Chukuwa kabla hajakuona.

If you’ve watched trinkets you’d definitely reckon with me in this one. I tend to think I’m those people who can never have it raw, illegal or toxic , I’d get caught, we would both get caught. The first time I can recall doing something outside the law was sliding twenty Kenya shillings under my left foot to go buy juice cola , this was 2007, in grade 2. My aunt caught me, she bit me so hard with whatever she could find on the way . Afterwards she asked? Me to keep it low like when that shit happens and you’re told no one should find out about this, we’ll get rid of this” mess ” babe. I kept it low because it was good for me. I had had enough whips to open my mouth . I have never done it again until, ” take before he sees you ” . That’s the title.

Most of the time you end up getting rid of or keeping that mess alone, alone. People walk away, it’s bound to happen. Maybe not all and maybe not for all the right reasons either.Who knows? And because I have been binging on Turkish dramas it’s “Kim bilir ?” I

I stole purple crystals, I was caught stealing purple crystals. That’s why I’m writing this on a Sunday, I might get lucky. Stealing is a sin remember? . I still laughed out loud even after getting caught, I was laughing while doing the act anyway, in fact I was thrilled. I prayed for success because I’m those people who vowed to get caught if ever they attempt something wrong and if you make a covenant with God He doesn’t break it , He however gives you a chance to do it but not fully. That’s unfair Buddy.

“Wooow, hizi ni za nini ? Ni remboo, Zinatumika?” That should be the language of a thief. First, identifies the item of interest, admires it’s appearance, appreciates its usefulness and relates it to their needs and decides how to evade with it. Sometimes they change their mind, other times they go on with the plan depending on what their conscience and other factors directs them to . ” Chukuwa kabla hajakuona ” I was actually asking two of my friends if the purple crystals in the decicator were being used . I love crystals, maybe I realised that then, or the influence you get from too much pinteresting and instagramming. I admired them and kept asking what they were being used for until one of my friends blubbered something like, ” take before he sees you .” I don’t know whether or not I was going to take if my friend hadn’t said it and wait, was it a she or a he ? I don’t recall I buried my hands and head in that jar I scooped the crystals with so much excitement. Euphoric. I imagined how they’d look on the table the same way they did on other people’s on pinterest, only that theirs were not stolen not even from a school laboratory.

I didn’t think of the kind of memory they’d create on my table. It never clicked my mind. Aliniona. The lab technician was watching me from the word go , my friends were laughing. It wasn’t theft ,it was something you’d do under the influence of alcohol and then blame it on alcohol. I somehow think Chukuwa kabla hajakuona is one of those traps people use to get back at you for cheating in a relationship. I don’t know how it felt but 😂😂😂 heeh I was laughing so hard I couldn’t believe I had been caught stealing or I had actually stolen among my friends yani in public. It wasn’t shameful, I kept telling myself this is the craziest thing I’ve done in my life that I actually proved myself right. I can never have it raw, I’d get caught. Kim bilir?

“We’re shitty people ” That’s a statement I’d conclude by myself on my bed afterwards but I didn’t, it was done. I had created actually the rest of it was so boring until later in the evening. “Don’t call it stealing ” . So what do you call that? My lab tech said I shouldn’t call it that 😅 could it be worse ? Kim bilir 🤷‍♀️ .I had to take them back but he allowed me to have some. It was a nice evening. A Thursday. We all laughed and went our separate ways. I was pardoned. I hope God does it too.

Are they shitty ? Because they left when I asked them to stay? Because they didn’t punish me when they were asked to ? My friends that is. Kim bilir🤷‍♀️ who knows 🤷‍♀️.

Take care❤

For my kids. For my future.

Mafichoni

Please write and publish thank you 😊, that was my intention but fuck guts that don’t even work ,I’m crying. And guess what? I had cocktail, for the first time, today , cheeeeeeeers.

