You Don’t Have to Try so Hard When You Mean it

This is the post excerpt.

Finally, I’ve got one of my own! It all started with a friend telling me that I’m a writer. To say the least, I’ve never thought of myself as one, but an unexpected assurance from a friend got me thinking twice. This is how the conversation looked like:

Friend: …ju you know how to write, there’s a job. You can write articles for people in some sites. Just sign up and follow through.
Me: Wait, do I know how to write?
Friend: Yeah, you’re one of those writers whose writing just flows… You don’t have to try so hard when you mean it.
Me: Are you for real? Sijawahi fikiria kitu ka iyo. I’ve never thought of myself as a writer.
Friend: Yeahp… Try things out… Like a whole list of new things, before it’s too late (though it’s never too late).
Me: Wah, okay… Thanks for that eye-opener. I’ll try.

So here I am, trying.

Dear interested reader, I’m hoping to ride along with you in every story I’ll be sharing in this blog. Cheers to many interesting articles to come!

With love,
Archie ❤

The Forbidden Apple

All I’m wishing for is to wake up in a world where leaders see corruption as a major threat to its people rather than homosexuality.

She’s in that cute body-hugging short grey dress that she knows I love very much. It always does justice to her body, effortlessly revealing all her curves in their right places. Her nipples are hard, like they always are, threatening to pop out of the dress. The silver necklace that I bought her for our 3rd anniversary rests peacefully around her neck, with its pendant hanging teasingly just above her cleavage.

“Why do we keep on doing this?” She asks.

That voice… I dearly missed it. I start walking towards her without saying a word. She’s a bit tensed; I can see it from how she’s started fidgeting with the pendant that initially complemented her cleavage so perfectly. I take her right hand, peck the back of it, slide my hand around her tiny waist, and let my desires sink into her deep hazel brown eyes. Before I know it, the words “You look lovely” escape my lips. She stands on her toes to give me one of those hugs that I so much value.

“I missed you!” she whispers.

I take in her scent – strawberries – her favourite fruits. For a moment, everything seems so right. Wait, everything has always felt right with her. So damn right! With her, I feel complete. She makes me realize how beautiful love is. Being an only kid to parents who don’t give a damn about anything else other than chasing the bag, I have always enjoyed my solitude. But solitude has never felt the same since I met her. And at this moment, it dawns on me how much miserable my life is going to be without her – it would be like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece – useless.

I go in for a kiss. It’s one of the many things I’ve been craving for since she shut me out 4 days ago after one of our misunderstandings. But here she is, now. So I’m going to make every second count. Her lips, a soft pink, tender and so inviting. I know she wants us to talk, but that can wait. I can feel her body start to relax in my arms so I lift her from the floor and pin her against the wall. She loves it when I do that. Her dress goes up a little bit and rests just below her butt as she parts her legs to wrap them around my waist. I can see a soft shade of pink on her cheeks. Is she blushing? Definitely. She can’t help it whenever I smile at her. She always tells me how cute my smile is and that it’s the first thing she found attractive when we first met. Her soft thumbs trace my jawline before she pulls me in for a fierce kiss – one that tells me she’s hungry – hungry for me. She gently bites my lower lip before pausing to look at me.

“Why do we keep on doing this?” She asks for the second time.

Again, I don’t answer her. Instead, I turn her around and gently place her on the bed before parting her hair that is now covering her neck – so smooth, so flawless, with just a tiny mark of a fading hickey. A bitter taste of her strawberry perfume greets me when I lick her neck. But there’s some sweetness in that bitterness – a sweetness that I can’t even explain – a sweetness that makes me want to have more and more of her. So I place a gentle kiss on that hickey mark then take my hands to the hem of her dress, caressing every part of her body in the process. She raises her hands in response and her dress swiftly comes off, revealing a red lacy thong and a pair of the most magnificent boobs I have ever seen. I start planting kisses along her neck before stopping at her left boob, sucking her nipple as my left hand gently squeezes her right boob. She places her tiny hand on my head, gently pushing me away.

