REPLACED AT NIGHT Collection of Short Stories

REPLACED AT NIGHT Collection of Short Stories By Mrs. Jacqueline Njambi Kamau Kibe January 2020   Acknowledgements I thank God for his Grace to wait and work on my stories, I thank my husband Naftary Kibe, my Daughter Gracy Nyambura, My parents starting with my Mother Margaret Nyambura, Mr. Jamleck Mwatha Mrs. Nancy Wanjiru , my Brothers and Sisters, My aunts, uncles, cousins and all my family Members for the support Futher I thank all those who have walked with me in my 15 years Journey Prof. Emilia Ilieva, Julius sseremba, Peter Ngila, Riva Jalipa, Gargan Mbajar, Smitter , Amka Space , Zukiswa Wanner God bless you all Table of Contents 1. Replaced At Night 4 2. O, Terrorist 9 3. Ex-Boyfriends Skeleton 17 4. Sewage In Here 21 5. Tower Between My Legs 24 6. Forgetting My Wife My Consort- Omutatizo 29 7. Lip’s Taste: Story Of A Man In A Woman’s Body 34 8. Flank Scour Plan 43 9. Married By Mother-In-Love 48 10 Dear Daddy 55 11. Gateway To Africa 70 12. Kenya: Sharing The Nation 73   1. Replaced At Night Synopsis Love and rape stories told to a dead bear by a woman who is brave in sex and respects men but hates herself. She has variety in saved and secular men but her most appalling is her throwing the dead bear away and taking in a tall handsome man with a very strong and has a big manhood. Since graduation, I have held on to this dead bear despite replacing the donor. It was in my first year when he gave me this dead bear. It will leave a small space in between my two pillows where it used to wait for me late in the night. The time I would normally come home to hold and play with it. I would tell it stories, mostly of the men of my life. The dead bear has heard a lot; it has recorded all my experiences since my freedom to mingle was granted. It has heard of all the outings, the rape, the kisses, the caress, love making and Cumming. The light brown dead bear has a black nose that I have kissed all my happy days. Its two black eyes seem to bubble with hidden emotions and information. Yes, it has endured all my blows during all my disappointments. Whenever I learnt that ‘he is married’ or ‘in a serious relationship’ down the blows rained. On some occasions I throw it away when it dawns on me that ‘he just used me’ or ‘he was just after my thighs; this is why I toss it in the air and allow it to land with a thud and relish the grumbling noise of the beads that fill its stomach. Last Saturday, I do not know how I managed to get home by 4:00am very drunk. I had followed Marcus advice; “If you feel it is no longer safe to be with me, you better come back to this club.” “Babes, you are my security” “Off course. I will never allow anything to harm you. I will always protect you with my life.” “I will protect our love; I will not allow anything to come between….” “But I want you” “You have me, all of me” That was the conversation at the bar earlier. Before we left the bar, Marcus, in concern-laden voice, called me twice by my name. He said that I should take him to his house. He had an emergency. I frowned and staggered briefly. Marcus assured me that the house was just a few blocks away and I could come back as soon as possible. That is how Marcus and I left for his house to do something that was very urgent and important to him. He could not wait to finish his drink. Marcus asked the bar woman to keep his Jameson. This was the guarantee that we would come back soon. ********** Four in the morning, I am in bed crying. On one hand is my dead bear and on the other hand is my Jameson. As I sip the last of it, a tear comes down through the stream that has formed around my now pink nose. As each sip went down my dry throat, two drops of tears hit the dead bear. The kind of tears that this bear has endured. They land hot, followed by blows and a toss on the ground. I pick the dead bear from the floor and pamper it. “Last night it was not a date rape, I enjoyed it.” I managed to whisper. Marcus knew the prize he wanted for all the drinks and the food we ate the bar. He had what he needed and he knew how he needed it. “Do not worry my dear, it is just a shower. Come on, you can join me.” “I will shower when we come back.” “If you are afraid of taking a shower with me then do it alone.” After shower, He held on to me, kissed me and said I was sweet. He was sweet too, doing everything bit by bit. ************ It is still early in the morning and I too need to move on, forget what happened last night. That is what I told my dead bear before closing my swollen eyes. This is not the first time. I have landed several times, laid flat like an envelope. However, I chose a long time ago not to remain on the ground. I have always risen up above the troubles that men bring to me. But I have retained this dead bear over the years. The ironies of this dead bear ignite passions of hate inside of me. I hate its red bow tie —the kind that I have always wished a man should wear when taking me out. Nevertheless, I have loved feeling the velvet red bow tie with my fingers. Just below it, there are two tiny green ribbons that I like too because they lead me to the emptiness of the dead bear. They remind me that it is just a doll. They have helped me recognize its barrenness and, more so, that of its donor. However, when I play with it like a beanbag, this dead bear reminds me of those days of romance. The Dead bear’s fur that is neither red nor white may lack clarity of appearance because, may be, of the day that I received it. Its soft, dark-brown palms help me to hold it nicely when I mockingly dance to some of the songs that have never been dedicated to me. The soft palms console me, from the hard arms that have held me tightly for a short period. I dislike the arms since they do not have any strength or energy. They just move when I move them. They do not hold me even for