My shosh has one of the best handwritings you’d ever come across. I’ll leave it here just so you do something about yours okay? Everytime I read her work ,I feel like she deserves better than a mere mama soko and mama shamba titles . I see a queen in her like someone she was before and still is but is hidden. One day, I’ll tell you her story and how almost everything I wear is inspired by her taste of fashion. Now leave that to me ,just check out her handwriting…

My shosh’s handwriting, yours?, mine, I’m a doctor lol😂

Let me write this in first person, only that it’s not me saying. Can we try Biko’s ?Heeh, I’ve been yearning to meet chocolate man but today ,I stopped. He’d probably say something like “is the table dirty ? Can I ask someone to clean up or move ?” Because that’s what I do when I’m anxious, I spill anything and everything, I drink, I drink, I swear I do. So either way , I’ll keep spilling my drink , not because of Biko but because of anxiety. I said this entire paragraph, I’m not really sure whether yes or not first person would work . I doubt myself a lot , pinch me okay ?

I farm ,I do maize ,tea and beans beside running this cafe. The guy I’m writing about is tall ,chocolate ,eloquent in both English and Kalenjin, his mother’s language. I don’t know, I have something for such people, accents are overrated. So meet , Brian Rotich, he’s the owner of mafichoni, HIDEOUT CAFE , the hidden space of souls like myself, too bad I spilled drinks on his table. Shorry.

I love biking ,I love to read . Current read? Best of whispers by Wahome Mutahi. The president writes something like,”if you already read this shauri yako 😂 so now you know where the book came from.

si utapoteza watoto wa Sunday school 😂. I swear I didn’t laugh. He’s a Sunday school teacher, a committed one .

I’m an observer, a shy one , I observe people, things ,I have this urge to find out what makes them them. I like different, weird and obvious. It’s my curiosity that eats me up every time you meet me on the streets because unfortunately most of my missions have failed because I suck at approaches. Brayo is different, weird and obvious, the first time I had an encounter with him must have been a year a go with a friend of mine , he was reading a novel, in his cafe . They both struck a conversation around the subject of novels, as usual I hold my tongue when I meet new people, I become invisible and listen. He seemed intellectual and fluent, I wondered what the heck he was doing there, we left and I asked about it . The second time , a friend of mine again insisted I take his gift kwa Brayo, but nikamwuliza Brayo ni nani😂😂 kumbe it was that same guy . The owner of hideout.

He’s done political science as a major and I think something else that skipped my mind. He’s vied for a political post before. He runs a small cafe. He’s very social, not picky, social. He believes in making a difference. He calls his small place a social enterprise, because here, he feels like he’s done more than just making money. He’s influenced people and students in ways not related to feeding their tummies. He loves what he does and does it so well. I underestimated him

It’s a hideout, a good one. You feel better when you leave. He entertains you and allows you to feel as comfortable as you could, I can’t tell you how many times he kept saying,”it’s just meee . I couldn’t do it , Claudine couldn’t.

I feel like we never really know people deeper than we want. It’s just the way it is , it’s a mystery that no one can unravel except us. He has a tattoo, a cross , a jungle green Bible. He looks like a guy in his 20s, he’s in his 30s.He has a hideout with chess and play station . His counter holds cards, a novel and a Bible.

I’m gone because my mission was accomplished. Not by me, by Nyolo. He did the interview, so well. I spilled drinks. I was hiding from something. I’m done with it

You’ll meet people and want to underrate them. You’ll wonder why and how do they really do what they do , Do they enjoy it ? You’ll ask, Is this who they really are ? What happened. Some, are here for me , for us , to make the world a better place, to stop me from spilling my drinks every time I get anxious. Go ahead and ask them, you’ll find a beautiful heart in them, a hideout. Thank you for lighting our candles.

Take care❤

Opposite of straight.

My teacher of French would say this as an expression of surprise are you?