“Anything wrong, Cookie?” I ask.
“Just go right down. I can’t wait any longer.”
“Oh, really?”
“Please?” She hardly voices it out.

I always find myself bending to her will whenever she gives me one of those puppy-dog pleading eyes. She usually looks so cute when she does that. Such a manipulative little jinn.

“Your wish is my command, Your Highness.” I say as I remove her thong.

She puts her hands over her face, blushing. We’ve dated for more than three years but she’s never gotten used to the idea of her panty being removed by someone else – not even I. Her legs, long and graceful, receive a trail of lustful kisses before I reach her inner thighs. I gently rub my tongue against her catpaty. She flinches. I do it again before tilting my head upwards to marvel at all the gorgeousness before me. She’s slowly sinking into our world. I lower my head and start rubbing my lips over her lips, spreading the wetness up and down Apple. In case you’re wondering, I named her punani “Apple”. Apples are my favourite fruits. I can eat Apple(s) all day! I can have Apple(s) for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And today, I’m gonna have Apple for my evening snack. I lightly bite, lick, suck, and do everything that she likes to her clit. She’s started wining her waist in rhythm and moaning in pleasure. I can feel her grabbing the sheets while arching her back as her legs start to shake.

Right now, all I want is to be baptized in her juices. So I slide my index finger into her pussy as I continue to stimulate her clitoris with my tongue, making circular motions that make her head spin in desirable pleasure. It isn’t long before she lets loose, releasing all her demons pon me face.

Did that sound Jamaican enough? No? Okay.

My little Cookie, lying on her back, smiling sheepishly like a kid who’s been caught stealing sugar. I smile back at her before showering her pretty face with kisses.

“You. I kiss her forehead. Taste. A kiss on her left cheek. So. Another one on her right cheek. Good.”

I plant the last kiss on her lips before lying beside her on the bed. We both lie there engulfed in a peaceful silence. A comfortable silence that lets us enjoy nothing else but each other’s presence. She suddenly turns to me and asks: “Why is it wrong?”

Even without asking, I already know what she’s talking about – our romantic relationship. Why is our affair so wrong in the eyes of the society? I really don’t have an answer to that so I just pull her closer for a cuddle. She shifts her weight a few times before finding a comfortable position.

“Why do people have to make us feel like we’re abnormal? I wish I could be able to kiss you in the rain without receiving ugly stares from people. I wish we were a normal couple.” she tells me this while tracing my abs with her smooth fingers.

“Normal is boring baby girl. We only get one life, so live your life. Fuck (not literally of course) everyone who thinks you owe them an explanation of why you’re attracted to individuals of the same sex. Just stay focused on being happy, as long as you aren’t hurting anyone in the process. I hate people who like hurting other people. You know that, right?”
That was a rhetorical question but somehow, I want her to respond. I want her to know that she’s always been, and always will be safe with me. I’m not one of those people who are out here to hurt her. So I look down and notice that she’s fallen asleep, probably from the lecture that I had just started giving her, but most likely from the orgasm she had just experienced. Or perhaps a combination of both? Wolefa mehn! She looks so beautiful in her sleep, and I just wanna look at her all night! All her gloriousness drowns me in a reverie so chasmic I wonder if I’ll ever snap out of it…

I see my 6-year old self only wanting to associate myself with boys.
I see the faces of concerned parents talking to a doctor, wanting to know why their 8-year old daughter always insists on being referred to as a boy, and the doctor telling them it is a phase that she’d outgrow once she hit puberty.
I see my 11-year old self walking into a barber shop to get a haircut instead of going to the salon to get my hair plaited.
I see my 13-year old self, googling stuff on the internet, wanting to know why I am not like other girls – why I have never found boys attractive, even after our Std. 6 Science teacher told us that when human beings hit puberty, they start to feel attracted to people of the opposite sex.
I see the disappointment on my mother’s face when I rejected the elegant navy blue gown and a pair of heels that she thought would make me look lovely on my first prom night.
I see a worried 17-year old, just wanting to know what experiencing monthly periods feels like, in order to feel normal and comfortable among her high school mates…

Then I see how hateful this world is towards people like me. How everyone else feels like we choose to be how we are. I see how insensitive people are to think that we can just wake up one morning and decide to be “straight” if we want to. It’s a burden so heavy to carry around that we fear it may one day crash us into tiny pieces – but we have no other option. And right then, I realize how difficult it is to not give a fuck about your sexuality, especially if it does not conform to the set societal standards of being acceptable. I realize that at times, you can (unintentionally) hurt your closest ones, just by being genuinely happy and embracing your true self. I think of how more difficult times are going to be for people like me when the Kenyan High Court fails to decriminalize homosexuality.

