I told you.

The voice in my brain chastises as I lean on a post and empty the contents of my stomach on the sidewalk.

Why don’t you ever listen?!

I steady myself, turn with renewed determination to the road ahead, this has been a long night.

β€˜I’m definitely going to regret this tomorrow.

Yes you are. Chuckles.

I audibly sigh.

“I told you to go slow on the booze,” my best friend chastises as she gently rubs my back.

I guffaw, “If I remember correctly,” I poke a finger at her, “Wewe, ndio ulikua ukiwika (you were the one screaming) ‘chug! chug! chug!’.”

She pouts, ” Si-si everyone chugged. Who are you? Eenh?! Who are you not to?” She accuses.

My bellowing laughter pierces the quiet night. She looks pointedly at me, and lightly punches my arm.

“Ouch!” I exclaim, bursts of giggles escaping her.

We stagger forward, feet dragging. The path spins, making me more nauseated. I look to the sparkling sky above, then to the road up ahead and to her as she whips out her phone, dials and proceeds to tap her foot as she holds it to her ear. We stand at the side of the road.

” Hey..” She starts,
“Yea…. yea…. we’re here.” I frown.
“Okay. .. cool.” Hangs up.
“Who was that?” I query.
“Just a friend. He’s picking us up.”

Suspicious, I ask, ” And where exactly is said Mr . Just a friend (I enunciate the words) taking us? Home, I hope?” I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms.

Her brow creases “Of course not!” She exclaims, gyrating her hips, “We are gonna party!”

I sigh. (This is becoming a bad habit) “Did you not witness my epic showdown back there, huh?”
She looks to me, says ” I did and what I have concluded is that you need is to up your alcohol tolerance.”

“Ahaha.” I remark, sarcastically.

“Then I’m heading home.” I state.

I turn to leave but she grabs my arm wide eyed and shouts, “Nooo!” I turn back to her, frustrated.

“You can’t go! You promised, tonight we do what I want!”

“But we did, we went to that stupid party and now I’m super drunk, and so are you! End of night! Goodbye.” I argue.

She grabs my chin, being shorter, pulls me down, really close to her face and looks directly into my eyes and menacingly growls, “You. Promised!”

I stand upright, widening my eyes, “Okay scary lady. Jeez!”

A dark car pulls up, the windows pulled down and she squeaks, says Hi and a lot of gibberish, releasing her vice grip on my arm. Sharon gets into the front seat. I go, someone is the other passenger seat.

“So, This is Peter.” She states introducing me to the occupants of the car. She gestures to the driver, “This is Ted and his cousin jack.”

I say hello and sit back in the chair looking to the passing city lights outside as the vehicle picks up speed.We drive for a couple of minutes, soft music streaming from the speakers. My phone vibrates, I pull it out and look at the message on my screen;


Sharon: Talk to him. 😊

Me: who? Him??? Why? about what exactly?

Sharon: Just TALK TO HIM!!!! 😑

Me: why is this important?


Me : are you setting me up? Like the last time? You remember that???? No no no πŸ˜‘

Sharon: YOU PROMISED! YOU are going to do what what I want!!!!!!!!!! And these things don’t happen everyday. πŸ˜€

Me : Can’t we just enjoy the sweet sound of silence.

Sharon: I don’t want to listen to you whine later


Me: remind me again why I listen to you?? πŸ˜’

Sharon: because I’m always right πŸ˜„πŸ˜ŠπŸ‘ΌπŸ‘Ό

Me: πŸ˜’

Sharon: love you too 😝

With a smile I turn to the stranger beside me.


I sip on my wine, Hell is waiting.

Christianity is full of shit! Don’t misread me I have nothing against Christians as people, the religion on the other hand is twisted as it demands one to live by laws of a bygone era. There are so many things wrong with this.

First, ask yourself this, have you read the Bible? Not in little parts or verses like they do in church. Have you read the whole book, because that is what it basically is, a book. One, that when continuously read is full of contradictions, lies and different opinions from authors that never seem to be able to agree with each other.

I’m not going to rant, but let me say this; That book you call holy was a constitution written for a people that thought they were the center of the universe. A people who went and took from others, and used their faith to justify their horrid ways. Some of these things make no sense in today’s society. 

We are not Israelites (I know I’m not) so why would I pray to a being who will probably have me sold, to whom I am unpure and unclean, to whom my ancestry does not conform to his tribalism and bigotry, who would have me roast for eternity for living life. 

I wish you all the best in attempting to join the 144,000 who will go to heaven. I say, fuck that! Life is mine to live, not God’s.

Art. Life. Me.


In primary school, I used to walk to this little kibanda to watch a group of street artist work (signs and paintings, it read). I’d sit there for what seemed like hours and watched their painfully slow, careful, almost exquisite brush strokes. 

