Letstoriesunfold ™

Nataka niseme hii story initoke.  Yesterday, I was coming from a candle lighting occasion held at one of the estates along Mombasa road. The candle lighting was for one of my Gs who had rested on Saturday late at night. The news had hit me hard on Sunday morning, like a sledgehammer impact on a surface when I got to know. I am in the company of three people. One friend called Mulla, who writes spectacular articles touching on creatives, and two acquaintances. We had just arrived in town, and it looked like it had rained before. As we are all heading in the same direction, we decide to go board the same matatu, Super metro, at archives.  The matatu fills up pretty quickly, considering it's almost one am at night, and it's so damn cold. Funny thing, the conductor I can't see him. Where is he disappearing off to when the matatu is full? I can sense the growing frustration among other passengers who are also wondering, where has he gone off to?  As we all wait for the conduct...

You may or may not believe it, but I used to work in one of the big bus companies for long distance travel in Kenya as a conductor. The two drivers I used to work with, one was called Nduki Moto Makopolo and the other driver was Kata Funua Macharia and our route was from Meru to Mombasa and vice versa. It was a day like any other, but on this particular day, we bought our daily dose of mgox (mgox is what we used to call Mogoka) from the wrong guy. Huyu alikuwa anakaa elchapo flani sababu he would tell us tunaweza hata nusa hio mgox na stimu zitapanda.  I assumed that perhaps, it was the normal salesman hype lakini  WUEH! By 1900 hrs tulikuwa Embu. After kuchukua abiria wa Embu, safari ikaanza fiti, tukasema sherehe ianze. Our cockpit was one of its kind, sema kaportable mid speaker with bass abilities, madere wanaelewa. We switched off the passenger’s speakers and the one that was left was our “mziki” speaker. Nduki Moto had this flash disk that had everything hadi national an...

           Kuna hizi silhouettes za a popular figure zimekuwa zikinimaliza ajab, plus story ya Baltazar Engonga ikatokea, that legend, singlehandedly putting his country on the map. The last time I heard anything concerning that country was many years ago, when I was in primary. Kidogo nisahau kuwawekea story mfurahie.  Anyway, nilikuwa nimejipata nimepitia thread ya “in my prime” kwa social media, sikumbuki kama ni TikTok ama Twitter, a few days prior ndio nikakumbuka hii story, after kushangazwa na revelations za watu, particularly, what people's daughters did in their prime. I had an ordeal in the hands of my own mother twenty-five years ago that I have failed to forget. Back in the day kuna wale wazee walikua wakizunguka vitongoji duni wakinunua "chupa na debe" n old stainless steel sufurias. The pioneers of Mari kwa Mari, or old skull Mari kwa Mari.  (For context and for those who don't know,  Mari kwa Mari  are people who go aroun...

             The lights of the city flickered like the glow of a restless soul, neon colors bouncing off wet pavement. The night was alive, pulsing like the heartbeat of a hustler who knew the streets too well. Up in this urban jungle, things moved fast, you either kept up or got swallowed whole. I pulled up to the spot I had told my boys earlier. I was always the plug, the one with the moves, the finesse, and the game. The air outside the club buzzed with anticipation. The bouncers recognized me right away. I was the kind of guy who owned every step he took.  I watched some newbie being stopped at the entrance by the bouncers, his confidence crumbling with each passing second because of all the stares he was getting from the people who passed him.   Nikistep into the club, mi ndio stero, We ukistep in the club wakufreeze  tho you see everyone else going in,  lazma ufeel. It's like the lyrics were describing that exact moment. The m...

                  I was in this virtual space with creatives, creative writers to be specific, you know what they say about birds of a feather, don't you? We were in this virtual space discussing different issues here and there when someone happened to pose this to the rest of us Can we play a little?   I'm tired of typing, my nails are becoming red. H ow many of you have asked yourself this?  “Am I actually doing the right thing?” “Is this story worth telling?” I must confess the more I make my story sound emotional, the more it's sounding like a comedy pi ece.   I related to it so much. I had been crafting a story to submit to a certain writing competition. I had been sitting on it for a while. It didn't have anything to do with creativity or writer's block, far from it. It could be the imposter syndrome creeping in, the vulnerability expressed by what I was penning, or how I was second-guessing everything I wrote.  One...