I am deeply immersed in my reminiscences when my sleeping beauty shifts to find a more comfortable position. She turns her back on me and as I move closer to spoon her, all I’m wishing for is to wake up in a world where leaders see corruption as a major threat to its people rather than homosexuality.

A Strong African Woman

“As a woman in a patriarchal society, I must proceed with caution when it comes to the man I choose to marry.” ~Queen Elizabeth (Reign)

Marriage has always been seen as the epitome of womanhood. The society turns its nose up at unmarried women. Married women look down on single mothers. The strength of a woman has always been linked to her ability to find and keep a husband. I wouldn’t have agreed much to this statement 12 years ago. But here I am, seated on my porch, sipping some hot chocolate, thinking of how hard it is for me to walk out of this marriage…

My marriage of eight years is on the verge of breaking and I don’t know how not to let it happen. I stretch my arm and take the framed photograph of my parents that’s on the coffee table. I smile back as I see them smiling at me, wrinkles forming around their eyes, signaling their old age. My parents’ marriage has always been my kind of ‘marriage goals’. Even in their old age, I can still see the love between them when they look at each other. Pure, selfless, genuine love. My admiration for their love grows as I think of how they have effortlessly managed to keep it together for all these years.

Lost in my reverie, I hardly notice when baba watoto gets home (I don’t call him this when he’s around. His name was, is, and always will be babe, and sometimes baby when I want something from him). He plants a soft kiss on my lips before taking a seat next to me. He tells me of the beautiful flower vase that he saw on his way home. He is certain that I will love it so he promises to get it for me tomorrow. He has always paid attention to the little things that excite me. He never fails to surprise me with little gifts. He always tells me of how perfect I am (even though we both know I am not), and how I deserve every beautiful thing in this world. I get up to go and fix him a cup of black coffee. My husband has never changed for the worse (as it’s always expected) since we started dating. He is still the same man I fell in love with 10 years ago. He provides (and so do I), he listens to me when I just want someone to vent to, he tells me how beautiful I am every day (not that I don’t know this; the words just feel right and better coming from his lips), he takes me on random dates, he loves our kids so much and he strongly disagrees that it is entirely my duty as a woman to take care of them. He has always dedicated his weekends to spending quality time with his family; not even an ‘evening with the boys’ has ever come between him and his family. He is the reason that makes me pull the “Not all men…” card when women talk of how trashy men are.

So as we sit on our front porch, sharing sweet nothings, I can’t help but think of how blessed I am to have such an adorable family, and life. Our future is turning out to be exactly how we imagined it would be 10 years ago. We remind each other of how we met when we were both broke campus students surviving on M-shwari and Tala loans. We talk of how we always push each other to be the best versions of ourselves. He truly is my perfect match. My thirst for him grows as I look at him smile. He brushes his left hand against my exposed thighs and that familiar tingly sensation down there reminds me that the little me needs to be serviced. I want to take him right there but push those thoughts away when I remember how pathetic our bedroom life has been for the past one and a half years, which brings me to how I feel about my marriage breaking apart. Every other thing between my husband and I is perfect, except sex. I try to think whether there’s anything that has changed between us in the past one and a half years but I can’t put my finger on anything. He too can’t tell what’s happening. We have tried everything to boost his drive but nothing seems to work. He knows our bedroom life frustrates me, and I know it bothers him too, but at this point, it doesn’t seem like we can do much about it.

