Politics
of love are worse than of power. There are no tribal alignments. There
is no divide and rule. There is no military conquest. No. Meriting
relies more or less on wits, perseverance and fate. Not might. So my
cause was hard to bear. An uphill task. See?
For her I had purchased a bouquet of roses. Expensive though! But she deserved it. It deserved her too.
Getting into a woman's heart, especially the rare gems that befit the 'miss universe' title is no easy. They are resistant to any magipower of seduction. It ain't as easy as ejaculating or drinking. Whatever! I was determined to have her; even if I was to fleece myself to death. A good farm is worth any form of investment-- if returns are fathomable. She meant the world to me.
However, delivering the gift was a mind-gnawing nightmare. I had to execute it myself. Maybe I could be elated by her smile. Maybe I could feel her warm hand, if fate permits a handshake. But I didn't know how and when. '' It's to be on a special day'', my friend Safara had suggested. '' And in a swaggerific way eh! In a palatial city hotel, at a high table-- dirtied by all kinds of delicacies on earth.'' It seemed a task doomed to fail; should Samba be a zealous materialist.
The world is swollen with women; but deficient in ladies-- wife materials. Samba belonged to the latter. She exhibited angelic traits that made her undoubtedly the first and greatest beneficiary of God's original clay, sweat and skill during creation. I only felt alive by glancing at her. I craved for her. Perhaps she was created for me. I thought.
I sought for her. A ripe berry should be quickly harvested when ripe lest it be punctured by birds. Moreover, a tree is fast cut down once it comes of age; otherwise someone else may cut it. However, my approaches attracted her not. Oh, God they were crude! She never felt and acknowledged my presence. She abhored 'shit' from a third class, and title-less survivor and victim of Kenyanism. Ati she had no time! For heaven's sake, I wondered why she was violating the doctrine which abates discrimination of whatever kind. She was a staunch christian believer. Though I failed to decipher in what.
Samba was a hard nut to crack. My amateurish tactics in seduction could have made me infatuate to death with fantasis were it not for Safara. Although he helped alot to achieve nothing, I acquired some tips worth boasting of.
Safara was a nasty guy. Unpredictable and unreliable like the meteorological department. He could soil your soup before you could gulp it. And he could easily redeem you from a hangman's noose when least expected. Therefore, I best avoided him during times of merry, but sought for him during times of worry. Now I needed him badly like water to a desert dweller. He was a staunch believer in the 'tit for tat' doctrine, but he stunned me when he just volunteered to help. Wonders! Perhaps it was for blessings from above.
He was a professor of sexology and seduction at the University of Life. Though it baffled me upon discovering that he was women-phobic. He had never had a woman in his wretched life. Damn!
''I'm an expert Pal! I could own all women on earth. King Solomon would be no match for me.'' He argued. '' And I'd be unfair to dummies like you...''. He sweat and breathed thunderously. Thence he would hit the bottle, watch porn and smoke heavily like a chimney.
He had tried hard to change my mannerisms. Perhaps I tasted how being a gentleman is. I changed my wardrope and downed the forest of hair on my head; full of wild creatures! Before buying the roses.
The Valentine day was past tense. Samba's birthday was a nightmare to know. These, according to Safara, were the ideal days in a woman's life. Hence worth proposing. Parties and other merry occassions were rare like a chicken's urine. Unlike funerals. But it is horrible to propose or angage at a funeral, amidst tears. Death haunts love. See? Good. Getting her proved impossible. I nearly faltered, fated and quit. But quiters never win.
Via inquiries, I learned with disgust that Samba's birthday, also the Valentine day, had long past. She had celebrated and forgotten. I had to wait; despite the gnawing impatience.
It took centuries. Things happened. They threatened my faith and dedication to the cause. Achieving it seemed bleak and impossible like realizing the 'Vision 2030' in Kenya.
However, I wasn't alone in dire need of Samba. The race to a woman's heart has many competitors. Snails and horses. So we were. One of my rivals bought me off. I devoured the fool's dough and intensified my quest. Though underground. But harder now. Someone was craving for what I was supposed to eat. He discovered me instead, before I could get far. The dude had hired many spies. He cornered me, with his gang's aid, and gave me a thorough beating. I nearly died. But Samba was worth dying for anyway. As posited by the following poem:
... Once in a while you'll chance upon angels--
Their hearts so cool like fresh milk.
So men slay each other over them,
You'll have to choose love or death.
If you choose love, my son:
Mess not with an angel;
You'll be courting disaster!
But if you choose death,
Then be a martyr of a love worthwhile...
Nonetheless, I sympathized with him upon discovering that Samba had humiliated him publicly. Another rival invited me for a duel. I thrashed him. He opted out for me. Another nut busied himself with bad-mouthing my name and lynching my character. Another one, Fuso, perhaps tougher than all, promised me death. The mug is blind. He had spotted us shaking hands in a not-so-bad-way and mistook us to be romancing. Anyway, these were merely a frog's noise; they can't bar an elephant from drinking water. They were bee stings which cannot scare a honey-comber from harvesting honey.