a short time. They do not cover my slim brown hands. I hold on to them just for a dance. Yet the dead bear does not even know how to dance. It just follows me because I hold on its arms. Unlike the dead bear, Jaymo knew how to dance. He was holding me tight by my ass with both hands as we danced to Diamonds, Kesho. I do not cry when I remember this but I dive into my bed. It is because of Jaymo that I grab the left ear of the dead bear and hug it. I am sure it will listen, but it will not have expectations like me. In the church, each line in Proverbs thirty one was matching my way of life. I was wearing a purple pants and bra. When I stepped out of the church gate, he was right there, looking for entry point into my body. “Can we get a drink together?” “Yes” “Do you think the pastor was describing you?” “Yes” “Can we get in here?” “Yes” The conversation was fast and his hand was first too. He led me into the next gate after the church. A lounge and people took their drinks and food from their rooms. Jaymo and I were shown into one of the tiny and dark room. He ordered for a cup of white coffee and I ordered milk. Before the waiter came back, I had already drunk a different kind of white thick liquid that looked like milk. I want to hear the voice of the dead bear. It drives me mad because it never says anything to me. Yet sometimes I find comfort in it because I know it cannot tell me lies. However, I am sad since it cannot make me promises. It cannot protect or prevent me from doing anything. The bear is useless just like its lifeless nature. The more I think about every man that the dead bear knows the more I am convinced I should not have kept it. I am throwing the dead bear away because of the misfortunes that it has brought in my life. I blame it for all the mistakes that I committed even though I was the one who made the choices. I feel that this dead bear was there, just watching me as I drowned my life. It never said anything when I cried after receiving my first slap. It did not warn me when he did not pick my call on a Friday night. It never stopped me from calling him ten times for ten days. I have grown tired of the emotional turmoil of moving from one extreme to another. I cannot wait for another Saturday when the bear will be staring at me. Although this dead bear was not given to me on a valentine day, I choose to divest it on this Saturday that happens to be valentine day. I chose to dispose with it the unauthorized affairs that I have had over the years. I chose to throw away all the empty promises that keep making noise in my head. I choose to throw it away with the tears that come on my way whenever I try to find love. I chose to get rid of all the attachments that I have had with any man that I have loved in my life. I choose to just throw it all away from me.   2. O, Terrorist - Bedbugs in My Navel Synopsis This is a story of struggle to overcome and make it in life. A story told in Nairobi’s Zimmerman Estate of a young man who is responsible and mature and handsome living with a drunkard Otero. They indeed live everyday at a time. Cyrus has done a myriad of jobs including selling umbrellas and caps during sunny days and rainy night. Cyrus retails toys for both kids and adults on a playful day and a romantic night. He sells torches and screwdrivers for screwed up days and darker nights. He trades padlocks and duplicate keys to owners and express access to others. He can sell anything, anytime to anyone. Cyrus could even sell his mother on a bad day. To this day Cyrus still calls himself a graduate with a first class honors despite the working conditions at office in Mjengo / Certified Casual Construction Worker (CCCW). He has refused to accept a name his colleagues adopted for him - hustler. Hustler is the new trending name and it has been adopted by many including senior government officials. Cyrus and some of his friends have been mocked severally by those who work in the Office of the Prime Minister. It is either Cyrus the Hustler or Cyrus the Sufferer. Uniquely Cyrus does not mind these stereos’. In his view, hustling is aimed at becoming better and the suffering involved only works to build ones perseverance skills. Though he does not protest the names, Cyrus strongly believes he is neither a hustler nor a sufferer. He is a human being who is destined for greatness at the end of the burrow. Cyrus is more concerned with his makeup as a human being rather than his reputation as a hustle or a sufferer. To him, reputation is just an illusion that his comrades see, and the see it from the wrong angle. As a young, growing academic, his main concern is his way of thinking, feeling and his behaviors. These he details in his grooming from hair to what he wears and how he delivers his verbal communication. Unlike his workmates, Cyrus has refused to think or even live in the way the present society has ascribed for him. Though a resident of a slum, Majengo, he has chosen to emulate the credited ways of the person he really is, a graduate. This has always made him stand out among his fellow workers as he performs his duties with diligence and extra keenness. You must be wondering, why then has he been given these names. Cyrus also does Mjengo work/ Certified Casual Construction Worker (CCCW), an acronym given to manual labor in the construction sites. With all his body strength and against all odds of humiliation and sarcasm, his performance here too is remarkable. Out of his outstanding delivery, Amasa, the Construction Manager got fond of him compared to the foreman and this made him unhappily miss out work or get unfair treatment whenever the manager was not at. Out of the office, Cyrus has always been accumulating his small income with an aim of starting a small business. This is only unique of Cyrus as other hustlers and sufferers take up drinking, chewing muguka or