As I take the empty mugs to the kitchen, I debate whether or not to contact the number I found on the internet. As a Christian woman going through a rough patch in marriage, I am expected to pray and hope that things will get better. Hope? That I can do. But pray?? I have never been a prayerful woman and I’m not about to start now. So I decide to do something about my sexual starvation while waiting for things to get better in my house. I have thought about walking out of this marriage but the strength to do so doesn’t cum easily. Don’t give me that look, I spelled that word correctly. I dial a number disguised as “Anna” in my phonebook and book an appointment with a well-known escort agency in town.
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
I say as I hang up and turn around to find my husband walking into the kitchen. I flash him a beautiful smile; the very smile that he fell for, HARD – the smile that helps me to act composed even when I’m not. He gets closer and slides his right hand around my waist. My lacy thong gets wet at his magical touch. I yearn for our skins to touch. I yearn for the mind-blowing orgasms he used to give me before God-knows-what happened one and a half years ago. I gently run my fingers over his involuntary bulge that’s forming at the front of his trousers. I want to have him served to me right there on the kitchen counter but knowing that he won’t last for even three minutes prevents me from wasting my efforts.
“Sshh…” I silence him by gently placing my index finger on his lips. “Don’t say a thing. I want you as much as you want me. But Anna just called me. She says she’s in trouble. Let me go and see her. I’ll be back and we’ll continue from where we’ve left.”
I see a tinge of disappointment on his face but I choose to be selfish this one time. I put my needs before his and grab my phone from the counter before heading to my bedroom to change.

As the gateman opens the gate for me, I can feel my bile rising as I leave my husband in our house to go and get laid by another man. I love him, so much. And if I were given a chance to choose a husband again, I’d choose him over and over. I pat myself on the back for not walking out of my marriage. I tell myself that I am a strong woman; a woman who didn’t let her sexual desires break her marriage; a woman who will do whatever it takes to make her marriage stand strong – A Strong African Woman. And as I step harder on my gas pedal, I keep telling myself that a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do to make her marriage last.

If The World Gives You Lemons, Sprinkle Some Salt And Enjoy The Damn Lemons.

“Louisa, you know I’ve always wanted to be with you. I’m not telling you to ditch him but I’ll always treat you like the queen you are…” I stop fidgeting with the buttons on my blouse then look at Justin in the eye. His expression is so genuine and I can tell that he is hurting too. “I know.” I respond, almost in a whisper. “Then do whatever you need to do to get in a better mood. I don’t like seeing you like this.” My boyfriend had cheated on me with someone I had considered a mutual friend. The pain I had felt upon finding out that I had been played was unbearable, and right then all I needed was a distraction. Justin had always been a good friend. But something was different about him today. He looked a bit more… Handsome? Attractive? I don’t really know… One thing I was sure about was that I wanted to be in his arms…“Justin, hold me, please.” I tell him.
“Anything for you, babe girl.” He responds as he pulls me into a warm hug. My petite figure almost gets lost in his muscled body, as I immediately get lost in my own thoughts. I don’t realize that I’ve been crying until a soft sob escapes my lips. Justin slowly tilts my head upwards to meet his gaze as a tear drops from my eye. He extends his thumb to wipe the tear and right there, right then, I feel it. His touch is the most gentle one I’ve ever felt and I don’t want him to stop. I hold his hand and feebly smile. “Don’t cry. He’s the loser here.” Justin comforts me. For a moment, everything goes silent and the only sounds I can hear are those of our breaths. My kiss takes him by surprise but he responds to it after a few seconds. Everything feels perfect. I want this to go on. I can hear us breathing faster and faster by each passing second. Justin starts to unbutton my blouse but I push him away as I stand up and struggle to catch my breath. “Is everything okay?” He asks.
“Justin, I never intended for this to happen-I shouldn’t have kissed you-I have a boyfriend-I was just carried away in the moment-I need to get out of here-I’m really sorry-This will never happen ag…”“Louisa, you have no idea how long I have been waiting for this to happen.”

