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Love relationship


Dating Romantic

A letter to my Kenya Defence Force neighbor ; Cheap grapevine tales to my faraway friend

Source: Burst

I hope all is well in Somalia. It feels like a really long time since we last kept in touch. We too are doing well. And I must confess that we all loved that camel meat you last brought. Nothing has changed much since you left. We still hold the usual Fortnite evening meetings at the plot. However, there have been a few developments you might want to know about.

Mama Scholar traveled abroad to nurse her frail mother in India. Her son Steve is in charge of the premises now. The kid has grown. He's boss-ilk now. He lectures Mr. Mbogua about his incessant, boisterous drunk-talk and warns him of eviction if he never reforms. I think he should be careful with his taste of power lest he get intoxicated with it. When we were his age, we were told to be careful and learn a thing or two about pointing a finger at such intricate matters. Lately, after a few relationships with his toxic girlfriend, the type that they know their worth and deserve no less, he just wakes up and says that the garbage fee has increased.

At a previous meeting, Mrs. Mbogua, the never-smiling, uptight grocer who sells you her wares, even forgets to charge and calls everyone her son, gave a testimony. She claimed that she’d been praying for a lifetime now. Apparently not for her husband's binges. She was unusual. Her excess ramblings seem to make us curious about how far this is going. Her prayers gave the impression that something had worked out in her favor. Whatever that was, we wanted a share of it.

She cleared her throat as we made our way to find our seats. I figured even those who are rarely interested in the affairs of others but their wellness and what’s next on their Netflix seemed to be out there lost as we were trying to catch what "a nobody" had for the world. We didn't believe what came forth. With a reserved sense of self, she let us know that she had had a visitor who came to her from one of the officials that held high powers on the land. She was looking for her eldest sister, whom they lost touch with when she was 5 years old. She narrated that during the Ukoloni days, her family was driven from their homes to concentration camps in search of Mau Mau sympathizers. It was at the camp that her brother lost an arm for braving up to the white soldiers in shorts.

She even let us in on how her brother never learned from a critical mistake. He was never short of other options. As a purist about their way of life, he tried to rally and censure heavily some of his peers who had taken the white man’s course. This, however, never panned out well. A pair of his precious balls paid a hefty price for the expense of his freedom of expression. Life became so miserable then that she, in the company of other local girls, was taken by an aide to a chief who told them of opportunities to work at a railway station in Nairobi. That was the last time she set foot at home and faded into the city under the sun, hopping in between jobs.

That was quite a tale that took us all back. It left me with a room inside my head to wonder what the world has led each of us to encounter. And just like that, the meeting was adjourned in honor of Mrs. Mbogua. I left hoping that her lost and now found sister would let her in through her good graces to erase the ravages of her past with the trappings of luxury, wealth, and status that come with kinship. Your wife, Ela, was so touched, most of us were.

On the day of your return, I hope that you bring us some of that camel milk. You know too well how conniving Kamaa can be with his watery milk. Despite my wife’s frantic calls for quality, Kamaa remains defiant, insisting that it’s her who is still fixing "a long tea.’ This has led us to put up with her endless nagging and sulking. She asserts that it comes from her never-ending migraines that are a result of her tea thirst.

Days have been slower and longer, with each bearing just a fair share of their problems. It's sometimes a numbing relief when I hear ``Your Bluetooth has paired successfully" and Ela’s favorite SDA playlist is on rotation. It’s the only thing that seems to take away doubt about tomorrow's becoming any better.

Last night, though, there was a song by Coolio. "We've been spending most of our lives living in a gangster’s paradise," was blaring from your quarters. I thought for a second that you might have returned and we would link up in the morning. I was looking to find out what was going on in a faraway country.

In the morning, as I was about to leave for my hustle, Ela was in good spirits. She was vibrant. As I was tucking my shirt right before your house, I stumbled upon Gordon. The jobless corner shoe guy was by the door, trying to huddle himself in his straitjacket as he waited for Ela, who was gone looking at one lost shoe that the dog had mauled.

Ela returned with one rugged bit of shoe and intervened to let me know that Gordon had passed by when she was totally distressed. That he had passed by last evening to drop her shoe when the very thing that was causing trouble at your house passed. A rat. I set my eyes on it by the trash, and lo and behold, that thing did have to take Gordon a night’s sleep and a gangster paradise song to get rid of. We hope to see you soon. Your friend Gordon, here in Kahawa and the country at large, owes you a great debt.



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Fortnite India Kenya Defence Force Somalia Steve


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