I watched as art was created, as life and vibrant colour was brought forth from a blank canvas. It was beautiful and I fell in love.

I learned to draw by watching them and practising on my own (they took time to give me pointers). I visited until the day they moved on. It was sad, but I was glad I had learnt so much.

In high-school, I was assigned to the electricity workshop (I didn’t realise this till our first optional subject class), so I went to the assistant dean and asked for a transfer. The only class that had a free slot was the technical design class (fate, right? Or not).

 I was transferred to the class and to say the least, it wasn’t what I’d expected. T.D did not have the freedom of creative sketching or painting (you’d probably have guess by the name), but it brought new perspective, made me see what I couldn’t before, understand what I didn’t (just to say; best decision ever!!!) I knew what I wanted to do then, still do now.

I live for imagination. As a child it was in worlds where beasts and forest sprites danced in the night, witchdoctors sang the rain down and maidens were eaten, piece after piece, by evil ogres (African children stories are abit macabre if you come to think of it).

Now, I make art, sit in front of a blank canvas, and the world falls away. I find myself in waking dreams of moving hands, of colour, like the darkening of the sky at dusk; smearing, speading, giving body, soul, sweat and tears. Pieces of me laid bare in monochrome and colour.

Pure expression.

The After-sex.

I lay in bed, sated, eyes darting, the awkwardness of the situation slowly setting in. I take deep, calming breaths.

This is what you get for making decisions when you are horny!  My conscience chastises.

Should I ask them to leave?

One of the bodies sprawled on my bed moves, mattress heaving under shifting weight, the covers slide back to expose the curves of her body. I look to her peaceful face, she’s sleeping rather comfortably; hair-a tangled mess, red smudges- from her lips- on my pillows, her exposed skin and hand sprawled on a third form in the bed. Broad chest, wide muscular arms and a visible bulge- mark the bed’s third occupant. I don’t even recall their names, just a typical friday night.


What was I thinking? How many times have I been in this situation before? (Okay, not this exact situation, but still…) Stranger in my bed, a tsunami raging in my brain (I blame the alchohol), and the maelstrom of emotions whirling inside, making me varying levels of uncomfortable. 

I don’t do uncomfortable.

After a few hours of silently pondering my fate, I audibly clear my throat. It doesn’t register with the sleeping forms. I attempt a second time, but they seem dead to this world. I push the covers away, stalk to my wardrobe and pull on a pair of briefs, looking back at the bed to find two beady eyes stalking my movements. I freeze.

A smile tugs at my lips, “Hey…. um… um…”

She slides off the bed, languidly struts towards me, like a feline stalking prey. “It’s  charlotte…” She seductively whispers in my ear, nipping and slightly tugging at my lobe.

“I’m Arnold.” I breathlessly whisper, toes involuntarily curling. She spins on her heel walking back to the bed, plops herself onto the sleeping man. He grunts and his arms snake around her abdomen as bursts of giggles escape her.

I still stand rooted to the spot. They sit up in bed and turn their attention to me. I feel quite self aware as he smirks, watching me fidget on the spot.

“C’mere….” He says

Those eyes.

She was laughing, when I first saw her. A hot afternoon, hair wrapped in a bun, sweat glistening on the nape of her neck. She talked excited to her companion, gesturing wildly. It brought a smile to my face.

Her graceful steps, the light in her eyes- I wanted to capture that moment, a transcendence of time. Infectious bells of laughter rang the air, making birds take flight. The wind sang in the trees, an ode to the beautiful creature before them.

Again I saw her in my dreams. She sang a song. One with no words. A long ballard that spoke of death and birth, beginnings and ends. Spoke of time, a river washing everything away.  I remember feeling sense of calm as I walked towards her but she was always further up ahead. I ran and woke to the soothing sound of pouring rain.

Then she was at that party. I asked you about her, you said she was a girl you know from the village. “From a devout Christian family,” You whispered “has two brothers, older. She was shunned. The family found out she’s a lesbian. Moved to the city, a new life and fresh start.”
I looked to her. A smile on her face, eyes bright with joy, she stood tall. I wanted to talk to her, ask her if I could perhaps do a painting of her. Those eyes, still etched in my brain, had such beauty in them.

I do not know why I didn’t approach her, I wish I had.

That was the last time I saw her. I ask, no one seems to know anything . She still haunts my waking dreams. I try to capture her on paper but it feels that I am lacking. These hands cannot duplicate the fire, a beacon of light, her soul laid bare in those big bright eyes. 

What I cannot capture it in paints, I attempt with words.

    Toxic loves.