just being-at-base. Cyrus has done a myriad of jobs including selling umbrellas and caps on rainy and sunny days respectively. He would sell anything just to keep his small hawking business going and he knew how to identify situations and turn them into opportunities. True to his word, “I will leave a good example, a hustler and a sufferer, before joining the International community as a diplomat.” In addition, he is keeping his word for working hard to make his life better at the end of each day, each week, month and year. At the start of this New Year, Cyrus moved into a bedsitter in Zimmerman together with his friend Otero. He is a diploma holder and a D.D.O (Daily Drinking Officer) like most of the hustlesufferers. Otero hates being broke. He saves some of his pay and use the rest in drinking to celebrate his work and thank himself for surviving the week. Only that he does this more regularly. From his savings, Oterorrist as they call him, he is able to raise an extra two thousands shillings for shopping. This makes their lives better since they are safe and able to cook in their house to remain healthy. The other hustlesufferers always skip supper; get breakfast from Pombe na Maroho (Wine and spirits) in order to survive the day’s hunger. Otero does not earn his name from the bedbugs that are terrorizing them in their bedsitter. He whispers to girls in the streets, blows a whistle at others and calls them some names. He is known for making some noises at girls like those that a dog does. In bed, he terrorizes them with a high appetite for sex with his well-endowed central system. “He is a man and a half,” they would say. False promises are his best tool in terrorism. He promises an Evoque instead of mkoko (handcart). He undertakes an Mshwari account instead of okoa jahazi. However, he is not able to terrorize bedbugs that have taken shelter in their house. On such an evening, Oterorist would ignore the bedbugs while on fire and incur an extra cost by asking this girl to have tea with him at a nearby kiosk. Cyrus was the one who noticed small dark sand-like droppings that occurred in patches on their bed sheets. Every morning there were fresh blood smears on sheets especially on the lower side of bed where they laid their legs. It was hard for hime to tell what was ailing them. Thus , he asked his colleagues at work. They laughed at him before informing him that bedbugs were in love with his blood. They told him to check their bed between ten at night and six in the morning. The time that the nocturnal blood thieves came around, ready to suck blood from their sleeping bodies. They were too daring to an extent of sucking his third arm. Oterorist is lucky, due to his terror reins on the girls, so far none of them noticed their other companions in the bed. On this day, they risked their newly acquired mattress by putting it on the roof. Cyrus came back to turn the mattress during lunchtime. It was annoying to Otero that bedbugs still come into sight despite heat - treating their mattress in sun to Cimex lectularius thermal death point of 45 °C (113 °) from morning. Even after hours of sun bathing the mattress, it is unfortunate that the bedbugs have not yet left. Oterorist is a tall dark and strong man but light brown, reddish - brown, flattened, oval-shaped bedbugs are troubling him. Cyrus taught him how to differentiate bedbugs from cockroaches; using the bed bugs segmented abdomens. Despite having an alcohol shaped one pack abdomen, Oterorrist bends down and measures four to five millimeters long and two to three millimeters wide bedbug to know its generation. Cyrus and Otero do not know where the bedbugs come from. Their house was renovated and had fresh wet paint when they moved in. Maybe, the bedbugs travelled from nearby dwellings through ductwork or false ceilings. Could they have entered their house on a visiting person’s clothing? Cyrus never had any visitors in the house. Oterorrists’ visitors have minimal clothing mostly two items that are carefully inspected by Otero’s hand. In preparation of his central arm that touches on all corners. Better known as terrorizing arm other than third leg. Cyrus blames Oterorrist for the bedbugs; he accuses him of bringing them from their friends’ house in Githurai. On the other hand, Otero has an embarrassing answer to his accusations. According to Oterorist, his friend wets his bed. His urine has high content of spirits and odours that continuously chase the bedbugs away. The spirits that they took are believed to kill all insects and worms that come across them in the stomach and outside. Bedbugs spend only a tiny fraction of their life cycles physically attached to Cyrus and Otero. Only while feeding on their blood. Once feeding is complete, they relocate in clusters of adults, juveniles. Although they are strictly parasitic, they congregate to harborage areas once established. In Oteros’ house, they conceal even inside their electrical socket. At night, these two housemates have to remove their clothing and sleep in their original suit. To avoid having bedbugs in their clothes. However, while undressing, Otero may find a bedbug hiding in his navel. Each Cimicosis (Bedbug bite) makes Cyrus to scratch his arm then legs and goes through the thigh before going back to the arm. When attending to some other job, he scratches his skin out until the left over blood comes out. This leaves prominent blisters that are turning into scars as the bites increase. Nevertheless, none of them has a bedbug related disease or infection. Even if the bed bugs had minimal number of health effects, their implications were straining their pockets, image and digging deep in their pockets. Oterorist is never worried when terrorizing girls. He knows that they will not communicate until each has a share of him. They only speak when he picks the next one. They