The day of reckoning came at last. I dressed to kill. Whatever that means! '' It makes your image dazzle'', Safara said. I smuggled myself into Samba's apartment, trailed by Safara. Uninvited. Fancy that! Cool. We partied; stuffed our tummies full and irrigated our throats. It was Christmas in February! I handed my treasured gift to her when the moment came. But oh, sweet Jesus! I almost puked on her expensive, short, new, red, Chinese, woolen dress. She took my gift with distaste, reserving undue disgust due to many eyes present. There were plenty of flowers, and other presents. Most of them outdid mine in quality. They were choking the little space available. So she put mine into a dustbin nearby and forgot. The devil in me incited me to strangle her; but I refused. I loved her.
I was the saddest man on the continent. Furious, unforgiving and inconsolable like a seasoned presidential aspirant robbed of victory by a mildly intelligent political greenhorn: in fairly corrupt General Elections. I was thinking of visiting a witch doctor when she called a few days later. How she got my number, only heaven knows. My heart warmed up. I almost died of excitement when she proposed for a meeting. ''All is well. Finally you've got her,'' I whispered to my heart.
I was bored by the meeting. I hated it. I regretted consenting to meet that tormenting angel. I wish I knew. We argued. We bargained. We disagreed to agree.
'' Look, I'm just like married. You won't have me'', Samba posited.
'' Show me the papers then, and the ring'', I retorted.
'' Just understand Pal''.
''Not that easily dear. I can't go against the dictates of my heart''.
Losing wasn't my option. Perhaps not her. That she is taken made me to flinch not. After all, everything good on Earth is taken. You only have to fight for your share. Something I was devoted to.
'' I may not appeal to your taste'', I said after ages of silence. '' But I'm the right man for you...''
''But I've one already...''
''He is a fake!'' I cried. Just crown me a mpango wa siri then...''
'' NO Pal! '' Silence. Thundering hearts. ''I know how you feel. It's hard... I don't know what to do.''
''I suppose you know it better. I've told you already.'' I implored. ''Things aren't as easy as you think.'' She said, almost in a whisper. I wondered where the hell we're headed to. I was damn bored and angry. I rose up to disappear. Then she motioned me to wait.
'' Well. Be patient.'' I wished it could have been a sentence to hell. Patience my foot! I was born or rather denied it when God was issuing out virtues. I had abundant impatience!
'' Don't wane Pal, I beseech you. Let's be friends first before pondering on what ails you.'' She implored. She tickled my heart.
What else was I to say?
(c)Wafula P'Khisa.
For her I had purchased a bouquet of roses. Expensive though! But she deserved it. It deserved her too.
Getting into a woman's heart, especially the rare gems that befit the 'miss universe' title is no easy. They are resistant to any magipower of seduction. It ain't as easy as ejaculating or drinking. Whatever! I was determined to have her; even if I was to fleece myself to death. A good farm is worth any form of investment-- if returns are fathomable. She meant the world to me.
However, delivering the gift was a mind-gnawing nightmare. I had to execute it myself. Maybe I could be elated by her smile. Maybe I could feel her warm hand, if fate permits a handshake. But I didn't know how and when. '' It's to be on a special day'', my friend Safara had suggested. '' And in a swaggerific way eh! In a palatial city hotel, at a high table-- dirtied by all kinds of delicacies on earth.'' It seemed a task doomed to fail; should Samba be a zealous materialist.
The world is swollen with women; but deficient in ladies-- wife materials. Samba belonged to the latter. She exhibited angelic traits that made her undoubtedly the first and greatest beneficiary of God's original clay, sweat and skill during creation. I only felt alive by glancing at her. I craved for her. Perhaps she was created for me. I thought.
I sought for her. A ripe berry should be quickly harvested when ripe lest it be punctured by birds. Moreover, a tree is fast cut down once it comes of age; otherwise someone else may cut it. However, my approaches attracted her not. Oh, God they were crude! She never felt and acknowledged my presence. She abhored 'shit' from a third class, and title-less survivor and victim of Kenyanism. Ati she had no time! For heaven's sake, I wondered why she was violating the doctrine which abates discrimination of whatever kind. She was a staunch christian believer. Though I failed to decipher in what.
Samba was a hard nut to crack. My amateurish tactics in seduction could have made me infatuate to death with fantasis were it not for Safara. Although he helped alot to achieve nothing, I acquired some tips worth boasting of.
Safara was a nasty guy. Unpredictable and unreliable like the meteorological department. He could soil your soup before you could gulp it. And he could easily redeem you from a hangman's noose when least expected. Therefore, I best avoided him during times of merry, but sought for him during times of worry. Now I needed him badly like water to a desert dweller. He was a staunch believer in the 'tit for tat' doctrine, but he stunned me when he just volunteered to help. Wonders! Perhaps it was for blessings from above.
He was a professor of sexology and seduction at the University of Life. Though it baffled me upon discovering that he was women-phobic. He had never had a woman in his wretched life. Damn!