“I don’t feel you in that way. Justin, you are a good friend and I don’t want to use you like that. Right now I just want something to take my mind off that fucker. But I don’t want you to be my distraction. I don’t want what we have to be destroyed just because I used you as a rebound.” I notice a tinge of hurt on Justin’s face but he shrugs it off by smiling wryly. “Louisa, I want this as much as you want it.” Justin says as he claims my lips with his. My knees are weak and I almost melt at the contact of our lips. He is right. I want this. And I want it so bad. I slide my hand behind his neck and pull him closer. Justin slowly pulls away, and this time I’m the one wondering if everything is okay. I search his eyes for a sign of…something…anything. Anything that will tell me to stop without Justin necessarily mouthing the words. “Louisa, tell me to stop, and I will. I promise.”
“No Justin, don’t. Don’t stop.” Our lips meet once again and this time all I can see are green lights. I feel at ease and for once since I started dating, I only think about myself.I take off my blouse as Justin removes his T-shirt, revealing his rock-hard abs. He leans down and savours my neck, kissing, biting, sucking, doing everything that I want him to do to me. A soft moan escapes my lips as my knees give way and Justin lifts me off the ground swiftly, as if I weigh nothing more than a feather. I lock my legs around his waist, gently nibbling his left ear as he unclasps my bra. He tries to suppress a groan but fails terribly. “You are so beautiful, Louisa.” I look at him, smiling, flaunting a faint dimple on my left cheek. He starts towards his bedroom and before I know it, I’m on his bed, under the covers, with Justin on top of me, kissing me everywhere… Then I hear someone calling out my name…“Archie..!” Oh c’mon! Did the interruption have to come at such a time? But wait, I’m on set and everyone here refers to me as Louisa. Not even the director calls me by my real name during a shoot. So I open my eyes, to find my classmates, and lecturer staring at me! I stare back at them absentmindedly before the lecturer breaks the awkward silence: “Archie, you’ve already missed too much by being away during the first two weeks of the semester. You really don’t want to add to that by daydreaming in my lecture, do you?”
“Umh… Sure. I’m sorry about that.” I give him an apologetic look.
“So tell us, why is the director’s creativity crucial in solving technical problems while handling stage business?” Crap! I spent my whole weekend watching movies, tweeting, following Sammroi’s stories on instagram, and intentionally forgot about my assignment. I should just have followed my heart and skipped this lecture as well. This is going to be a looong semester!

My First Time

I’m about to share a very personal story with you guys. If you are childish or immature in any way, I’d suggest that you stop reading this now. So…my first time…

Just a little serious disclaimer, always use protection when you partake in activities such as these because you can really hurt yourself. My first time was really…messy. I had never really like…sat on anything that big before so…I kept falling off. I just remember moving my legs a lot. After I was done I was so…sore. And it was really wet. Things were rusty, and I didn’t have any lube so I had to use oil. To be honest, I was really young so I couldn’t do it in the house coz my mum would have killed me, so I had to do it outside. And I was frustrated because I had to sort of…do it slowly because you can’t ride it…like a nice car driver the 1st time. Or the 2nd time to be honest. Or the 3rd time. Or the 10th time. So yeah, if you ever think about doing it just know…that it’s gone hurt. I was bleeding the 1st time. Like I legit had to put a band aid…down there. And then I tried to switch it up and do it backwards and let me tell you…that thing is not easy. And the one I was riding wasn’t even doing anything so I had to put in all the work. So at this point, I was all sweaty, and I definitely learned on that day that…deep-throating a “popsicle” is certainly the best way to cool off. Honestly, I almost choked…on it. So I’m cooled off, ready to start riding again. So I hopped back on it, and rode it like a champ! Boy, I was so proud of myself. But the worse was yet to come…I guess I was moving too fast and I legit caught a cramp in my ass. I fell off of it, realized I was bleeding again, turned around…to see my neighbours staring at me!

I couldn’t do it in the house coz my mum would have killed me, so I had to do it outside.

And I tell you, my heart dropped so quick. I was so embarrassed. And that was pretty much my first time riding… A bike.





