Blood is DENSER than Water!!

“I am at the gate!” Those were the most irritating words for Andrea to hear. It had been months of unplanned visitations from her relations. Yes, there is no doubt she loved them, she was just tired of the ‘village hospitality’. This wasn’t an office with an open door policy. Yes, she knew she is African, but this is a different dispensation. She had had a really long week, 22 hours of work for the past 6 straight weeks, it was Friday, she just wanted to lay on the couch and meditate in silence. She needed a break, not hosting people every five seconds.

Then her phone buzzed a couple of times, she turned it off without looking at the screen. Then her caretaker knocked at her front door, he had snitched to her aunt that she was in. Andrea had forgotten to tell him that she didn’t want guests that evening. So there she was completely worn out on the couch debating on how best to get rid of her aunt. As she thought it out, she lost track of time and just as she was about to reach over and turn down the stereo, she heard a knock on the door.

Andrea froze, worried that she was busted. She was not sure whether her aunt had seen her shadow move across the room. She froze where she was. “Andrea are you there? It is Aunt Truphena!” her voice spoke very cheerily. Andrea didn’t budge. Then her Aunt pulled open the curtains to peer through to see if anyone was home. Andrea exclaimed and hit the floor, and her head hard, on the edge of the couch on her way down. She quickly clasped her mouth with her hands. Tears streamed down her eyes one hand rubbed the wounded part of her head.

“Andrea! I see you!” her aunt giggled cheekily as she pulled the curtain and drape back. Andrea’s legs were in full view with her upper torso pushed in so tight under the couch; it looked like it consumed her. Andrea sighed and pulled herself out from under the couch, she emerged with something in her hand. “There it is! I was looking for this.” She let out a fake laugh to cover up her failed plot to hide.

“Oh! Aunty! I didn’t hear you there, waaaay under the couch looking for this.” She waved her pen limply as she continued to rub her head.

“Well?” Her Aunt asked, nodding towards the front door.

“Well what?” Andrea responded innocently. “Oh! OH! Goodness, sorry! The door!” she nodded almost a bit too much, very lackey-esque.

Andrea slowly walked toward her room; she knew the keys were under the cushion she had rested her head on, on the couch. “I will be right back! They should be in my bag.” She said gesturing toward the corridor. Her Aunt patiently nodded.

Either the woman was completely clueless or she just didn’t give a crap. She was going to visit her niece or die. A niece who didn’t even like her, Andrea wished desperately that she was living on the ground floor in a house without burglar grills; she would have escaped through the window. Andrea just needed a break. Aunt Truphena just couldn’t get the damn hint! And for crying out loud, use a damn phone and plan before you show up at the damn gate! Bloody African relatives!!!


When will it end?

He just stood there, head faced forward and right there, RIGHT THERE I tell you!!! At the junction of Kenyatta Avenue and Moi Avenue this dweeb sent his hand to the grand bank of “Assfrica” to combat his itch. He just stood there; completely nonchalant to the fact that he was disturbing the peace of a Sunday morning. Hand in ass, scratching with a look of relief on his face. Revolting!

For a minute I thought I was imagining things. But alas! There he was, in his dimunitive might conquering the itch. Gross! People passed by him, not even a stare, like what he was doing was normal! I guess grossness is acceptable on Sunday? No harm no foul? Is that it? Unbelievable! I yelled at him! I don’t think he heard me amidst the honking of the matatu speeding by him. He almost got clipped in the rump, wish he was. He quickly dashed out the road to the curb as he smelled his ‘active’ hand. I gagged and crossed to the opposite side of the road. I really didn’t feel like being up and about that early on a Sunday, I looked at the City Clock it was 7.15am. I wept. Well, I didn’t actually, I felt like it! But I really didn’t have much of a choice Sam was haunting me. I couldn’t be home.

I hadn’t had much sleep the last three months, on a good night I got three hours of sleep if Sam let me. He was a possessive bastard. He demanded and “convinced” me to stay up with him and talk. I never thought it would end this way. I had to feign attending church far from home and swear loyalty to a church as an excuse to get me out of the house.

One Sunday, I had planned to get to the city centre, head to a coffee house and enjoy a large second breakfast, and just not go to church. I toyed with the idea a bit more once I arrived in the city centre. But something told me to just go to church. I did so reluctantly. And to my surprise, right where I normally sit, right at the back in the middle pew, there he was. Sam had a sinister look on his face as he watched me walk in. I was dumb struck, scared. He looked at me and pointed at the space next to him. I felt a cold sweat on my forehead and nostrils. My eyes popped out their sockets, I felt breakfast inch back up my throat. I swallowed hard and coughed, slightly chocked by the food fighting back. A tear streamed down one eye.

No! Not here! Not here! Why? That was all I could think, my stomach started making growling sounds as I sat next to Sam. He grabbed my wrist and pinned it down on the pew. I held my stomach, something was going to exit it, I just wasn’t sure what end it would emerge from. I swallowed hard again, sweat drenching my brow and upper lip, Sam gripped harder, I flinched and he darted a killer stare. My stomach growled so loud people seated next to us stared at me. I smiled nervously and Sam loosed his grip.