partially hate him after finding out that each of them is told the same nice words. Due to their brown and slim bodies, all of them are handled in a similar way. Unlike Otero’s girls, bedbugs use pheromones and kairomones to communicate regarding nesting locations, feeding and reproduction. The girls later smile at Otero as memories of his expertise come back. Whenever a bed bug dies, a characteristic smell of rotting raspberries alerts the others to go back to harborage area. This makes it hard to kill them using mere hands. Cyrus and Otero know it is pointless to run away from their house in order to starve the bedbugs. They can survive still without eating for one hundred to three hundred and sixty five days. Whether drunk or sober, it is out of question for Oterorist to pay house rent for an entire year just to starve bedbugs to death. Today’s heat treatment is not the first attempt to wipe out bedbugs. In the past, Cyrus and Otero had to boil water and pour it on the mattress. They borrowed an emersion heater to heat the water faster. In addition, they request an electrician to ensure that they were exempted from the cost of boiling water. They had to buy him a drink as he was helping a brother in deed. Conversely, the rate at which they were boiling water was one third compared at the rate which female bedbugs were laying eggs. This is because the number of eggs they produce does not depend on the sperm they receive but on their nutritional level. Therefore, Cyrus and Otero managed to kill the bedbugs on the mattress but some still survived. In spite of this treatment, the ones on their clothes were still strong and arrive. Moreover, they still lay eggs that have kept bedbugs on their mattress to this day. Cyrus is very inactive sexually but the bedbugs mate by traumatic insemination. Neither Otero nor other hustlesufferers know why he is not interested in girls. Oterorist suggests that they come up with a shortcut that would help him. They suggest that he could be allowed to pierce the female’s abdomen. Just like bedbugs use their hypodermic genitalia and ejaculate into the body cavity other than using the reproductive tract. Many support this idea, as all the hustlesufferers want an alternative especially when the girls’ reproductive track was not accessible. A loophole slowed down multiplication of bedbugs. The male bed bugs attempted to mate with other males and pierce their abdomens. This behavior occurs because sexual attraction in bed bugs is primarily based on the size of abdomen. Male bedbugs will mount any freshly fed partner regardless of sex. This kind of behavior is being suspected on Cyrus. It is hard for Otero to discover newly hatched nymphs that are translucent, lighter in color and become browner as they moult. He only notices the tiny bedbugs after they consume his blood and have a bright red translucent abdomen. Within a few hours of his sleep, they fade to brown. His unnoticed companions are mothers, older and younger sister bedbugs. Oterorrist is willing to give bedbugs his spirited urine like his fellow hustlesufferers. Instead, of doing it on the bed, he decides to collect his urine in a bottle. Later in the night, he would ask Cyrus if they could sprinkle it on the mattress. He successfully his trousers and underwear but his efforts were terminated since the bottle was too small for him. He opted to go to the bathroom and fill the bottle. He was still too big and his speed governor was loose. He managed to collect a few milliliters and ended up throwing the bottle away though the toilet window. Cyrus is almost sleeping when Otero suggests they use biological pest control. His idea is put out of their mind by the implications of bringing cockroaches to the already infected house. It will be double trouble for their bodies. It was just a matter of time for them to come up with an up to the minute solution to do away with bedbugs. Nevertheless, they are not patient to wait for the fungus Beauveria Bassiana that is being researched for its ability to control bed bugs. The feeling of hunger in Cyrus and Otero stomachs had been replaced by their psychological desire to terminate existence if bedbugs in their house. Unlike them, who require a meal at least twice a day, bedbugs only feed once every five to seven days. Therefore, they search for food in shifts. For Oterorist and Cyrus, this meant that the few bedbugs visible on their bed are a small representation of the thousands of bedbugs that were hiding in their house. Just as bedbugs are afraid of photo phase, Cyrus and Otero fear that the bedbugs would multiply if they allowed them to stay comfortably in the house for one more night. Cyrus and Otero are aware that there are two reasons why the bedbugs would return to their shelter and aggregate after feeding. One of the reasons is to find a mate and the other is to find shelter to avoid getting smashed after eating. For these reason Cyrus and Otero agreed to destroy the bedbugs before they reproduced on this particular night. While Cyrus was lighting a fire Oterorrist was busy folding the bed sheets and other clothing items that they were going to smoke. When the fire was ready, they helped each other to carry the mattress just like they did when they were going to hot water it. The cold water poured on the fire made produced a huge smoke enough to kill the bedbugs. They only run away after realizing the huge hole at the center of the mattress. It was like the ogres eye with fire coming out of it. Back in the house Oterorrist told Cyrus, “Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite.” This time round there was hope. The fight was finally over. Unlike every other spraying they had done this was a total war win. Just like in the other fights with Bed Bugs, Cyrus used to be optimistic that the bedbugs nightmare was over. On the other hand, Oterorrist