Letstoriesunfold ™

A creative like me has remembered and is celebrating when the creative child of the said creative was born. I won’t lie or pretend but it surely triggered a memory, a memory of the day I started Letstoriesunfold™.  Nike should just sign me already because their tagline, “Just do it” I ran with it like Omanyala or Kipchoge. I didn't know jack shit on how to go about it. I just had one terrific story. Didn't even have a name for it at the time. I just crafted a site, put the story there, and shared the link. Everyone who read that first production was wowed by it, except for a select few.  In the blink of an eye, I started creating an audience hungry for my crazy stories. From that day, till now I’m thankful, to my audience, to the amazing creatives who have contributed to Letstoriesunfold, appreciation is in order. I have dared, made so many mistakes, and learned a thing or two along the way. The most important thing, however, is how my amazing content interacts, and continues...

Nilikuwa place hustle, kutafuta shillingi nisiiname lunch ka comrades, ama kuwa homeless ju mwenye nyumba ameweka kufuli ingine kubwa ka sex drive ya dame yuko twenty something.  Ilikuwa story zinatembea tu, bila pressure tukiendelea na job yetu, masaa ikisonga mbele tu. Sikumbuki ni part gani exactly kwa hio story ilifanya ni remark, “Kama kuna watu nimetense,” “ni wasee wao hukuwa wametulia tu.” They were like,  Souley wacha kutubeba utoto. Mbona uogope mtu hana makelele ama kisirani? Niliwaelewa wakifikiria na kuuliza hivyo. Nikawachapia incidences kadhaa zenye wasee hawana mambo mingi wamesurprise wasee vi ajab.  Wasione ni ka nawasho story haziko, ka excuses za ule manzi uko nayo akitwekwa na salaried niggas mshahara ya end month wakiwa nayo. Kuna this time, tuko lap mtaa ya Boyz wetu fulani. Wasee fulani wakaamua ni sisi watatutumia kuchase the bag. Kutuibia in layman’s terms. Wamekuja wanatugotea then wako zile za  hizo phone na dooh tuko nazo tuwawahi.  ...

Yesterday, when the night was dark as the skin of our brothers from Sudan, I decided to go riding my beast in order to drown my fucked up rejection because of petty lies to a potential computer scientist about him being the real OG in computer science.  (Man I even told her I was part of the team that almost cyber robbed Equity bank at the start of the year) So later, a my beast is fueled a whole 300 by another lady for the splendid "services" offered by it in an attempt to recollect my ego. Before I continue, let it be known that my wobbly beast rarely receives anything above shillings 70 worth of the precious fossil fuel from our Arabian brothers. So the 300 hundred bob worth of the precious juice had to be reduced to manageable levels, and what better way than a late night ride to drown my loss and to kill the male demon that haunts me whispering to me softly, constantly reminding of the imagination of how great it would have been to split that girl to whom my lies back fi...