Crooked, I do not eat indomie, I eat spaghetti. I have half yellow half white teeth, what do we call it ? Bad dental hygiene. Brush your teeth after every meal says who ? Where do you all get the time? Self discipline, I have that but at the back of my mind. I have a thing for dads holding their son’s hand or daughter’s as they walk . Honestly, it humbles the ego in me ,if I had the guts to utter a word I’d say,” bless you Sir not Mr.” Crooked. Askew.

There’s this human being I have been wanting to approach and get (Gender inclusive language) to write on my blog because I like weird, I like different, I suck at approaches, I’m good at observation, thank you at your service 😌. I can make a good private detector. I am definitely not going to succeed at this. Crooked. Askew. Can you please help?

Do you still suck your thumb? I do. Do you chew your pen caps ? Yuck, I don’t. How on earth do you cook your rice? It keeps changing. Spontaneous. I am. A little secret, I use more cilantro than garlic in food . Blame it on their aroma.

Kuna vitu Sifeel kusema 😂😂, it stops being weird when I do. Settle on that because I’m shy. You are ? Are you ? Nisaidieko. Crooked. Askew.

Were you ever told you ate your own poop while young ? Come on I’ve babysitted kids who’ve done that and they will never admit it when they grow old. They make that weird expression of denial and they’ll stop talking to you for days. It doesn’t make sense but poop is sweet when you’re young. Sweeter than candy,because you’re crooked at that age you eat things because they’re available, you bit plastics and metals to you everything tangible is edible. How far are you now from that? Do you still eat everything and anything? I do . Crooked. Askew. Anything edible.

I’m crooked, I know that, do you? I just hate it that life is trying to explain to me that eating my poop while 1 year old was a big mistake, that I have to correct something I can’t even recall haaaah. What proof does it have that brushing my teeth after every meal makes my teeth white or clean for that fact? Ata mi sijui mbona sikuli indomie😂😂.

These are few pieces of my 20s diary, one last is being pushed to call someone special from the other gender babe, ilikataa hivo tu. Not even my own. At least not for now. Crooked. Askew. I love it.

I’m questioning a lot lately, I know it’s a lie I didn’t eat my poop lol. Fuck 20s😂😂. Just read books and travel ( the latter is yours alone I’m sleeping and traveling in my dreams, today I got to France ,a plus tard 😊)

Prends soin de toi ❤

La tour Eiffel

Meshack.

Have you been in an uber before ? Not degrading but have you had any conversation with a stranger in a vehicle before , ” juzi makanga ameniuliza mbona Wazee hucomplain sana kulipa nauli na gari si yao , si wangepanda baiskeli basi. ” We all laughed at that and the old man nicely paid his fare without a discount. I understand, before they could walk long distances and getting matatus was something out of this world let alone the money he was being asked to pay. He was too old to walk that fast now . That makanga didn’t think about why he’d be so reluctant in doing so . It had nothing to do with him not owning a car, he probably had one but was simply trying not to pollute his country by using public transport. The old are the most conservative people I’ve ever met .

So there’s this guy who used to take me to school my entire form 2 and part of form 3 . He was a father to one lovely daughter by then. Everytime he’d take me to school, he’d mention his daughter and be something like, ” unajua Kasichana kangu kameniambia eti daddy mimi nataka ninyoe nywele nisome kwanza ” She must have been in class 5 by then ,hopefully she made her way to Alliance girls, my alma mater, he always wished her well, he praised her and I prayed for him and his daughter, that forever he’d be proud of her. I mean very few dads would start a random conversation about their daughters to a random stranger, unless it’s the other way around. But he always did and always mentioned how he loved her and those tudetails.

Today, I dedicate this to Meshack, he was more than just a chauffeur, he was an uncle. Everytime he dropped me at school baba Esther knew it was my father and he was a good one to his own daughter . He’d mention how I should study hard because I had a chance at the best school in Kenya and that my future was bright and these boys, huko mbele ndio wako utawaona uchoke nao, nimechoka for sure. And today, Meshack must have read this newspaper and went like yeeees this girl deserved it , I know her…

He always wished me the best before he left . He believed I could do better. I believed his daughter was blessed with an amazing dad.

