignore but end up injured. COSMAS NABUNGOLO. He was sunk in his swing chair when we entered in his office. When he saw my father, he stood up and greeted him then offered a chair. I was neither greeted nor given a chair. They started talking about farming and about my elder brother who was his classmate in high school. Finally my father asked him if the school offered caning. I thought it is a subject. Bush (Nabungolo) stood up and walked behind the door. He opened a cupboard and called my father to see. My eyes followed them. What I saw made my heart almost exchange position with my intestines.

Neatly arranged according to size and type were sticks ranging from bamboo to cypress. I saw my father smile and shook hands with Bush. He finally told him that if he (Bush) ever sent me from school because of either poor performance or indiscipline, he would commit murder so to save him from jail, he advised Bush to work on me thoroughly in case of anything. He told him that I was a good boy who needed caning frequently to make me better. My fate was sealed. That’s when they turned to me. They gave me a one hour lecture without response. I was told that I was not in school to grow but to learn. He finally left me in ‘’good hands’’ and went to his farms.

If there are disciplinarians I know under the sun, Bush and my father rank first. The old man never went to bank to pay our fee. He would give each one of us to bank for ourselves. After giving us, he would say something like, ‘’Ici thie unyue’’ (go and drink this money) or ‘’uthie ute mbeca icio’’ loosely translated that ‘’go and lose that money.’’ He never gave us pocket money. He would ask if there is food in school and if the answer was affirmative, no pocket money. He would only give us money for shopping. One day I learnt a bitter lesson. I stole from him. He had sent me to town to buy fertilizer. He knew the price but gave me excess money. I brought the fertilizer and gave him some loose change. When the day to open the school came, he sat me down next to him and told me to take a piece of paper and a pen. He told me to write 2000 minus 1600. He asked me what I got and told him. He took 400 shillings and gave me. He then told me that I had sorted myself with 1600 shillings when he sent me to buy fertilizer so I should know how to use my balance for shopping. I feared this man that one day Bush wrote me a suspension letter and I refused to leave his office. I told him to kill me himself rather than send me to my father.

Under my father and Bush, I never contemplated burning the school. I never even had a slight cogitation of arson or any form of indiscipline except failing mathematics which Bush treated as treason but that is the story for another day. But how could I avoid caning if my friend was Barake Arisi? He was the best singer in SDA choir but also the cheekiest boy in the compound. Bush used to address him as the son of the chief. Canes rained on us even when we were just suspects. One good thing with Barake was that he would bargain with Bush to reduce the number of canes from SIX to at least four. Or he would request that the six canes be distributed so that we can come for one daily. His sense of humour would sometimes let Bush forgive us after a lecture. He would give us some exam papers and books to read. If one day I will write a book about my high school life, Bush and Barake would feature each in his own episode. Two different people but with big hearts. I hear Bush wants to be a governor in Trans Nzoia. Try him. I am not campaigning for him but recently when I was at home, my father told me ‘’my vote and your mother’s vote belong to Nabungolo. Don’t vote in Nairobi again. Come and vote here for him’’ I am still contemplating about that……………………….. There are two ways of doing things according to me; MY FATHER’S WAY OR THE WRONG WAYa

MY FATHER'S WAY by Mwaura Karagu

MY FATHER'S WAY

My father only visited my school once. The day I was admitted in high school. I vividly remember how he walked to the principal’s office (they knew each other) to confirm if there were canes in that school. St Anthony’s Boys High School otherwise known as KD was run by a small man whom you could ignore but end up injured. COSMAS NABUNGOLO. He was sunk in his swing chair when we entered in his office. When he saw my father, he stood up and greeted him then offered a chair. I was neither greeted nor given a chair. They started talking about farming and about my elder brother who was his classmate in high school. Finally my father asked him if the school offered caning. I thought it is a subject. Bush (Nabungolo) stood up and walked behind the door. He opened a cupboard and called my father to see. My eyes followed them. What I saw made my heart almost exchange position with my intestines.

Neatly arranged according to size and type were sticks ranging from bamboo to cypress. I saw my father smile and shook hands with Bush. He finally told him that if he (Bush) ever sent me from school because of either poor performance or indiscipline, he would commit murder so to save him from jail, he advised Bush to work on me thoroughly in case of anything. He told him that I was a good boy who needed caning frequently to make me better. My fate was sealed. That’s when they turned to me. They gave me a one hour lecture without response. I was told that I was not in school to grow but to learn. He finally left me in ‘’good hands’’ and went to his farms.

If there are disciplinarians I know under the sun, Bush and my father rank first. The old man never went to bank to pay our fee. He would give each one of us to bank for ourselves. After giving us, he would say something like, ‘’Ici thie unyue’’ (go and drink this money) or ‘’uthie ute mbeca icio’’ loosely translated that ‘’go and lose that money.’’ He never gave us pocket money. He would ask if there is food in school and if the answer was affirmative, no pocket money. He would only give us money for shopping. One day I learnt a bitter lesson. I stole from him. He had sent me to town to buy fertilizer. He knew the price but gave me excess money. I brought the fertilizer and gave him some loose change. When the day to open the school came, he sat me down next to him and told me to take a piece of paper and a pen. He told me to write 2000 minus 1600. He asked me what I got and told him. He took 400 shillings and gave me. He then told me that I had sorted myself with 1600 shillings when he sent me to buy fertilizer so I should know how to use my balance for shopping. I feared this man that one day Bush wrote me a suspension letter and I refused to leave his office. I told him to kill me himself rather than send me to my father.

Under my father and Bush, I never contemplated burning the school. I never even had a slight cogitation of arson or any form of indiscipline except failing mathematics which Bush treated as treason but that is the story for another day. But how could I avoid caning if my friend was Barake Arisi? He was the best singer in SDA choir but also the cheekiest boy in the compound. Bush used to address him as the son of the chief. Canes rained on us even when we were just suspects. One good thing with Barake was that he would bargain with Bush to reduce the number of canes from SIX to at least four. Or he would request that the six canes be distributed so that we can come for one daily. His sense of humour would sometimes let Bush forgive us after a lecture. He would give us some exam papers and books to read. If one day I will write a book about my high school life, Bush and Barake would feature each in his own episode. Two different people but with big hearts. I hear Bush wants to be a governor in Trans Nzoia. Try him. I am not campaigning for him but recently when I was at home, my father told me ‘’my vote and your mother’s vote belong to Nabungolo. Don’t vote in Nairobi again. Come and vote here for him’’ I am still contemplating about that……………………….. There are two ways of doing things according to me; MY FATHER’S WAY OR THE WRONG WAYa