used to be pessimistic, “Like Jesus these bedbugs have a way of resurrecting. When we spray they pretend to be dead and after a few days they come back fatter. I wonder what they eat when they are temporarily dead.” “I also do not know what they eat because when I kill a resurrected fat bed bug, it has a black residue, unlike the usual ones that have blood and a bad smell.” Cyrus would respond. “The bad smell is a defense. I think the smell alerts the rest of bedbugs that there is danger. Just like a cat that pretends to be dead when hit hard to avoid being killed, the bed bugs lie flat with their legs up. Am told they do these to release eggs like us human beings…….” Oterorrist never finished these kinds of sentences. “The common thing between a cat and bed bugs is that these two are the hardest to kill. Their spirits are very strong. So I think we should get the free spirited urine. But on a second though, men’s urine on my mattress is impossible! It is Cyrus’s bed you are talking about! ” The life of Cyrus revolved around Mjengo/ Certified Casual Construction Work (CCCW) and Bedbugs, the only other asset that Cyrus had was his unused degree. From the time that Cyrus and Oterorrist realized the existence of bed bugs in their bed, it changed from an asset to a liability that was costing them every now and then. To meet the frequent cost of the discomfort caused by the bed bugs, they reduced the food budget in order to buy anything that would kill bed bugs only that they completely refused to take the free offer of urine. Even if the bed bugs were not poisonous, their implications were straining their pockets, image, character and food. At the Office of Mjengo the situation was getting worse. The Construction Manager had ordered Cyrus to be a permanent casual construction worker. This was bad news to the foreman and he had to create a different predicament for Cyrus. The foreman was complaining that Cyrus was having a go slow since every now and then he would stop working to either scratch or remove his shirt in order to kill the bed bug that kept on biting him without any intervals. Although the foreman did not come up with the bedbugs, he had managed to magnify them to a calamity. Cyrus’s performance at work had reduced drastically since he moved to a bedsitter in Zimmerman. The foreman had issued a threat to fire him if he did not comply with the Office of Mjengo resolution on bed bags. This resolution had a directive that required that all the workers from Zimmerman to come thirty minutes earlier so as to get ample time to smoke their clothes. Cyrus refused to comply since he was not ready to smoke his trousers and shirt, the ones he was likely to wear for an interview. He preferred to hang them on the fence where the sun will heat the bed bugs till death.   3. EX-BOYFRIENDS SKELETON Synopsis The story of Bad love, one crazy woman tells a horror story of her boyfriends, how she played with their emotions, her dreams and regrets. The full love story that is full of evil and blackmail. The HIV List you do not want to miss. They appear in my life as skeletons for breakfast immediately after breakup. Their bones are dry while others are fresh. Sometimes worms start eating the fats before me. I remember the one on my table today. He drank himself out of my life. This Number Ten just died and his body is still hot. My mouth and heart are hurting by the first bite. This softens my heart and I allow Number Nine to have a bite below the waist. This area is always hot and hosts the hottest part after its final touches at the mortuary. In today’s breakfast, I chose to eat the one who became broke and too broken to handle me. His brokenness was even on his dick. However, Number Six still got a share of what all others received from me. That is the reason he is here on my table. He died out of shock. He did not see light after darkness covered his eyes at the VCT when he learnt what I did to him. He did not have a chance confront me. In a way, he was like me. I did not confront Number One.I did not ask him questions even when I had the chance. He was the guy that I loved with all my hurts. I was in a clinic. Not the voluntary type but I was forced to come due to vomiting, dizziness and headache predominantly in the morning. It was compulsory to take the test to save one life. Darkness came to me. I knew not what news to take first; new life or end of life. No wonder I was able to see light at the end of the seat where the nurse sat. While still digesting the news I decided that I would allow the virus to digest me until I get to Number Thirteen because it only took me thirteen minutes to give and take away life from me. Number One is here with me to enjoy the meals that he created for himself. I have not though of the joy or the sadness of the day I will be on the other side of this table. The special day, that I will have completely eaten Number Thirteen in a way that you have never heard of. Then offer myself for a feast before the virus feast on me. Before my sexy sunken eye sockets are taken away, before visible hip bones vanish, before my sharp nipples and small itchy breasts are gone, before the few freshly retouched scalp on my head go with the comb, before the joints of what used to be my hands and legs start to separate and my small bones fall off. Number Two will enjoy feasting on me. He used to like skinny girls, the reason why he ended up with me. He was too damn to stay longer. His stupidity did not allow him to know that skinny girls can give him what I gave him. Every time I hold his fleshless waist for a hug, I tell him got what he wanted. The moment I am out of my seat, he will gladly extend the few bones of his hand and pull himself to have a bite of my skin. It is unfortunate that he lost his hands while struggling not to die. It is further unfortunate that in the world of