And today, to all strangers that leave words and actions stuck in our hearts , I say thank you.

You never know what you left where you passed.

Meshack left gratitude with me.

Take care❤

It’s the little things that we do and love the most that actually matter 🤗

People.

• 

Didn’t get the right image

He’s a cyclist right? A person who rides a bicycle right ? . I’m the kind of person who walks reading, reading people, it’s a habit, for those who spend 90% of their day walking alone I guess? . So this cyclist is down the road, cycling his tool of love and must have been doing it for like several hours. I stared at him from a far until we met , and afterwards. It was mutual. I thought he might be my uncle or someone from my village that I had probably seen once and was now seeing him for the second time in a foreign land. He might have thought the same way too . We are both not really sure why we kept glancing at each other. I thought he was thirsty and badly needed water but he couldn’t talk. Just something in that line of need may be.

It’s a Sunday, I trace a mom with her two sons. I wonder about the dad,I’m an overthinker , I don’t take things simply just the way they are. Such men, they grow up they do exactly what their dads did to them . It’s the mother who is closer to God right ? Whatever it’s not logical. And the the viceversa is also true , which would probably be my line of practice, who knows.

Aaaah I’m here to say thank youuuuu. For reading my blog . For being people. I’ve read you to be able to write you . It’s been and still is something I enjoy doing. It may not be as often as it should but I love it. Oh and I recalled something from last year, this kid around 7,He was herding , goats and ship. He stopped me, I thought ” shit I forgot sweets in the house ” he asked, ” Ni saa ngapi?” I checked my phone ,it was 2.50 so I told him ni saa tisa lol. He asked again ” na dakika ngapi?”. I had lied to him and I was not going to do it again but at his age? How did he know minutes added up to hours ? I bet he was too hungry to keep doing it but was scared of restrictions. It was damn hot . Did I feel pity? No. I remembered my childhood, it’s true I’ve herded but not at his age . It was too early for him but is it ever? Who says when we should learn how the wall clock works? Some of us have to do it earlier than others and that’s okay 😊

Like people, I’m glad I met you all and here we are, on these keyboards. Some are walking masks and that’s okay because deep down we all break down when we lose and lighten up to what makes us happy.

Take care❤

Lucky death

Special people celebrating their special days on special occasions is such a special thing to feel. So I wrote…Not about that though.

” A raaaat, yes that’s what she said she called me, you know what, I went to visit my mom’s midwife she said that when mom took me there they said,” get this rat out of here!! ” ( mundusirieyo khaveva Khanoooo) in my mother’s language. “

That is what Lucky has grown up like , a rat. She’s 21 years old, lying on her bed,it’s a chilly morning. Yesternight she had a lot to drink; alcohol, for the first time. Vodka. It was on a Wednesday first day of school from a break. It’s her second year in college, the only passionate lawyer from her village Maira( from myrrh ). She was tired from an about eight hours journey from upcountry. However, something was missing that Wednesday evening she lied on her bed trying to get some rest. Her mind explored her soul. She was unsettled.

A crush. Have not we all had one? Lucky had several , she brushed them off as we all do. They are probably never worth it. There is always one that walks with us however much we try to rub that shitty feeling off. Gift, is the one that refused to leave her fantasies. And that Wednesday, Gift explored her soul. He was right next to her. She called, ” Hey, I am in school, could you come say hi?” She thought fate had it all for her, this one was worth it. She put on sweats just that a top and a sweater to keep her warm, she had a flu from home. At around 7 PM, Gift was there coming with a friend, a bit older than him , some sort of a gentleman that was not her type. He rolled out his hand for a handshake, her crush hugged. The other guy , Robert, was on a phone call, a long one with his fiancee. Something Lucky and crusty would laugh about. Long calls were done somewhere in their first , with whoever they were infatuated about at that time.

