She Talks Too Much

So there’s this guy. That’s how all stories start ain’t it? There’s this guy. There’s this girl. But this is not going to be one of those, I promise. In fact, I will use fewer words than I normally would. Because this is one of those stories where too many words spoil the tale. My … Continue reading She Talks Too Much

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Deadbeat dad

The thing about me is, I can be very shameless at times. Putting in zero effort into pretense. Today has me staring unashamedly at this guy who has a baby strapped to his back. I should put it out there that I am all for not having gender reserved roles. Only last week I saw … Continue reading Deadbeat dad

Was it the stairs again?

When we hear about gender based violence, we are quick to assume the man is the perpetrator and the woman the victim. But what about “the other side of this story”. The one that doesn’t get spoken about often. For reasons that are too many to list here. Well here's a story written by a … Continue reading Was it the stairs again?

I am expected to love you but…

Everyone says I should love you. It is expected of me. But does anyone consider my side of the story? You carried me in your womb for nine months. You beat me with a hot iron rod till I was nine. It is not that the beatings stopped. It is that I learned how to … Continue reading I am expected to love you but…

My dislike of family get-togethers

“Unanipitaje hivyo?” he asked, tugging gently at my elbow. Well, as gently as a man of his girth and stature can. I looked at him and I could swear I had never before seen that face in my life. But I did not scream because a) we were in a very public setting, a supermarket, … Continue reading My dislike of family get-togethers

Warring families and broken homes

I know a kid who would cry his eyes out on the closing day of every term. That would have been expected on opening days, but not when schools were closing. Wasn’t he excited to be going home? Wasn’t home the best place he could be? I asked myself these questions, and more, every single … Continue reading Warring families and broken homes

My child of three fathers

I do not know a thing about motherhood. Ergo, I do not know what to do with this child. But I still love the lil thing. I want to be there when it holds onto odd pieces of furniture trying to find its center of gravity when taking its first steps. Watch when the alphabet … Continue reading My child of three fathers