this table, there are no plastic hands. Number Seven was just like my second victim. He liked light girls in the SPU (slim people United) not knowing they were to take him to ICU and finally on my table. He confronted me when I went to pay him a last visit. He had lost it all apart from his voice. It was stronger than his heart when he assured me of his boldness to face death. His words mocked me, “I am not a coward of your type that will have my skeleton on your table.” I laughed when he said that he was going to die a dignified death after living in integrity. To this day, I still call him a coward because he almost crashed his wife’s hand when death came knocking. From time to time, he used to go back to her to apologize. Only that the wife reported to the pastor. They constructed a fire wall that has kept him all to me. I always think that the two skeletons that had wives and are on my table as a punishment. I wanted to punish more of them. I suppose Number Twelve and Thirteen will be a married men just like Number Nine. He approached my pussy on the ground that his wife was pregnant with another man’s child. Sometimes I suspect that he does not belong to my table. That is why he regularly eats the palms. When greed and hunger hit his teeth, he eats the hot bodies. My collection sendshim away once the body becomes cold. Today he is sleeping on the corner after burning his bones. I am yet to meet the woman who ate my Number Four. He was handsome, his masculine body made me to take the chances. We made sex and sex made us make it. The desires were beyond my need to protect myself from eating what belonged to another woman. Although I was dead and walking, I risked dying in the hands of a woman. It was a risk but I lost my own food. I will be the one to eat and feast. Sex made me feel he belonged to me. He stayed a little longer before leaving. I may not even harm the woman who took My Number Four. She has already punished herself. I hope Number Thirteen will fulfill my dream of getting married in a church wedding. I cannot stand in the holy place, I might be punished for bring more food on this table. I will spend all my money on the wedding. I will first surprise him by booking at Windsor then much later surprise him with the original certificate of my HIV status. However, today’s meal did not surprise me. It had cancers that were not good for my tongue. The rest enjoyed it since they were here to please their teeth and dry bones. They were here because they first pleased their bodies. Above all, they pleased the boneless part. In particular, all of them are fleshless today. Sometimes they smell but Number Three has helped me to cope with the smell. I am glad that I personally brought him to the table. Characteristically, darkness covered his eyes. He fought to see light since he knew I worked in the next tent. This was a LVCT camp between Tuskys pioneer and Bomb Blast. He rushed in my counseling tent. I had volunteered just to make sure I did not die after touching anyone who belonged to another woman’s table. He confronted me and wanted to tell the whole world that I was one of the women having this table in my house. I gave him full rest and explained to the Supervisor that he was restless and uncontrollable. He woke up exactly when I volunteered to take him home for further counseling. He was found dead in his house after two weeks. It was clear that he committed suicide after knowing his HIV status. His cold body smelled to an extent of killing my smelling ability. I got used to it and enjoyed my first bite celebrating my victory. Number Eight resembles Number Three. I was the one who encouraged them to take the test. Never the less I suggested a different VCT for him. He in no way confronted me after knowing his status. He knew where he belonged. Similar to the way he looked for me to quench his thirst; he found his way to my table to feed my hunger. I seat in this table to defend my rights, my justice, and my ego. To fight for the baby that I lost and to fight for my dignity. By its positive status received from mother and father, it had a right to be on this table. It promoted the father to have the first to have a bite of me. It is regrettable that its bones were not well formed. It gave me a right to have a table and fill my stomach. Apart from my baby, I have no regrets. I am going out to look for my last man.   4. SEWAGE IN HERE Synopsis A story of a young girl living in the slums but confident that her situation will change. She walks on raw sewage and is not afraid of anyone or anything. Where she goes to get help is a beautiful story and her world is unchanging. Even if am a young girl, I dream of going to the ministry of Housing. I want to present a list to them. The two issues in my list have made it more of a scroll, but I only have two requests to make to the ministry. First I will be humbled to know the requirements of getting my mortgage. Secondly I will request for the process used to report the dark green sewage inside our plot. These must donewith courage not in coldness and in boldness not in bitterness. I am glad that the receptionist did not ask me about my parents when I reported. Things changed when I wanted to tell him about the diseases that are catching up with us. He went inside and came out not in the suit he was in. Even before he got to me I knew that he had changed and he was not going to waste his time with my nonsense. May be he sent me away because my problem has been too big for him just like the cap he was putting on. I am not sure if I was too small for my problems like his feet in the boots. I picked a stick which was almost the same size as the rod he held. He looked like he was sure of the people he was going to beat while I was not sure of the people or even where to begin. I wanted to beat people. They were so many; agent, landlord, my