Gift convinced her to come along to Robert’s tenant house, a bed seater. He seemed responsible, she craved for one thing, losing herself in the arms of a guy who refused to leave her mind and soul . She wanted to spill her deep secrets, if there were any. If her Gift would not be able to take care of her , Robert would, hopefully. She therefore requested for some strong alcohol and asked her crush not to harm her. Vodka. And on Thursday morning in her room, she watched herself losing it in the company of two men. They took good care of her, she was a psycho, Gift would bubble that on a phone call with a friend. Her fingers were swollen, from hitting the wall all night,Robert’s. Her phone rung severally, her mom was worried, she had called her while tipsy and explained everything to her, a big mistake. On that bed , she sipped some juice,no hangovers, as much as she watched the video, she could recall everything. That is why she has a chess bracelet on her left wrist.

Her dad could have been the reason she opted for some alcohol ,what a rat? Rats are tiny ,she was tiny, rats have no habitat of their own, maybe heaven, she probably did not have one too. Rats are very destructive, they destroy unknowingly, she wanted to destroy herself unknowingly too. She was a rat, her paternal grandmother was right all along. A rat with a void, with a heart beating for some love, some attention, a heart full of love for people she did not know why she loved them. She gave it all ,that which she did not receive. Gift was not a coincidence, he was one those that crossed her path of love.Only her dad did not, this time, she craved for his.

A bastard fights for what he or she lacks, sometimes they give just that, Lucky did it all, she was a special bustard. Law school was not passion, what you see is never what it is .It was a feeling of guilt, anger, hatred and injustice. That is why we go to the court. A conflict erupts and we run to the court, whether misled or not we yearn for some justice. She was not a rat, she was human with some characteristics similar to that of a rat and a beard similar to that of a man. If kids born after her were bustards , they would probably be called rats, that is why she studied law to save them from becoming rats. She would tell herself, “I am a lucky rat, I mean mom only breastfed me for a week and I lived 21 years?But I will die a lucky death too. ” Was she suicidal? No she was not, she was bubbly, happy, smiley ,talkative and full of dreams. She wished to learn chess, a mind game, Gift was a pro. She could only make herself a chess bracelet to remind her of her dream.

On that bed, she thought of monkeys, the ones that would take care of her while her maternal grandmother went to look for food, she was ashamed, her granny did not raise her to an alcoholic or get married to one. Robert was better, he was calm and reserved ,she would see her dad’s eyes in his, wishing she knew who the heck he was. Rita, her closest friend would have to hear her out, she would not believe her but eventually she would admire her audacity and still love her. Her cultural background and society that looked up to her were against her actions. Another guilt.

But one day, she craved to die, before her mom and dad, right beside her hospital bed. She believed her mom would eventually admit she was dying too and her dad would say,” I love you baby girl “. With Gift’s name on her left palm, reading I am glad I gifted you what I never had , I am a psycho with a heart full of love. I wanted to learn chess too. I love you Gift. However she knew those words would not fit on her left palm. Gift was enough.

P.S. it’s kind of true fiction , my kind of story and today is my dad’s birthday. He’s living, according to that fiction.

Take care ❤

The things we chase. Mine is the moon, a feeling of hope

Miss independent.

My ears have been blocked for two days now, it’s the cold. I can’t hear properly, I love loud music I’ve hated it for those two days. My friend’s shoes got stolen at my door a week ago , I was to write about it . I have a backlog of things I’m yet to finish, I doubt I will.

Today, I woke up at around 1.30 PM with a missed call from my shosh. I got freaked out, mehn. I thought she might have called at 7.Am and now she was worried why I’m not calling back.

There’s this kid, a girl, I love girls. She must be around 3 but she behaves way better than I would at her age. I’m new at this place so most of the time I see her , I say hi and she replies in a lower tone , she studies my hair for a while and done. I have lots of candies in my house , for kids. I wish she knew, I probably wouldn’t be in bed right now.

That’s how the story ends.

I’ve been having a hard time putting words together and finishing my short stories.

I’m struggling to cook for myself and eat alone.

