HOME IS A CASTLE OF STORIES

NOW THAT'S LOVE

You see, there is this girl I used to be in contact with. We weren't friends or lovers in that case, just communication and a few peanut paying writing gigs. In the months gone, we no longer talk like we did. We drifted apart. My destiny and her destiny were on a different trajectory. Well, I grew horns, and as it turns out, she grew even larger horns. I'll text her, she blue ticks,then replies after weeks. She texts me, I blue tick , reply after weeks too. It's kind of a game, but then, we're hardworking millenials with important dairies. You can't blame her or me for not keeping the inferno burning. Being honest, she wasn't my type, and will never be. I don't think I'm her type too. What if she reads this and goes apeshit, thinking.
"That bastard of a boy, so he never really liked me."
I don't think she'll be hurt though. Such a bold demeanor,pure solid. She had a heart made of rock. Well, that's what I saw from the outside. If she's weak and brittle on the inside. That's her own biashara. We don't give a damn!! Or do we?? Suffice to say, this girl enchanted me, bewitched me with her personality. I've never encountered another like her. I used to tell her this and she would howl back. "You'll never meet another like me." Too bad, I've met others. But still, she stands out from the crowd. A shining beacon of 21st century feminism.
She's in campus, 2nd or 3rd year I guess. I'm not in campus, but she says I have that tone of a fourth year,too mature. An old fox, like I know all the tricks of the jungle. I can't confirm that, its pure flattery. I'm still a child, I don't want to mature. What is maturity anyway??  Can you explain it? I've never been to that jungle called campus, though I'm headed there soon. Jungle, here I come.
Our chats were sporadic but damn! Epic. Like she'd send 10 texts in a row, because I'm a man I reply with five. Now this is the point where Parental Guidance comes into play. If you're a church going Christian like me. Believes in Jesus and his return, washed by the blood of the holiest of lambs, please just stop reading. I don't want to torture your brains with the sordid imagery ahead. Rest assured there won't be any filters. Oh, I forgot. Kids on mid-term please stop reading too. Go capture "memories we lost". Such a lousy book.
Now that those CU pretenders and kids are gone. Let me open the coffers and have you peek into our hazy world. One time I ask  how campus has served her. She says.
"I've done everything I've wanted to do in life."
Like what.
"I've sucked dick."
How was it?
"To be honest, twas really lousy. This guy had such a small mjulubeng. I felt like it was a miniature carrot. Then he moaned too much. He just couldn't hit it right. I dumped him after that."
Maybe you should try it out with a real ninja like me. I tell her.
"Go to hell." She texts back.
We talk about poetry. I  then ask her, What's your ideal man?
"He can't be a twerp(danda)."
Then she launches into this long tirade of a certain guy she had hots for. How he ticked all boxes. "Like he was so pretty. Yaani! I swear I could have given it to him anywhere, any day. Each time we talked I got wet, like fucking wet! This time, I'm headed to his place for a shag. The moment I see him, all that hunger and longing just disappeared."
But why?
"He was in shorts."
Guys do wear shorts. Don't tell me you have something against shorts.
"No... (Laughing emojis)...the dude had thin legs(more laughing emojis). Like seriously malnourished legs. It appeared to me like his upper body was from western, but his lower limbs were from turkana."
So did you screw?
"Hell no!, I told him to go buy condoms, then I took off."
You should screw people with legs like mine. So healthy and full of life.
"Go to hell. " That was her reply.
I went to hell.
If you're wondering, I wouldn't have shagged her. See, this girl used to bring chills to my stomach. I feared her. I tried to picture, her and me. Right there on the bed after rigorous and energy consuming love making. I'm splayed on the sheets like a cursed , slutty rabbit, battered. She's hyperventilating of course after rounds of taking in the monster phallus. I'm in no shape to move, so I'm getting some air. She removes a knife from her purse and starts swinging it in the air. She wants to chop off my member. I start begging.
"Please don't, cut my throat but usininyanganye handbreak. Aki please don't, I'll give you anything."
She appears not to listen, smiles sinisterly and says.
"Leo ni leo, mjulubeng must go."
You can shoot a man 20 times on the head or on the chest, or whatever place you feel like. But the mjuols area, that's hallowed territory my fren. So this was the end game. Just talk, I liked her craziness, but me and her. No way under the African sun! Never! Maybe she's reading this and thinking of ways to seduce me and chop of my mjulubeng but it won't happen mami, it won't.
In the week just gone, she decided to shock me. Out of the wild blues, homegirl texted, "Boy, What is love?"