parents, local health officer. Was it an officer in this ministry who never got the chance to even hear me out? It seems like I went there too early, it's just that my story kept him busy for the time he had before his shift started. Security for my mortgage is the fact that I am in school. This is a good one because I will get a job once I am done with school. Me being me, I am bound to get a well paying job and clear the mortgage. Without any doubt I am so delighted to report my agent not my landlord. At least am done with the delicate duty that will affect my life for a long duration. The one reason why I decided to do all these is that no else was doing it. Every other person got used to eat and they thought that I was proud because after all these years I felt like the situation of our plot could still change. Let's say I had not given up like them. On my side as much as I do not want to blame them, my argument is that they have allowed ignorance to take the best part of their life. I am just acting against ignorance. In the morning I decided to walk in the dark green carpet because I expected to walk on a red carpet in the highest corridors of the ministry of housing. I bet they must be having the best of the carpets around as an example of carpets to be in the houses that the ministry covers. I wished to walk on these red carpets but I wished to walk on the blue carpet like the one Meryl Streep walked on during the celebration of her acting as Margaret Thatcher. I wanted to walk on a blue carpet at home too. May be some clean, nice smelling warm water reflecting the skies right at the centre of our plot and replace the odors dark green sewage. I think I deserve to walk on a red carpet after this visit since am acting like a rich responsible grown up. But I have an idea of what I will get at home when I get back just a little bit of more problems. Let’s say I will have to walk in the cold dark green carpet and it's going to be at a higher level because there was more rain. In addition, I know that there will be darkness since electricity goes away when the rains come in. I must survive this one too just like the others. I must continue being the iron girl not thriving on blood and fresh but on strong will. One trouble leads to another so the toilet will join the league and block too and that will be more nasty on top of the dark green waters, but it will only turn to be coloured water. It is going to get more coloured when we start washing utensils and clothes. That makes me think it's better to stay without food. Either way the stomach is always full of bad smells. The next trouble that comes around is when the bathroom blocks. That means that you have to fully accept the sewage since you can't get if off your body using clean water. By any chance if you shower in the house it means that you want to extend the dark green carpet into the house before that trouble matures. Our neighbours are forced to share our fate, although they don’t have the green carpet they don’t have fresh air anymore. We have extended the stench to them. In return, they reward us with all kinds of papers. Let's say the ten floors make our green carpet a dust bin and there is no way to empty the bin. Sometimes I think that they are doing us a favour by covering the dark green carpet. I think that I can take an aerial picture of our plot in my mind; a thin line of stones that are separated from each other with all kinds of papers including sanitary pads and their colourful covers. This is the picture that those living up there see when they look at us. They don’t know that these stones are the bridge in these shallow waters of our plot. I got to know the importance of these stones when I missed the one at the entrance of our house. That day I went to bed as a sad iron girl because I was not only looking at the dark green sewage, I had felt it too on my feet. The smell, the look and the feeling of sewage on my feet was the last drive I needed in order to pay the Ministry a visit. This was the night before my visit to the Ministry of housing. I planned to wake up as early as five o’clock. At this time the walkers would be many on the small footpath so I had to join the vehicles on the road to town. If I competed well with these road users and beat the traffic, I will get to town by seven o’clock just like the passengers. My spray was handy incase another stench caught up with me on top of the one I brought from home There is something that I had to do in order to look like I had alighted from a vehicle. I need to wipe my legs and oil them just to erase any evidence of walking. Uhuru park was a nice venue for freshening up it was nearer to the place I was going. Thus, I would get there before eight o’clock. After all that I was ready to be served without any bias. On the outside I had attained a common look that justifies me as a Nairobian but inside I laid a whole new person. As at this day it was only the ministry that had the right to interact with the real me without a cover up. Eventually I woke up a bit, but I woke up like a person who had wet her bed. There were round punches of wetness on my back. they were clearly demarcated by rings of dirt As I strained to open my eyes a cold drop of water. It was only after wiping my eye that I got to look up and clear mind. It was clear that I did not wet my bed, but there was a big hole on the roof. This particular hole allowed me to share my bed with the waters of the skies. I looked down and I dint understand what I saw. I was not able to see the floor. This made me develop certain fears. There was room for other possibilities and my fears were not real. These fears became reality when I stepped on the dark green carpet that had spread everywhere and accumulated large volumes under my bed. It was time to save the little that could be saved. It was not time to go