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Kenyan Conversations 5

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Comment on the blog under the picture on the Storymoja Blog or Send in a story or dialogue that is not more than 500 words long. Send in your story or dialogue to Clearly mark in the subject Contemporary/Kenyan Conversations 4

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3 comments on “Kenyan Conversations 5

  1. Beatrice Wainaina
    July 21, 2010

    I am woken up from the mat by the sounds of matatus honking away, playing music so loud it makes the iron sheet wall vibrate. My eyes refuse to open. I hate mornings! It takes literal effort to get my feet onto the cold floor and will my eyes to adjust to the darkness. It is 5am in the morning.

    My room stinks. It reeks of my mistakes. I should not have left her. My husband is a monster . . . was I mean. I came home from the dairy to find him on her. He was ploughing her like a farmer would the earth in dry season; hard and with determination. She was five. I look at her body which has turned pale. I do not know what to do.

    I walk along the corridor to the main door of the house; we call it a unit. The door is slightly ajar. The women must be taking refuge in the darkness, while taking a communal bath behind the unit. The care-taker must be awake too. He must look after the safety of the women early in the morning. I step out and the morning chill hits my naked face. I tightly clutch at my clothes. I sit on a stack of wood outside. They creak as though refusing to be disturbed.

    What was disturbing though was that they were father and daughter. She must have screamed. They must have thought I was a negligent mother. Maybe I am. I screamed, but no one came. I didn’t think. It came to me as naturally as breathing does. I lay hands on him. I did not know I have such strength! For a split second, I was the monster. She didn’t even squeal. Blood was all over the place. I couldn’t bear to mop it. It would mean that she was actually gone . . . and I did not want to accept that reality.

    The sun slowly comes up to reveal the miracle where filth outshines metallic dustbins. From far, one can see shimmering circles of dim light, but as you got closer, the dim light takes on a different shape. The bins have been well used; but that has not stopped the people from using them. They overflow with banana peels, maize flour bags and the unmistakable chaff of thoroughly sucked sugarcane. I wrap my kanga around my head as I always do when I’m going to the dairy and walk away.


    July 24, 2010

    This is a cool one.


  3. kenedy
    July 25, 2010

    Contemporary/Kenyan Conversations 4

    what a life
    you see i had just managed to get up and some how drag myself out into the cold streets of Nairobi.this was it another morning at it this life is what I mean .then I recall the previous night thought of how that deal would have been great if only it was for real.

    This man had come to me asking me the man he normally saw on the streets to be the farther of his kids since he was not man enough to do this,you and me can imargin my joy at this.finally a chance to finally get a i over-sly said yes and just before he give the cash,i crash and see that it was all just a dream.

    so her i was in this morning cold street of nai then a man or should i say the man that I think I saw in that my dream comes to me but instead he just takes a look at me and asks for some directions to this place.i tell him of the route he should take thinking that my dream was any ways too good to be a reality if you know what I mean.

    so I go down the road and into that hotel that sells some tea at five shillings knowing fully well that I have but this my shirt on me and if you are wondering I am the man wit the red shirt and brown coat.having this as my final possession so I might as well have that tea in fact it would do me no harm if I lost this my coat and jeans or let me hope for some mercy may be they will let me be.


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This entry was posted on July 20, 2010 by in Writing and tagged .
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