I’ve terribly lost weight.

I wanted to stay outside school.

To be independent. I’m nothing close to that title lol.

I’m not finding an image for this feeling…

Empty?.

I’m back to sleep I guess.

Take care ❤

Darkest rooms.

K: Huyo dem ako class eight shule gani??
L: Huyo ni daktari.
K: Uko na mofa?
Me : Mofa ni nini?
K: Uko na tenje?
Me: Tenje ni nini ?
K: Uko na phone?
Me: Oh ok…( I gave my number, atatafuta wa kuongelesha)

Heeeh, si I’m tiny😂😂😂, that is my first dark room.

I turned 12, in class six , I hit my chin on the floor playing catty while it was raining. It cracked, so bad, I didn’t know until I passed a finger in a pool of blood. It was all numb. Numb in blood.
Treva, handsome, tall_light and handsome, nicknamed me the girl with a white beard. He’d shout it out ” Ndevu ya whiiiiteee” . I’d be happy about it, about the fact that he knows me, he could notice the pus on my cracked chin, he was observant, he observed me. It’s black now, I have no idea where Treva went. Were he around he’d shout ” Ndevu ya blaaaaackkk” , a real one this time, a visible one. I wouldn’t be happy this time, because that is my darkest room.

My shosh says, no one should see it, too bad everyone can see it ,even a blind lover would. Unlike a guy with a tiny dick, a blind lover would not mind, he or she has probably never seen bigger or smaller, but definitely never a woman roaming around with 5 strands of hair on their chin. That is just how I think about it. So no one should see it , no one.

Shosh: There’s something on your mouth clean it..
Me : Okay, ( I clean up)
Shosh:( quite annoyed) I said there’s something on your mouth clean it nicely
Me: Help me then I can’t see
Shosh: Hiyo kitu
Me: I remember, no one should see it.

We are in the shamba, to plant maize with my male cousins and L. Remember, we had not planted?. I was annoyed too, with the way my grandmother handled my chin,my beard, hiyo kitu. I felt sad, very saad, that even the person I’m closest to would call it a thing. They all watched. There was nothing on my mouth. There’s one strand that never coils. Anyone one can see it. She wanted me to coil it. I never do that lol. Deal with it.

I’m done ranting.
Didn’t K see it ?
Dem wa class eight na beard? Aje tu?
(I don’t understand sheng’ . tenje, mofa?. Do such guys deserve wives even ? acha tu.)
I can’t recall where I started growing, just know I have 5 strands.

It’s my darkest room, holding my darkest rooms.it’s okay to be dark.Find some light though, light in your darkness.

Embrace the darker you. It gets lighter.

Take care ❤

Chai kwa mandazi

Mahindi,maharagwe ,mihogo ,njugu,njugu mawe. Farmers farm, almost everything there’s to plant. And this ,is that season, crops look so beautiful on land. Watu wamepanda…. we haven’t done that yet.

I meet a girl, about 12 yrs of age , I am not sure of the route I’m taking so I say hi and ask for the right direction. “Sasaaaa, hii ndio njia ya kwenda dip au nimepotea?” I was right all along so I keep going, nikisorora maboma ziko barabara, it’s a hobby.

There’s a girl standing outside a grassthatched house with a green framed mirror. She has a modified yellow and black striped kitenge bandana. She has braids. Meet such, you will see their moms in the shamba calling out for their brother’s, ” Kamauuu funga hiyo mbuzi inaharibu mahindi ya mama Lucy” to tie a destructive goat. Meanwhile, she’s standing, sunbathing, mother keeps calling out for Kamau,he must have gone to cut up some nappier grass for the cattle. Mama Lucy is a bit older, in her small hut,she’s crowded by her grandkids with a jug going round pouring something close to porridge. Must be porridge, I’ve not seen a trace of a cow . Soon she’ll come out,ranting about one stem of maize eaten by mama Kamau’s goat. Her name is Laureen,I hear her mom asking whether tea is ready, she’s been busking, it’s around 10 am in the morning. Her mom woke up for her jembe , I am on my way to some deep place called dip ,skeptical about the direction, I stop,dirty and barefoot, I ask,” mrembee, ingira ino ilanzusia hudip?” She smiles familiarizing me with someone I’d love to know. I am on the right route, to buy mandazi for the young men working on our shamba, we want to plant maize not for goats I hope.