and narrate my story again just to seek permission from the watchman. A better idea came into mind, it was better to do a Harambee and raise money to buy an apartment instead of taking up a mortgage. Even if I was not going to the ministry, I had to go out of the house. I was not emotionally stable to interact with the fieces that were knocking on my door too. It was easy to clean the dark green sewage than it was to clean fieces from one’s feet. Tower Between My Legs (1004 words) Abstract Boys becoming men and doing what men do with deep voice and towers between their legs. Franjethi takes us through his experience with the knife and why an he has to use the now sharpened tower between his legs and with whom he is going to use it with. His Kikuyu culture shapes his tower and shapes his mind and hands too. 5. Tower Between My Legs Synopsis This is a circumcision story, a celebration of the mass between the legs of a young boy an appreciation of culture from boys club to adult life that teaches men how to have sex and how to make love. Each boy was being called by name to get into the mud, grass roofed hut by the river bed. The voice that was calling was deep and angry. The boy who answered was asked to get in followed by a man who was escorting him. Micah, my cousin was chosen for me. He was going to make me stand strong. When a boy answered, he was asked to follow his escort. “Franjethi !!” At this time, correct pronunciation of the name was not important; it was my turn to get in. I was almost naked among men. Some who were brave and 37 0thers like me who were trying to be brave. I followed Micah into the room. He knew where to stand. One man was standing near a small table at the left side of the door. There were surgery knives, spirit, medicine, cotton wool, syringe and needles on a table. The hut was dark with one small window opposite the table. Some liquid was shining beneath a metallic bench near the three legged stool. Three other men who were tall, dark and strong were standing behind the metallic bench in the middle of the room. At the center of the room there was a three legged stool “Ruta thurwari” The man said in a deeper voice. My big pair of shorts fell on the ground before he could say anything else. I made two steps out of my shorts. I was totally naked in a hut with five men. I wanted to be a man like most of my age mates. I enjoyed the early morning walk, the gifts that came before hand including one big short from my mother, a pair of jeans, belt and rebook sport shoes. My father gave me enough threats, “My son, do not be then one shedding tears” “I have never cried in front of my enemies” “These are not your enemies; these are your bridge into adulthood.” “I will respect them father” “If you scream that is disrespect to them. If you disrespect other people it means I did not teach you well. It means that you disrespect me. The punishment for disrespect has been getting your own food. You cannot bite the hand that feeds you.” “Father I will not fail you” I stood there facing the man who was busy mixing some liquids in the syringe. The man was short like my father. However his voice was too loud when he commanded me “Rora nakuu” I turned and faced the three men that I dreaded. “I was going to be circumcised by three men?” I wished my trembling lips could ask. Without any notice, the man behind injected me in my ass. The medicine froze my left bottom. He removed the needle and rubbed the medicine with a small piece of cotton wool. “Sit down” He told me without any concern about my nakedness. I wanted to remain standing and allow my ass to cool down. I struggled to sit with one of my bottom trying to cover the tower in between my legs with my shaking thighs. Before my hot ass could be calmed down by the cold metallic bench, “Rora naguku” He ordered me to face him and I heard a sharp sound after he moved his seat closer to me. As my body was rotating, I saw something shining in the circumciser’s hand. It gave a reflection of his dark, wrinkled face. He seemed like a ruthless middle aged man. He sat in the three legged stool before me. “Tagania maguru” He said parting my legs. The tower was more shrunken than my courage. I wanted to run away but the three men comforted me with their powerful hands pressing hard on me. I saw my foreskin being cut all rounds, blood was spilling on the floor and a sharp pain was hitting my back with every cut. I was not allowed to cry, I was not supposed to scream but I was allowed to close my eyes and allow myself to be a man. When the circumciser stood up, I look at Micah, no single tear on my face, but very watery eyes telling him, “I have survived despite the pain.” He came closer and placed his right hand on my left shoulder. I thought this was his way of saying congratulations. The circumciser turned towards me again. He was holding a needle and a string. I pushed hard to get out before he could touch my tower again. Micah’s hands were reinforcement. I was held tight as the circumciser pulled the string through my skin. The string that has given me powers to pull down any string above and below a girls waist including g-string. The circumciser finished stitching and wiped my tower. He went back to shelves. The three masculine men walked out without saying any word. For a break I guess after I had drowned their strength with my struggles. Micah was given cotton wool and spirit. I had already received my manhood. Although I wished I could walk naked, he gave me my shorts. As a boy, I complained about its big size. As a man, I appreciate its space. The deep voice of the circumciser, “Ruta Thuruari” keeps coming into my mind as I walk out. I should ask Micah if I should order girls to remove their pants too or should I tell them words that will make their pants fall down or should I just remove the pants and use the available space. END