THE EASTAFRICANPOET

My lover can only love me behind drawn curtains. The bed must not creak or the neighbours will hear us. On Friday evening, when her parents come to visit, my lover cannot love me because they want her to marry a man. We all sit at the small brown rectangular dining table beneath the high serving-hatch that opens to the kitchen. My lover and I sit on one side, her parents on the other. She sits facing her father, who is tall and meaty. He laughs like a big drum. He eats like a big drum too; his inside is large, empty and hollow. He is shoving big ugali mounds into his mouth. I think that her mother must know, because mothers see the air that mixes between lovers. Her mother must know because she is studying me like a specimen. She narrows her eyes, tightening her brow at the same time. Crow’s feet choke the mole next to her left eye. Her face is lined around the eyes, but is otherwise as smooth and deep brown as a loquat seed. Small grayish bushes peep from beneath her blue headscarf

..but si when people look at me, they think me ni punk. Yes, because you’re very pretty. You giggle; it’s throaty. Like a laugh that won’t grow up. You want to talk. I want to stare. Yeah.. but you know I don’t like it. What? Being pretty or people staring? You look daggers at me. What do you think? Duuh! Silly. The staring. You slap my thigh. It stings. I perish the thought. Lucky me. My jeans are freshly scrubbed. You sit beside me, thighs touching. Yeah.. that’s why I pass here. My bro showed me this chuom here. Haina usororaji. True..this is better. I also really don’t like being watched. Now pass me my blunt. I dab silently, I’m thinking of you. The chemical euphoria slowly gives way to a silent calm. You know I’ve never had sex? Waaaah!!  I’m patronizing. You must know I won’t believe. You feel you have to tell me, I listen. I just feel like I should start when it’s right. But I know Stoner chicks are kinda loose. I don’t mean to be belligerent. I assum

This piece of haiku poetry is very personal. You’ve got to love the brevity that leaves so much to the mind. This is one of those that can be interpreted to mean something and everything. The Need Nothing satiates. Voids unfilled. These are the times.

Misikhu , Bungoma . Western Kenya. Aunty just came back from Makutano. She asked about a long lost family friend who lived around Kitale. 'On your way to Makutano maybe, I don't know.' I promised I'd try to get to them as soon as this pesky January rain abates. I'm also embarrased about meeting Ma'Dessy;  that long-lost-but-lately-found family friend who now resides around Kitale.Now I can’t go to her home without a lady I had bragged about being my wife. Anyway. I told Aunty Emily I'd marry two wives; so if one left I'd still have another to hold on to. Aunty chuckled. She does that when she's pitying my young naivete. 'Don't get more than one wife. It's all trouble. Juzi, I went somewhere to have tea but there was none...that's what they said.' I cut Aunty midway through her session by reaching for the volume knob on the radio. Soon "Ivo Ivo Ivo" was blaring and my head was bobbing to the raucous hip hop. Au

I remember correctly How could I forget? I know now why the silence Hang loud in the air. I hated that. I was teetotaling, Teetering, fumbling.. You sipped blacks, I made do with the ciggies. You hated those by the way. He made you feel better I hid my face My room was messy Roaches, butts, ashes. I figured you hated those too. I remember; don’t worry. You were nervous, raw. It hang in the air These chemical concoctions out of our heads. I hated him, I just couldn’t tell. You know I wanted it I knew you wanted it. It was strange, this thing. How you devoured them. I hated that, Lord knows. There was going to be three of us. We did business We couldn’t afford messes. I drowned.

I lifted this jewel of a short story from the all famous kalaharireview.com. Where the funkiest African stories are told. “Gentlemen, we must move forward.” The Speaker said, hitting his gavel on the table repeatedly. He was screaming but his voice was drowned by the argument in the hall. “Order!” He screamed louder, rising to his feet and striking the gavel harder. The dull sound of wood landing on wood finally got the attention of members. The din receded gradually until the hall became silent. “Gentlemen” He began after allowing a whole minute to pass. “I don’t expect this kind of behaviour from you. If Celestials are acting this way, what makes us different from mere mortals?” He paused for a few seconds again, moving his head from one end of the room to the other, trying to make as much eye contacts as he could. Most of the heads were bowed low as if in guilt. “There must be something that differentiates us as Celestials.” He continued. “What do you think The Master will make