If I do not wake up tomorrow…

Siku njema huonekana asubuhi” is a Swahili saying that has kept us going for ages. Mornings were the signs of beautiful new beginnings, of hopes that even in your darkest of times, you will still be able to see the light. But gone are the days where waking up to the sweet melodies of birds, a breathtaking sunrise and (maybe) the smell of pancakes was a thing. These days we wake up to the ugly claws of death hungrily waiting to pounce on us. Even on the days when the sun shines brightest, our mornings are still dark, and they become darker as the days pass. How many times have we woken up to heartfelt condolences and RIP posts on our friends’ timelines? This minute you’re talking to someone and the next you’re posting RIP on their Facebook wall, it’s almost becoming a norm. You close school for the holidays, hug your friends goodbye and talk of how you’re going to meet in the following academic year, then (unfortunately) you get involved in a car accident and POOF! You’re gone. Just like that! It happens so fast, like magic. Bad, bad magic. Death is simply uncertain. You can never be sure of when your soul will decide to leave your body.

So if I do not wake up tomorrow, don’t rush to write RIP posts on my social media timelines. Don’t talk of how you loved me but God loved me most – those are the words I need to hear when I’m still awake, especially on those nights that I feel all alone and have to cry myself to sleep. Don’t talk of how much you’re going to miss me – I tried to reach out to you but you were too busy to catch a drink with me. Don’t talk so highly of me, yet in real sense I was the b*tch you badly wanted to shove a knife down her throat. Don’t keep on tagging me on the selfies we took together. FFS, I won’t be there to like them! Don’t act like we were best of friends yet my fake smile was able to convince you that nothing was amiss. Don’t go round telling people that we were close friends – remember the day I met you on the street and I flashed you a sweet friendly smile but you pretended not to have noticed me? Yes, let it remain that way.

Another interesting thing; Facebook will remind you of my birthday, like it always has. It’ll be a trap. Don’t fall for it. Just. Don’t. On 2nd of April a notification popped up on your screen saying “Archie Oketch, so and so and 4 others have birthdays today. Let them know you’re thinking about them.” But it didn’t ignite a spark in you. I was fine with it. What makes you think that your birthday wish will make a difference after my death date? So if I do not wake up tomorrow, don’t make a big deal out of my birthday. Imagine this, visiting a relative and they tell you: “I wish you never visited.” right on your face then afterwards they tell you “Feel at home. Have a nice stay.” Does that even make sense? No, it doesn’t. But I’ll tell you what does. There’s a famous spoken word artist called CEO Gudlyf. Have you listened to his spoken word pieces? Yes? Good! No? C’mon, you really don’t know what you’re missing. So there’s a line in one of his pieces called Moment of Silence that goes like “Naona nikitrend kwa social media kila msee akidai rest in peace bro, while nikiwa hai hakuna mtu aliwahi nicall na kunishow hey, ni vipi bro?” This is what makes a whole lotta sense.

So if I do not wake up tomorrow, calmly take the news in. Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax. Say it’s God’s will. And go about your business as you would if I were still awake. After all, I will not be there to read all those messages you’ll be tempted to post, so why not save some bundles and download the latest memes and just have a good laugh?


Those Who Criticise Our Generation Forgot Who Raised it

It’s that time of the semester when all I can think of is how much reading I have to do and how much little time I have left. I glance at my study desk and see a pile of several unfinished assignments. Crap! Can’t a comrade just enjoy some free time in peace? Also, isn’t sometimes better to live in the moment? So I grab a jacket then leave the house to go and enjoy some me-time at my favourite spot in campus…

The cool evening breeze feels really nice as it brushes against my soft cheeks, I watch the stream flowing calmly beneath the rock that I’m sitting on as two yellow butterflies playfully fly above it, the chirping birds remind me of how beautiful my future home will be, with the sounds of birds waking me up every morning. I can’t help but smile as I watch the cirrus clouds on the horizon slowly turning into red-orange as the sun sets on the west side. Calmly, I take in a deep breath, close my eyes lightly, tilt my head towards the sky and just enjoy the moment. Shortly after the feel of nature starts taking over me, I’m distracted by 2 gents. First thing I notice about one of them is his pink lips. Suddenly, my lips feel dry. I gently lick them to give them a lil bit of moisture. That’s the most natural thing to do when your lips run dry after all, right? My oh my.! Why did that feel so good?

