Awkward love

Fat people, tall people, emaciated, fit, big lips, thin lips, fish lips, sexy lips, tight thighs, flabby arms, kegs for bellies and six pack. Some skipped to an invisible tune, in joy, in love, in hope. Some trudged along grumpy, frustrated in a miserable daze.

Then one chap passed by, a head balded in three sections; towards the back of his head, at his crown and his forehead. It looked like three adjacent helipads on his head. His hair was salt and peppery growing around the helipads as tall as the savannah grass.

And when he smiled… Boy! His teeth seemed to be in layers of shades the molars at the back, looked egg yolk yellow, closer to the front, his teeth were egg yolk brown with a smudge of white at the tip and a the top of his tooth a layer of dirt brown. It was unusual. His gums had a little lace of pink closer to his teeth and then a tar black layer sealing in his teeth into an awkward crooked position.

His teeth overlapped at the front, it looked like they were playing footsie under his gum. The teeth at the back seemed too small for his magnanimous jaw. They looked like the little maize seeds at the top of a ripe cob.

His clothes were silky sleek; a grand royal purple shirt whose collar, was raised to hide his Ostrich long neck. The shirt’s sleeves opened up from the elbow like a funnel that had sucked in a reedy arm. His abdomen hugged the shirt, his distended belly made him look like he suffered from Kwashiorkor. He occasionally scratched it and patted it. As if with every motion he communicated to someone in there.

His legs made everything weird, they were VAST! His thighs looked like sausages ready to rip out of their casing. His feet looked like a clown’s only this time the shoes were actually made to fit. He had an unusual disproportional body that was a muse to many. But no one brought it up. He was a really nice man. His heart was in the right place and he was so generous. He wasn’t good to look at, well at least to most; except for one drop dead gorgeous woman; Amanda. Amanda fell in love with him the first time she came to visit and set her eyes on him.

Amanda was the kind of girl who could have any man she wanted. All she needed to do was show up. And they would be at her every beck and call. She made Beyoncé and Halle Berry combined look ugly. She was a stunning, almost divine, beauty. 


Ndiwa’s Wonder!

“One, two, three….no start again.” Truphosa demands.

“Ok,….wa! Six! Are you for real?” Scholastica was dumbfounded

They look at each other and nodded with a look of confirmation on their faces. They run out of the room and met with their mum in the corridor. She was on the way to their room to find out where they were.

“What were the two of you doing?” She asks knowingly.

“Nothing!” they chorus, with guilt written all over their faces.

Mum looks at both of them suspiciously. They look down cheekily.

“Go to the living room and sit there….DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING!”

Scholastica and Truphosa nod sheepishly and dart to the living room and plunk themselves on the couch.

Mum watched them as they ran off and stared at the guest’s room, the door was ajar. She walked up to the door and knocked. The guest was dead asleep. He had just arrived on a night bus from Ndiwa.

She noticed that one foot was protruding from the blanket. She froze. Then the guest moved and exhaled heavily. Mama quickly stepped back and slowly shut the door and walked briskly to the living room. She had this, “I swear I did not see that.” Look on her face.

She got to the living room and wagged her finger reprimanding her daughters.

“Where were you when I called you earlier?”

Scholastica opened her mouth as if to say something. Truphosa quickly turned to her, scowled and elbowed her in the ribs and she expelled a curdled cry.

Mum slowly began to peel her belt off. Truphosa was always bulling her kid sister. And always was the ring leader in some form of disastrous expedition.

“You were in the guests room weren’t you?” Mum now gently slapping her belt across her palm and indication of what was to come.

Scholastica expelled an answer still in agony from the bony elbowing of her ribs. “Yes! She made me do it!” pointing at Truphosa. Truphosa’s eyes welled in anger, her eyes reddening.

“When the guest wakes up you will apologise for invading his privacy.” Mum demanded.

Truphosa mumbled something in defiance.

“Did you hear me Truphosa and Scholastica?”

Scholastica nodded as she clenched her sides in pain, now sobbing.

“No TV! Sit there and think about what you have done. And Scholastica move away from your sister. Sit here.” She gestured to where she should move to.

Mum walked away once Scholastica had moved. When her back was facing the children she had a smirk on her face. What the children did not know, that Mama did, was the tale of the twelve toed Odongo that she had told them was not a lie. He lived. And he was, in their guest bedroom.



