In strict terms, our story begins at Kayole. In the depths of truth and nature. Have you ever asked what laws dictate nature? Nobody knows. My landlord recently repainted his house and renamed it from Hard Work House to Leafy Runda Villa. He said nature is change. Now I no longer live in the old brown apartments even though I still live there. If you get lost you just need to say Runda and they will bring you to the Runda painted green on the front side and red in the ribs and behind. Continue reading “Return To Sender”
Your wife is a serial sadist. Common chaps could have their version but this is the sad truth. The jovial woman who moves with long dresses and who laughs even at flies is a first-rate witch. A devil.
When she meets people she smiles and shows them her white teeth. She hugs strangers and gives a lot to charity. She talks about God so much and says good words to everyone. Except you. Continue reading “Matilda Okwimbikiti”
Keeping quiet is a powerful exercise to the mind. But the girls sitting next to me don’t know anything about this. Over the last hour they’ve howled, cried, shrieked, mooed and I don’t know what else is in store for the remaining distance. I’m traumatised already. Next time I’ll think hard before accepting to sit in a bus next to girls with small painted lips. Instead of planning how to take progress to the village, I’ve been reduced to a man in need of a psychiatrist’s number. Continue reading “Birthday Queen”
You look at the wall. Photos of your wife. One with her parents, several on her graduation day, another two of the wedding day. It’s funny she doesn’t bother to pitch yours there. Not that it matters, but this is still Africa, and the king of the jungle must be made omnipresent in all subtle manifestations of life. It is called protocol and protocol is not subordinate.