    I wake to screams, the thud of running footsteps,  maybe the sound of fists pounding flesh, or both. 

    What is happening? I raise my head and groggily turn my attention to the raised voices outside. 

    “Ghai! Uuuuiiiii!” A feminine voice intonates.


    “Wewe, ntakuua leo!” Her male counterpat threatens.


    Is she getting beat up? Sigh! Those two again? Don’t they ever get tired?


    The argument outside continues and  from what I gather they argue over clothes, or maybe the fact that he locked her out and she slept at his door. Poor thing slept outside, on the floor, and now he’s beating the living daylight out of her? Relationships.


    I grudgingly get out from underneath my blankets, the cold morning air making me shiver, open my doors and peer outside. He stands in front of her demanding she leaves, pummels her face as she makes another strangled cry. I grimace, bitter bile rising to my mouth.

    There is something terribly wrong with these types of relationships; Young adults, living together, bickering every second. Their fists flying, blood spilling, words hurled- yet both will go back for to each other for more. A toxic cycle of pain and hurt, where both play at power and control. 

    It is an addiction, they don’t realize. Their drug of choice; the sickeningly sad attachments they wallow in. 

    You probably think they are in love. That it’s just disagreements, they don’t see faults in each other. But to stand abuse? To allow yourself degraded and disrespected? Watch idly by as your self worth slowly withers away under the scorching sun you call a relationship? Would you, dear reader?

     Would you smile and laugh? Tell people you are alright but in the dark of the night, you cry and pound at a locked door? Would you stand by as you are battered? Your soul, broken?  All the love in your heart suffocated? Would you stay? Stay till there is nothing left in you to give?

    Live and let live.

    She said something.

    I turn my head to focus on her. My mind, slightly buzzed, had wandered. This is not what I signed up for. 

    I blink.  


    A lop-sided grin on her lips, she repeats, “Do you have a girlfriend?” She twirls her glass and drowns most of its contents, looking at me seductively from under the rim. 

    She is pretty, I have to admit, but not much else. These conversations tend to bore.

    I smile and answer, “No, I dont.” I look to the people seated on the tiny tables around, most gesturing excitedly as they relay tales, punctuated with bursts of laughter, to their eager counterparts.

    “Why?” Her voice queries.

    “It’s complicated.” I state, as I turn back to her.

    Her plucked brows shoot up, then down into a frown, animatedly. I look to the horde of dancers crammed on the makeshift dance floor a few paces away, looking to spot my friends.

     “Are you like, gay?” She asks, her voice strained.

    “Not exactly.” I take a sip from the glass in my hand, thinking of how frequently posed this question had become. Her lips curl into a tight smile as she darts looks to the sides, like a cornered animal (which extremely amuses me).

    Music blaring in the background.

    “I need to use the restrooms!” She declares, accompanied by a rather high-pitched laugh. 

    I nod and let my attention drift back to the dance floor, a defeated sigh escaping my lips. (I make a mental note never to agree to my friends  “introducing me to someone”, even when they insist “she’s soooo cool!”)

     I dramatically sigh. We, people, are so set in our ways that we refuse to accept sexuality as it is and always has been; fluid, not fixed

    A majority of human beings are terrified of the unknown and are intimidated by those that openly embrace their sexuality. They miscontrue the comfortability of said individuals as sexual wantonness and are offended when any acts of affection between same gender couples are expressed in their direct vicinity. As many countries outlaw homosexual acts, and punish citizens with years of imprisonment, the brainwashed masses (who have an aversion to change), often harm these individuals, and little is done to prevent or remedy these injustices.

    Social norms and religious laws, which are strict and do not adapt to the changing world around them, are tools used in said brainwashing. They differ amongst communities and are largely based on age old adects that time forgot. Said norms and laws, are forcefully imposed on young individuals who grow up terrified, of eternal damnation promised to wanton souls and other horrific consequences invented to instill fear. The young become adults who struggle as they internalise the hate, to a point of depression; they hide who they are to appease society, which leaves them sad and miserable.

    We all have the freedom and obligation to choose what is good for us and our overall wellbeing,  we owe it to ourselves to truly live because the life you lead is yours, not society’s neither the excuse of humanity, that says or makes you feel inferior to them. They are dense and ignorant, not worth the time of day you can spare.

    Denial and self loathing is not a life I would wish on anyone, not even the worst of enemies, for the mind can be a very dark prison, one that we create for ourselves. 

    So go out there and be the you that you want to be. For who you are is the collective sum of your words, deeds and thoughts. One thing alone does not define you, neither does what others think or say about you. Hopefully you will choose to be truly happy, a being who loves unconditionally and embraces life’s exponential possibilities. Be true to yourself.

    Love life.                                                       Love peace.                                                  Love love.