I blue ticked her of course,It feels so good to blue tick her. She's that type who thinks the world owes her, instead of her owing the world. But this got me thinking, "what's love?"
Thus I set out on a voyage to find out what's love. My first port of call, the Afrigazine group.
The Afrigazine group. Biko will put it this way, " is a cesspit of youth, a millenial smorgasbord." It's a hotbed of potential, comprising of young artists from all around Africa. People from SA, Nigeria, Ghana, Kenya, Angola and this one guy from Museveni's backyard and hell lotsa others. And who brought us together? Some hairy negro called Baraka,the admin, the group's alpha. It's an assembly of poets, photographers, writers and all the performing arts. There we're all joined by this one cord, dreams. We're all dreaming to be something one day. So we do our thing, console each other and hope it will just turn out right. Not to forget, we have nothing but dreams. Heck! even the bundles we use belong to our parents. But people there work hard, because we want to be independent. Who doesn't want to be independent??  These Afrigazine guys are some of the most savage characters I know. You act poppycock and we roast you without giving two shits.
So one evening I post a message to the group.
"Guys! Do you believe in love, I do?"
And boy! I got responses.
There's this Yolandah. One pretty girl from cape town, always posting pictures showing us her beautiful ass. It's beautiful  ass trust me. She also writes good poems.
" I do I do." Yolandah beams back.
" Naah... Love is like a mirror... It's only there when you are there... Once you turn your back or leave it just disappears. " The words of Kay.
"Hell no!!!
That shit is pointless." A guy called Mutinda says.
"Falling in love, according to investigators, can bring relaxing effect on mind and body." Yolandah says again. This love debate got to her really.
"Osoch, you know me well. This crap called love is just like a myth, a legend, a folklore. And again, every time I try dating, I end up with a new sister. So why keep trying. " That is Mutinda speaking.
Baraka, the boss,says.
"But I'm forced to believe you guys try it for fun(for the thrill of it) and not for the real authentic feel of it."
Then the most vocal. Mutinda launches into this narrative.
"Obviously no one is in it for the real side of it other than Kay. That guy is probably the most emotional guy I know. Most of us millennials we get into dating. Not because we want someone to actually share our lives with but coz we want someone to say 'she's mine'. We want to have someone with us just for the sake of avoiding dryspell
The definition of love in our generation is totally retarded."
All this time I was silent, watching fellas butcher each other with rhetoric. So I added petrol to the argument.
"You guys are not serious. There's is true love. Real love. You're yet to meet it. I have met it. It looks like a rabbit."
Over there, they call me the FREELANCER. Isn't that name cute?? Like a villain in James Spader's blacklist. So this Kay guy hits back at me.
"@FREELANCER No... True love doesn't exist... Because you'll meet someone who you'll want to spend your life with but all they want is to be "in with the crowd"... To be able to say "yes I have one too" that makes you end up being embarrassed of ever trying because you'll just be but an accessory to them nothing more... Heck back in our parents days when someone said "I love you" they really meant it and you could see that.... These days people throw that word around like it's a pop-up reminder on a phone or just a word... It really hurts you know."
Kay was really emotional about how love didn't exist. You can't blame him he was a fella reeling in the aftershocks of a love gone sour. And Mutinda trolls him.
"Wow I can see 'she' really left a mark and a lesson in your life."
Our boy Kay shoots back.
"@Joseph Mutinda.You remember I said from now on I'm only focusing on being a billionaire who owns parrots."
And that was the demise of our love debate. I still had nothing to tell homegirl about love. So I text her, quoting Robert Kennedy
" Few will have the greatness to be in history, but we can all work to change a small potion of events and  the total of those acts will be written in the history of a generation."
The knife wielding b***h didn't blue tick me this time round. She called.
"Osoch.. That line is really deep you know. But pure bullshit."
I hang up on her.
Now dear reader, tell me what you think about love? Does it exist? What does it look like? Does it have missing teeth? Or huge eyes? Does love eat chapo with dengu or with beans? Let's go!!!
By Osoch Ogun.
Sharing is sexy .
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Photo credits: that's my boy Dennis Paul. You know him? No you don't, one of the blackest Negros you will ever meet. But an amazing guy. The girl next to him. You want to know her too?? Naah ...lets just call her an unidentified lady. Isn't she cool lakini??

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