Denno felt his blood pressure spike. He didn’t even bother responding. He jumped up, grabbed his jacket, and bolted out the door.  When he got to the club, his heart was racing, not from the sprint, but from the anger simmering within. He spotted them immediately—Stacy, looking too comfortable, laughing at something this guy had said. Denno could feel his fists clenching.  He took a deep breath, trying to calm down, then marched straight up to them. “Stacy!”  he called, his voice louder than intended. She looked up, eyes wide with shock.  “Denno!  What are you doing here?” “I should be the one asking you that.  Busy at work,  sio?”  he spat, glaring at the guy beside her, now looking more amused than concerned. “Relax, bro,”  the guy said, raising his hands.  “We’re just having a good time.” “A good time?  Dude! This is my girlfriend!”  Denno fumed. “Denno, calm down,”  Stacy said, standing up.  “This is just a collea...

Denno was having one of those days where everything just seemed to flow.   He had hit the “Send” button on his final proposal a few days back and leaned back in his chair, stretching and yawning. He had just received an email confirmation that his proposal had been accepted.  He couldn't believe it, he had just landed a big online gig that promised good money and a steady workflow for the next three months.  As a freelancer, this was the equivalent of hitting a jackpot in his world.  “Babe!  Guess what!”   he shouted towards the kitchen, where Stacy, his girlfriend, was busy preparing breakfast. “What's up?”   Stacy replied, glancing at him with a smile that could melt an ice cap. She was dressed in her corporate attire—a crisp white shirt and a pencil skirt—ready to head to her office job. “I just secured that big contract I was telling you about!  We’re eating good,  for the next three months!”  Denno grinned, showing his exciteme...

          A lone figure, cloaked in darkness,  stalks through  a foggy and deserted part of the Nairobi Central Business District.  A chilling wind howls, and the only sound is the lone figure footsteps puncturing the eerie silence. A dilapidated building looms in the distance, its windows boarded up and its door ajar. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of decay, dust, and the faint sound of two heartbeats.  On arriving at the dilapidated building, the figure pauses briefly at the entrance, it's breath misting in the cold air. A sense of unease washed over them as they peered into the darkness towards the entrance of the abandoned building from where they are hiding.  The wind howled louder, carrying with it a chilling whisper that sent shivers down their spine. Their blood ran cold as they realized that they were not alone in this desolate place, but with a deep breath, they muffled any sounds they might have made, trying as hard a...

This is a continuation from  Hawker Jameni III            Why would they place such important things so distant from one another? I wondered. I ran up the next flight of stairs, knocking down a couple of mannequins. After asking yet another attendant, she pointed to the changing booths at the far end of the floor.  I limped into the changing room and shut the door. I quickly chucked the shorts and stretched one rubber band, slid one foot into it and rolled it up to my thigh. I then tucked my homo erectus and held it against one thigh with the band.  The bands were quite small and tight, the poor quality has a low elasticity so I added another one and walked out, like a normal human being – relieved- albeit with a slight limp. The bands were a little tight and uncomfortable but they were better than a dangling deek in public. I was so relieved that as I walked down the stairs, I confidently saluted an attendant who was redressing the mannequin...

The previous few weeks had been draining. I don't want to get into details, but bad things, one after another, kept on happening, and all you could say is Yarabi, shake that tree, let the bastard fall, and fall hard!  Anyway, bad things happening back to back might make your blood boil in anger, or you sink in a deep hole of anguish and despair. I decided to go chill with someone's daughter for a while.  You know, the good old Netflix & chill. There I was, arriving at someone's daughter's residence, having scrutinized all exit points in case shit hits the fan or as the layman says, (incase kanuke), and I got the chance to bounce real quick. Having done the necessary, and layed out a plan in my head in case things go south, I knocked on her door.  I had informed her prior to coming, and she had given me the go ahead to come, but it never hurts to be prepared, you never know. She opens the door, and I can't help but laugh. She is in a minions themed onesie, lookin...

  “How can you teargas,  a  Baddie?” Most protests or as the citizens aka criminals like to call it, maandamano features a big percentage men, plus if there were any ladies at all, most had a huge resemblance to the men themselves.  It all started with the public learning about the mischief that the members of Parliament were cooking up, thinking no one was looking, thinking that no one would give a hoot.  They thought business was as usual, that Kenyans were focused on other things like fornicating like a certain cabinet minister caught red handed with someone's wife abroad, or night life or as the force that has been terrifying politicians, the Gen Z call it, sherehe, and other trivial matters.  As soon as the public learnt of this mischief by the members of Parliament, a rallying call for each member of the public to call and tell their representative to stop with their madness and do away with the mischief that they were cooking up. Did the elected repr...