On my way, I think about the revolution my skin must have gone through the few months I’v been in the village, I’m chocolate, Laureen looked chocolatier and thicker that could be why she was not with her mom . If I got hold of a mirror, my vegetables would suffer, hatutapanda mahindi , I digress. The world will adjust. I see a shoe disposed in some Bush, I remember I’m walking barefoot, my cracked soles are growing, the wheelbarrow wound refused to heal, aaaah who cares????

Anywho? I’m not here to bodyshame and bodypraiseee. I’m here to remind you of the classmates who used to be visited by their nannies, those ones, our herdsmen , and the young men I just left working on our shamba….

The nannies, I’ve had a chance to live in a house with a nanny, a great one , she is amazing, Shanice, remember her? Like all of us , she’s schooled, yours might not have, however, she has parents like all of us, available or not . I hope every time you see yours ,you treat her like human. I hope you share a cup of tea with some mandazis on the same table. She deserves a space in your world.

Today, I reminded my grandmother that the people working on our land were no different from us, their hearts beat the same way ourd beat when something terrible happens to their loved ones. Class sucks, it makes man less humane, as much as it should make him more.

I hope we remind ourselves, that chai kwa mandazi is waste, our hearts are a huge taste.

Give them .

Don’t waste your heart.

P.s :Get rid of that mentality that village girls make great wives.

Take care ❤

We’re all witches period!

I have cursed the day I was born so many times when it hit me I was rejected, I am a witch! Yes I am. There’s this day I lost my report forms in the most weird manner, guess what? It could be a witch who stole them, a cow. We are all witches bewitching witches.

I know you want to say witchcraft is rural based or ancient whatever just know” you are a witch!”in a Nigerian accent. Sorry though, you’re not. When I became the best in my class in primary, I became an introvert, was made one. Looked like witches were roaming around, preying. I was busy being bewitched by those who thought they were protecting me from a fellow witch. This mostly does happen in upcountry, urban witchcraft must be upgraded maybe some sought of Nairoberry or losing a girlfriend or boyfriend after ten years of dating, it’s not witchcraft “you’re the witch naaah!”( another Nigerian accent)

The little shit we do, the minute curses we have spelled on our friends, exes , mothers, fathers , neighbors and other human beings either or indirectly bewitched us ! Yes they did. No one has bewitched you you’re bewitching yourself thinking you have been bewitched.

You see, the grades that started dwindling in your second year , then you kinda lost interest in becoming the lawyer mama and papa have always wanted you to be, those ones. The next time you go home saying you think you should change to photography, you are bewitched. I mean how is that possible? . Anakunywanga pombe pengine? Bangi is the current vocabulary for real people like you… Pombe cannot make you stupid, somehow weed does, does it? Sidhani. Huku nyumbani, they’ll say you’re bewitched, not face to face moshene za kijiji. See now, if only our parents understood that some of us have not yet discovered where we belong. We needed some more time. To reinvent our passions. Now the whole village claims you are bewitched. Alafu unatembeanga na kitu kwa shingo ukitafuta monkey kwa vichaka. Wildlife photographer, the actor in three idiots was better.

I’m the person scared of being warned about witchcraft. What is it anyway?Because we are here to live:

Sane or insane who cares ? Are you sane yourself?

Educated or uneducated who cares? Have you met the Creator?

Thick or thin who cares? Unataka kunikula? Mbona sasa?

Regular or irregular, do I get in your path? A beg,,,

Be happy

It’s in your thoughts, words and heart. Make them Angels or demons. No one cares okay. You’re the only witch.

Take care❤