Pause, Archie, are you crushing on that guy?
Naah, clearly not. Just admiring God’s creation.

The next thing that happens is what I only see in movies; Mr. Pink lips holds the waist of the other guy, pulls him closer, looks directly into his eyes, says something, then leans in for a kiss. Again, crap! He’s taken. I distract myself by taking a few selfies. Just a few seconds later, I hear a woman saying “Hawa watoto wa siku hizi wana tabia mbaya sana.” It takes me a while to register what she’s referring to. And just then, I realize that this isn’t the first time I’m hearing that statement from an older person. Isn’t it just funny, yet annoying how the older generation almost always blames the young for every bad thing that is happening today? Parents will fail to raise their children in an upright way then blame it on how mannerless kids of today are. Married men will cheat on their wives with young campus girls and blame it on how immoral girls these days are. Relatives will molest the minors in their families and complain of how gayism and lesbianism is on the rise!

What happened to the days where a child belonged to the whole society? Where it was a community’s collective responsibility to morally ubring a child? I want to go back to the good old days where the only thing about oral was hygiene and a bitch was a female dog. Bitches these days can no longer recite the letters of the alphabet because they always get choked on the D… We live in a generation where the young are left to figure things out on their own. What happened to the good days where mothers would spend time with their daughters in the kitchen talking about life? What happened to the good times where fathers would sit down with their sons and talk to them about how a lady should be treated?

Parents focus too much on providing for their families that they no longer have time with their children. They do not have sex talks with their adolescent kids anymore. All they say to their young girls is: “Take care of yourself.” Yet they don’t tell them how to do so. Ladies have normalized prostitution in the name of ‘having sponsors’. Young men are growing up believing that being loyal in a relationship is impossible. “It’s only physical” so they say… As if emotional cheating would make it more wrong *rolls eyes*.

Things are quickly turning upside down but we’re choosing to turn a blind eye. But don’t you think that before they start criticizing our generation, they should first think of who raised it?

Archie ❤

An Innocent Criminal

29th January, 2017
Sometimes I look at this kid and wonder how he never ceases to stun me. The other day he asked me if we could be friends. Just asking, which 9-year old would just go to a 19-year old and ask to be friends with her? As if that was not enough, he convinced his mum to let me take him for his swimming lessons every Saturday afternoon. This without asking me first. Okay, just who exactly did this kid think I was? An idle teenager who didn’t have a life? But then I remembered how I was going to stay at home until God-knows-when. Thanks to the lecturers’ strike *rolls eyes* So I agreed to it. And just like that, I found myself carrying out a parental responsibility of making sure that some random kid next door had to attend his swimming lessons every weekend. Not so many days pass and he requests me for something else: “Archie, will you show me the world?” *pause* then he flashes me his adorable little smile, exposing a very cute dimple on his left cheek.
Little boy, keep that stupid manipulative smile to yourself.
“Why?” I ask, “you’re always travelling around the world with your dad during the holidays. Isn’t that enough?” His smile quickly fades then he stares blankly into space before telling me what his reasons are. “I feel like a robot. It’s like I’ve been programmed to do things. My life is just a boring normal routine. I never get to do something out of the norm. I want to experience a different kind of life, and I know I can’t find it in this boring world of mine that I’m already used to. I feel like I’m just existing. Not living.” For a moment I think I’ve been talking to a 20-year old being. Then he adds, “I won’t tell mum, I promise.” I reply with a simple “I’ll think about it. Now go and change into your swim suit. Your coach is waiting for you.” He nods then disappears into the gents changing rooms.

