The romance of scars and scabs

I'm not a fan of anything classified even remotely as romantic: not in the traditional sense and most certainly not in any interpretation given reference to under modern thought and meaning. I don't read the books or listen to the music and it's more than once that I've dozed through a movie which presented an usually persistent exchange of oral fluid. ver mind my particular aversion to chocolate and the fact that flowers can have me in bed for a week as the result of an allergic reaction. Cheesy violin music and intense looks that last up to twenty minutes at a time could only be irritating to someone such as myself who's entire CD collection is introduced by song titles like "If you don't love me, lie to me." and "Heartbreak Hotel".

Read more from L. Akitelek Papakemus here.

Fatherhood Blues

27 years ago I promised myself that I would write a book when I turned 50. I am 4 years late and not quite ready to write an entire book. Here I am though, sitting down with a pen and paper because my son-in-law asked me a question the day before he lawfully wedded my daughter. "What was it like, raising her?" I am tempted to laugh at him. Things had changed, and now it was up to him, and not me to deal with her. And he had asked for it. I pause however, to remember what it has been like, raising a girl child without her mother around to help.

Read more from Warorua Gichanga here.

The Magenta Gown

My two best friends have not yet seen photographs of this. I have been religiously hunting for all copies of the incriminating evidence with the intention of destroying them, lest the horrendous images be broadcast to the whole world.

It is bad enough that my entire clan has seen them. Beg as they may, my two friends will never get to see the evidence of such a completely and incredibly comical wardrobe malfunction of all time.

Read more from Juliet Maruru here.

My Eulogy!

Caleb Otieno on how his much has not amounted to much. He would rather, however, write his own eulogy, than have them tell lies about a life he never lived.

"I wasn't a model student (how could I be? With my Dad's ugly face and the ungraceful ness' of my drunken mother, no way I could've been a model anything.)"

Read the rest here.

Cupid, Kenyan Style

Yours truly, the Kenyan Cupid, wanted to shoot a girl with his arrow. I found her at a New Year’s Eve party in San Jose, California, and immediately charmed her with my good looks. Or, was it my sense of humor? A few weeks later, she was spending nights at my apartment.

Girl, twenty-two and living at home with parents, loved to drink. "The only reason I sleep with you is because I'm a drunk," she said to me one night, as I attempted to lecture her after she wet my bed. So, it wasn't the good looks.

Brilliant narrative by Ombuya E. Okong'o on how he met her. And you will never see it coming, but he almost kills her. Want more?