The fat lady belted out her last tune and all hell broke loose. One man in the back of the auditorium let out a gurgled cry and lifted up his seat and hit the man seated in front of him with it. The drunk in the corner was awoken by one of his farts, he bent over, sipped the last bit of alcohol from his brown bottle then he staggered towards a mesmerized lanky man and smashed the bottle on his head. Then a random woman with a deep voice and eyeliner and pronounced moustache yelled.

“Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”

One man jumped on top of a seat then flung off yelling ecstatically and landed belly first on the back of one man who had passed out on the floor. The melee continued unabated. The soloist on stage got carried away and belted out another tune with a rhythm that fit the chaos. The pianist peeled himself from the floor where he kicked off a man who was serving himself his calf for lunch.

One man stood their fascinated by his hiccups and tried to sing along with a persistent, “hick!” sound. The bass player peeled off clothing and wiped off alcohol that had somehow found its way to the front, from the back of the auditorium. It was musical genius; a melodic melee. Fifteen minutes in to the commencement of the fistful performance the room fell silent.

The floor lights went on, revealing the now, alcohol and blood stained walls. One man froze with his blood stained gold knuckle ring ready for the finishing smash that would pound the victim’s bloody face in to oblivion. Chairs overturned with one gentleman contorted; butt in air, on a chair.

 A whistle was blown and the police poured in. The band on stage didn’t stop. They gave the cops a sound track befitting their forceful cleanup operation. With an occasional series of burps from the drunk pianist, providing the track some form of ostinato. It was phenomenal. The cops were so obsessed with getting rid of the hooligans they failed to notice that the band was only an opportunist of the chaos.

This wasn’t just any band. It was the band-its; the musical band of slick pickpockets who made musical chaos. The aim was to entertain, provoke violence and once the cops move in to clean up the mess, they would pick up the fallen wallets and booze and ammunition that the drunk crowd leaves behind. 


Ebony gawd

She had just drawn water from the river and was on her way home with the bucket balancing on her head. Suddenly a herd of cows came out of nowhere. Aluoch fell while trying to avoid them from ramming into her. After what felt like a gush of 500 cows past her, she could hear singing in a pleasant tenor voice draw closer to her. She saw shiny muscular calfs, and a ripped pair of stained white jeans. Her eyes steadily rose to a bold, shiny chiseled chest with strong broad shoulders that commanded attention. A body crafted like Lwanda Magere and a smile similar to the temptress that led Nyamgondho to the lake. His face shone like the noon day sun, his teeth, mighty and grand like his gait.

This god like man’s gaze caught Aluoch’s stare, she, now lying limply on the ground. He reached down and offered his hand to help her to her feet.

“My apologies. I am Kelembi. I apologize for almost running you over with my cattle.” Aluoch said nothing. She had this awkward feeling in her stomach, “it must be the mangoes I ate.” She thought to herself.

The awkwardness slowly moved from her stomach to her sweat glands, her fleshy nose now polka dotted with sweat. She was staring, she realised, and looked down, she noticed she was dusty. She dusted herself and lifted her now broken bucket.

“I can replace that for you. It’s the least I can do for the inconvenience I have caused.” Aluoch smiled sheepishly and then…

“Aluoch! Where are you?” A husky female voice called out.

“That’s my mother. I have to go.”

Aluoch ran off, and left the gorgeous ebony god dumbfounded. He stared as her little limbs flailed awkwardly, almost abnormally in the air as she ran home. He smiled and turned to the direction his cattle were.

He exclaimed and chuckled. He resumed his singing from where he had left off, as if there was a mental pause button, his voice lacing the air with a vocal aroma that got the tall grass around him dancing too.


Smelly fear


Something else was in the room. Every time it exhaled, there was a whistling sound followed by a foul smell. He couldn’t move. He had been in the darkness for so long he lost all sense of his surrounding.

He groped through the dark and his fingers stubbed against something wet with two holes. It was hairy and made unusual purring sounds. It must be an animal. But then again it could have been his mind playing games on him. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw light.

He curled himself up against the wall, hoping and praying that the hunger he felt would not befall the creature that he shared this closed room with. There was no light, he could not see at all. His ears were hyper sensitive; he could hear everything around him, the growls of the creature began to grow steadily and he could feel the creature move closer to him with every growl.

He arose and began to press himself against the wall, he had never moved from that corner since he awoke and found himself in that dark room. He pressed his back against the wall and steadily rose, his body was too much on his feeble legs, now shaking from the pressure. He could feel the familiar hot foul breath now a few inches from his face. He screamed at the top of his lungs. No one came.