18th March, 2017
This is the last Saturday I’ll be spending with Jayden before going back to school tomorrow, and I want to make it a memorable one. He knocks on our door, with his small purple swimming bag hanging from his right shoulder. Instead of letting him in, I step out then lock the door. “Aren’t we going to wait for an uber?” he asks. “Nope, we are going to get a matatu.” I tell him. I see a small tinge of excitement in his face and I can’t help but smile. I hope you won’t be surprised if I tell you that Jayden has never commuted using a matatu. On our way, we meet a group of teenagers who think they’re the coolest beings alive. Looks like they’re really psyched up about something. One of them hands me a small poster written “House Party Tonight. Hse no. D6. Be prepared to party like the world is gonna end tomorrow. Don’t miss.” I very well know that I’d never find myself in some useless boring party where everyone will be smoking dried leaves and drinking cheap liqour while dancing like sychronized zombies but I just take it and politely smile.

We board a matatu and alight at some place that Jayden isn’t so familiar with. After a 5-minutes walk, we get into a ghetto area, a place I’m sure this kid has never set foot into. He looks genuinely surprised seeing dirty roads, dusty paths, small houses, and kids his age getting really dirty while playing. Somehow in fear, he stretches his hand and holds mine. His soft tiny hand fits perfectly in mine. I can feel the people’s gazes on him as if telling him that he doesn’t belong here. All this while, Jayden hasn’t said a word. Seems like he’s trying to figure out how people can actually live in such an area. I show him a house, and tell him that was where we used to live before moving to Nyali 2 years ago, after my father got himself a better job. “But this is just a single room, and your family is quite a big one. How were you living?” he asks. I smile and tell him that that’s a story for another day, then take him for a snack. We buy viazi karai, bajia and uji wa ngano. He doesn’t really know what they are, but eats them anyway. Just a sip of the uji wa ngano and Jayden tells me that that’s the sweetest porridge he’s ever tasted. We enjoy our snacks while he asks me questions about my childhood. I can see that he has easened up and we’re now talking freely. He tells me of how much he’s enjoying his afternoon and how he’d wish to have more of the viazi karai every other weekend.

We finish enjoying our small meal then head for a matatu going towards Nyali. We alight at Mombasa Beach. Being a weekend, I’m quite shocked that the beach isn’t as packed. I notice that Jayden is surprised so I turn and ask him if he’s never been to a beach before. His answer is simple: “Only private ones. And I’m never allowed to swim if it’s not in a swimming pool”
Your parents really know how to spoil you, you little fella. I think to myself.
We find a small shade and sit on the sand, enjoying the cool breeze from the ocean. Jayden looks like he really wants to do something, but he doesn’t say anything. “Go and swim if you want to.” I break the silence between us. For a moment he looks at me like he needs an assurance. “But be careful. Don’t go too deep into the ocean. There are sharks in there.” He lets out a loud laughter, probably trying to tell me that he isn’t afraid of anything.
I can’t help but notice how happy he is swimming in that salty water for the first time in his life. Maybe this is just the kind of break he needed. After a few minutes, I hear him shout out my name, “Archie, you’re the best!” then he dives into the water.

Time for me to enjoy too. I take out some white powder from my pocket and sniff a pinch of it. Hmm, just my kind of happiness. Once in a while I glance at my watch to make sure I don’t lose track of time, and Jayden to make sure that he’s okay. I see that he has made a new friend. Not bad. Slowly, I get closer to my own universe and further from the real world. A second passes, maybe a minute, or even an hour or two, then I feel someone tapping on my shoulder. I look up to see a small boy, almost Jayden’s size, pointing to a crowd of people on the shore. I get up to go and find out what’s happening and as I get nearer, I notice a life saver trying to resuscitate a small boy in a familiar swim suit. Jayden? No, it can’t be. He’s a very good swimmer. “Too late!” I hear the life saver saying as I reach where the crowd is. The words echo in my mind. Everything is moving too fast. I’m trying to register what really happened. Did I zone out? Did he call for my help but I couldn’t hear? Is God punishing me for not telling Jayden’s mother the plans I had made? Every part of my body seems to have stopped working. I stand there, next to Jayden’s lifeless body, frozen, unsure of what to do.

Just then I hear a familiar female’s voice behind me saying “She’s the one.” I turn to see Jayden’s mother accompanied by two police officers, and slowly, my world starts crumbling down, as I hear one of the officers saying “Miss, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”