''I'm an expert Pal! I could own all women on earth. King Solomon would be no match for me.'' He argued. '' And I'd be unfair to dummies like you...''. He sweat and breathed thunderously. Thence he would hit the bottle, watch porn and smoke heavily like a chimney.
He had tried hard to change my mannerisms. Perhaps I tasted how being a gentleman is. I changed my wardrope and downed the forest of hair on my head; full of wild creatures! Before buying the roses.
The Valentine day was past tense. Samba's birthday was a nightmare to know. These, according to Safara, were the ideal days in a woman's life. Hence worth proposing. Parties and other merry occassions were rare like a chicken's urine. Unlike funerals. But it is horrible to propose or angage at a funeral, amidst tears. Death haunts love. See? Good. Getting her proved impossible. I nearly faltered, fated and quit. But quiters never win.
Via inquiries, I learned with disgust that Samba's birthday, also the Valentine day, had long past. She had celebrated and forgotten. I had to wait; despite the gnawing impatience.
It took centuries. Things happened. They threatened my faith and dedication to the cause. Achieving it seemed bleak and impossible like realizing the 'Vision 2030' in Kenya.
However, I wasn't alone in dire need of Samba. The race to a woman's heart has many competitors. Snails and horses. So we were. One of my rivals bought me off. I devoured the fool's dough and intensified my quest. Though underground. But harder now. Someone was craving for what I was supposed to eat. He discovered me instead, before I could get far. The dude had hired many spies. He cornered me, with his gang's aid, and gave me a thorough beating. I nearly died. But Samba was worth dying for anyway. As posited by the following poem:
... Once in a while you'll chance upon angels--
Their hearts so cool like fresh milk.
So men slay each other over them,
You'll have to choose love or death.
If you choose love, my son:
Mess not with an angel;
You'll be courting disaster!
But if you choose death,
Then be a martyr of a love worthwhile...
Nonetheless, I sympathized with him upon discovering that Samba had humiliated him publicly. Another rival invited me for a duel. I thrashed him. He opted out for me. Another nut busied himself with bad-mouthing my name and lynching my character. Another one, Fuso, perhaps tougher than all, promised me death. The mug is blind. He had spotted us shaking hands in a not-so-bad-way and mistook us to be romancing. Anyway, these were merely a frog's noise; they can't bar an elephant from drinking water. They were bee stings which cannot scare a honey-comber from harvesting honey.
The day of reckoning came at last. I dressed to kill. Whatever that means! '' It makes your image dazzle'', Safara said. I smuggled myself into Samba's apartment, trailed by Safara. Uninvited. Fancy that! Cool. We partied; stuffed our tummies full and irrigated our throats. It was Christmas in February! I handed my treasured gift to her when the moment came. But oh, sweet Jesus! I almost puked on her expensive, short, new, red, Chinese, woolen dress. She took my gift with distaste, reserving undue disgust due to many eyes present. There were plenty of flowers, and other presents. Most of them outdid mine in quality. They were choking the little space available. So she put mine into a dustbin nearby and forgot. The devil in me incited me to strangle her; but I refused. I loved her.
I was the saddest man on the continent. Furious, unforgiving and inconsolable like a seasoned presidential aspirant robbed of victory by a mildly intelligent political greenhorn: in fairly corrupt General Elections. I was thinking of visiting a witch doctor when she called a few days later. How she got my number, only heaven knows. My heart warmed up. I almost died of excitement when she proposed for a meeting. ''All is well. Finally you've got her,'' I whispered to my heart.
I was bored by the meeting. I hated it. I regretted consenting to meet that tormenting angel. I wish I knew. We argued. We bargained. We disagreed to agree.
'' Look, I'm just like married. You won't have me'', Samba posited.
'' Show me the papers then, and the ring'', I retorted.
'' Just understand Pal''.
''Not that easily dear. I can't go against the dictates of my heart''.
Losing wasn't my option. Perhaps not her. That she is taken made me to flinch not. After all, everything good on Earth is taken. You only have to fight for your share. Something I was devoted to.
'' I may not appeal to your taste'', I said after ages of silence. '' But I'm the right man for you...''
''But I've one already...''
''He is a fake!'' I cried. Just crown me a mpango wa siri then...''
'' NO Pal! '' Silence. Thundering hearts. ''I know how you feel. It's hard... I don't know what to do.''
''I suppose you know it better. I've told you already.'' I implored. ''Things aren't as easy as you think.'' She said, almost in a whisper. I wondered where the hell we're headed to. I was damn bored and angry. I rose up to disappear. Then she motioned me to wait.
'' Well. Be patient.'' I wished it could have been a sentence to hell. Patience my foot! I was born or rather denied it when God was issuing out virtues. I had abundant impatience!
'' Don't wane Pal, I beseech you. Let's be friends first before pondering on what ails you.'' She implored. She tickled my heart.
What else was I to say?
(c)Wafula P'Khisa.
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