The creatures, sloppy and lengthy tongue began to lick his face horizontally, the tip of its tongue fell limb after the third stroke. He screamed again. The animal did not flinch, he felt something crawling in to his ears, he went ballistic, hands slapping and fingers clawing into his ears to pull whatever insect had crawled in. He was flailing, he fell on the floor…..he couldn’t hear himself scream, it made him panic even more. He rolled on the floor and closed his eyes tight.

And then the creature’s hot breath kissed his face again, it was the end. He screamed hysterically, this time he could hear his voice. And when he opened his eyes, there it was on his chest with saliva dropping all over his face; Bruno his dog. The hot foul breath kissed him again; he turned and looked in the direction it came from.

“Honey, I told you to stop watching those horror movies. Now get up, it’s time to get ready for work.” His wife walked away and there he lay stunned and burst into a bout of hysterical laughter.




“What’s wrong with you Pat?” She didn’t realize that there was anything wrong with her.

“Why are you wearing that Pat?” Now her wardrobe was a crime?

“Who even says ‘the rave’ anymore?” Now her vocabulary was off.

“What is this? Why is this not an ‘A’?”

“I don’t know? Maybe the teacher thought the minus after the A in my mean grade was a fun thing to throw in”, Patricia thought to herself. After all anything but an ‘A’ was never good enough for Mama.

Everything Patricia ever did was never good enough for anyone. Her hair, her clothes, her grades and her vocabulary were either lack luster or ‘too much!’ for people. No one seemed to like Patricia for who she was.

Its graduation day, who cares? Patricia is the valedictorian and is to graduate summa cum laude; First class with honors. Fancy words… Her mother just fussed over how fat the graduation gown made her look.

Patricia heard her name called by the Vice Chancellor and walked to the podium she could hear snickering behind her as she passed. She was used to it. She got to the podium and got a warm hug from the VC and began.

“Fellow graduates; it’s been a long road.” She paused for what seemed like forever and continued.

“Really? Who cares? What is the point? Here I am at the top of the graduating class where we have been made to believe that academics is everything. Yet a month after joining a place of work and a few minutes at today’s ceremony life hit me. It isn’t about the grades it is about the way you look.”

“Pat sit down!….” Patricia cuts her Mum off as she yells from the crowd for her to get her act together.

“No mum! You like the others busy snickering as I walked up here have always been obsessed with how I look. Never once has anyone found out how I feel…..” She started tearing and paused to wipe the steady stream of tears. She continued.

“You know what?! May you all have a nice life!” She said sarcastically. “The only people worth thanking I already have and that is the VC and Ms. Merina and Mr. Kelipha who cared most about who I am as a person. And not what I look like or how smart I am.”

She stormed out of the graduation grounds, everyone was stunned. Everyone turned and looked at Patricia’s mum who was now torn between looking respectable and running after her heart broken daughter.


Dead beat!

It’s not like he cared in the first place! His life was a trophy of disappointment. He is unreliable and I hate him for it. Four children later, our stuff auctioned twice and our dog dies because he was busy dreaming and ‘didn’t’ see the car zooming in the dogs direction, when he had supposedly taken the dog for a walk, what did he care? He wasn’t an alcoholic, he was worse. He was a pathological dreamer.

I think the only time he is aware of the world is when he has a bowl movement. But my struggling to keep us afloat, keep these children in school and manage our parents never ending demands always finds him unaware. Always surprised that someone was ill, or in need of an item or two to be fixed, bought or transported, how could that pass him by?

George, the thing that I live with, that is supposed to be called a life companion and my protector and provider….of stress, heartburn, heartache and a potential brain aneurysm is always dreaming up some project. “Baby I want to be a rally driver.” Dozer doesn’t even have a driver’s license.

“Babe we will get out of this mess once my advertising agency picks up.” That was 3 years ago, he had been open for a year and had only had two clients. Not a huge organization but two individuals who were lost and walked into his office by mistake. George’s work was sub par and disgustingly late. It cost us more in the long run because he had to refund the clients for a job poorly done.

Why have I stayed? I can lie it is because of the children, but the truth is I love the lame son of a gun. I know he won’t change. When he doesn’t annoy me I feel an overwhelming sense of pity for him.

I have intervened in his mess severally, but George is so blinded by his ‘dreams’ that it might take an asteroid landing on his head to come to his senses. And on the other hand, I am too lazy, too occupied with my children to pack up my bags and leave. I have a home I own and I am the one who wears the pants in this relationship. I can kick him to the curb. It is pity that is saving George from a cold hard wake up call in the name of divorce and losing custody of our children. The one thing I can give him credit for in this marriage is the great looking African babies. That’s about it.